Page 7 of Just My Fake Husband

I put down my bags, hang up the keys to my blue Ford Bronco—hey, I live in Colorado, it makes sense—on the dark stained, intricately carved wooden key hook hanging on the wall of the mudroom. I set the “World’s Best Dad” medallion on the bench. After walking through the small kitchen and into the living room, I sink into one of the two matching love seats—soft as a cloud. It’s nice, except my mind won’t relax.

River Judkins refused to help me. It’s her prerogative, but why? It seemed almost personal.

I didn’t even have a chance to discuss how this would all work. She just flat-out refused me. Maybe I should have explained in greater detail about what happened—the compromising photos that made things look worse than they actually were. How trying to do a good thing in supporting my friend turned into a lapse of judgement with a high price to pay. Maybe I should go back and do just that. She wanted transparency, I’ll give her transparency.

But like she said, I was literally named after an angel. Of course, I’m not one. But I’ve played the part and lived with those expectations for so long, I don’t know how tonottake on that persona. And those expectations don’t really have anything to do with my name but rather the ability I’ve had since childhood to connect with my dad, something that I realized as time went on is rare.

I’m wallowing when I hear a delicate, flutish sound. It takes until the third time before I realize it’s the doorbell. Who would be ringing the doorbell here? No one knows I’m in town except River Judkins, and it’s not like I gave her the address.

I heave myself off the sofa and approach the door, the inside of which is painted a complicated maze of twisting vines. It looks like it belongs in the Louvre. I manage to find a peephole in the design, cleverly disguised as a robin’s eye.

Sebastian is on my front doorstep, scowling.

Unbelievable.

Do I answer it? I wanted to get in and out of Longdale without my family knowing. Still, somehow, Sebastian seems to know and see all. Maybe River told him. Regardless, there’s really no way around this conversation now.

I open the door.

“Hey.” Sebastian looks me over. His suit is as crisp as ever, and I feel that much more inferior. Downtrodden. Like that Depression-era “Forgotten Man” painting.

I am that guy—beaten down, sitting on a curb, without so much as my dignity in my hands.

“How did you know I was here?”

He doesn’t answer until he pushes past me and enters the house. He whistles in appreciation of the room and stands near the off-white marble fireplace, which is taller than us. What the house lacks in square footage, it makes up for in ceiling height, and the fireplace fills it all up.

He doesn’t sit. The thing with Sebastian is he’s so intense, he can’t dial things down. Marrying Elianna helped a little. But right now? He looks ready to explode.

“Did you forget that Henry works for me?” Sebastian asks.

Ah. The security cameras.

I cross my arms over my chest. If he’s not sitting, I’m not, either. “Okay, so he saw me on the cameras. How did you find me?”

He doesn’t answer that. “What are you doing here? First you disappear for over a month and then you’re sneaking into my resort?”

When Sebastian refers to his resort, it reminds me just how on the outs I really am. I noticed early on while he was building his empire that he made a point to talk to our mother and my brothers like it was a family business. Sure, he was territorial in the sense that he took the brunt of the responsibility upon himself. Still, there was a sense of “us” in the building of Tate International.

Except when it came to me. Probably because I worked for our father, who he was at odds with until recently. I don’t really know where they’re at in their relationship now. But I never felt a part of Tate International.

I wasn’t. I’ve been all-in on Dad’s finance company since even before I went to Columbia University. Still, it stings a little to hear the lines still being so harshly drawn.

“Yeah, I was in Europe,” I say. “Clearing my head. Now I’m here for a couple of days. I needed to ask River Judkins if she would help me with something.”

I see the wheels turning in Sebastian’s head.

“And you can’t ask anyone at Foundations to do your PR for you because . . .” It’s a leading question, and in an instant, I know he knows. At least some of it.

“Because I no longer work for them,” I say, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “And this isn’t for the company. It’s for me.” I shrug. “I figured if anyone knew how to help my public image, it would be River.”

Sebastian’s mouth is twisted severely to the side. “And what did she say?”

“Turned me down flat,” I say with a sigh.

A bit of a smile curves Sebastian’s mouth and I’m feeling it again, that low churn of sadness, of being at odds with my oldest brother, of embarrassment that he likes that she refused to help.

“What happened, Gabriel?” His voice is lower than before, and his eyes droop at the corners.

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