Page 101 of Masks and Mishaps

But I don’t care about my hand. “If he makes one more weird sound in your general direction, it’s not my blood we’ll be seeing.”

“He is my little brother,” she hisses.

“He’s about to beourlittle brother.”

Essie sighs and places a piece of ice against my cut before laying a clean napkin over it. “He’s going through it. How would you feel if your sister were spending her time with a sex deviant?”

“Seeing as you’re going to be my sister in, oh—” I pretend to look at my watch, “—a hot forty-eight hours, I can confidently say I’d be in a maximum-security prison.”

“Let it blow over.” With one last meaningful look, Essie retreats to the table, and I finish cleaning my hand before I return to my seat too. Almost immediately, Porter rises at the other end.

“Well,” he begins, scanning the dining room, “I want to say how thrilled I am to have everyone together for the first of many family Thanksgivings.”

Gross.

He places his hand on Mom’s shoulder. “I’d like to start by thanking Alyssa and the girls for this lovely meal—”

Everett frowns and bobs his chin at Lander. “When he says the girls, he means us, yeah?”

“Prick,” Lander mutters before he swirls his wine glass and takes a long drink.

“Alyssa,” Porter continues, gazing at my mother, “in two days, we’re going to be standing in front of two hundred people and declaring our devoted—”

Bro.

“—unbreakable—”

Fucking comeon.

“—unceasing—”

Is it patricide if I kill my stepfather?

“—undying—”

I’m about to bounce and hit the dive bar in town.

“—and eternal love.” He extends his hand and my mother takes it. “I adore you.”

“I love you too,” Mom responds, smiling at him with an annoyingly real twinkle in her eye.

Across the table from my mom, Essie is clutching her wine glass with two hands—cute and unpracticed. She looks as miserable as I feel, and the brutal nine feet between us tempts me to break another glass so she’ll come over and check on me again.

Porter tears his gaze from Mom. “I want to say how thankful I am that my boys took the train over for the holiday and the wedding,” he continues, “and for Essie, who’s doing great work at her internship. Your mother and I always knew you’d be successful, and it’s my pride as a father to see you achieve so much.”

Essie doesn’t say a damn word in response, and Porter doesn’t seem to notice.

He gestures at me. “And of course, I want to welcome my new son to the family. I’ll admit, when we met, I wasn’t sure what to think. After all, you were…” Porter clears his throat. “…well, you drank eight beers and ate an entire pizza we were all supposed to share.”

Typical. I eatonemargherita pizza nobody seemed interested in because they were all fawning over the calabrese, and suddenly I’m persona non grata.

“Loving this toast, Porter,” I deadpan.

“Well, Alyssa tells me how great you are, and I’m excited to welcome you as my own son—”

“No. Nope,” Christian blurts out, shaking his head while he shoves his chair back from the antique table, sending glasses sloshing onto the tablecloth. “I can’t do this.”

“Christian,” Essie warns, “sit down.”

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