Page 15 of Concerted Chaos

Since nobody takes the bait and repeats the question back to him, Xander takes it upon himself to make the bragging statement that was probably the impetus for asking us anyway.

“Are you familiar with the Italian designer Giustiniano? He’s been dying to design something for me, so he’s doing my suit. It was supposed to be for an award show where I’m presenting, but I asked him to make the cut more funereal. His team should be showing up today for a final fitting.” Even when preparing to bury a loved one, Xander has to make it about himself.

“At your house, right?” Brixley asks pointedly. Xander lives fifteen minutes away, there’s no reason he should still be hanging around, but he doesn’t pick up on the hint.

“I could tell them to come over here,” Xander offers. “That way if the rest of you need a hem done or any alterations, they can take care of it.” Does Xander not understand who he’s with? Does he really think a world-renowned supermodel wouldn’t have an entire team of couturiers, stylists, and seamstresses on speed dial?

“Like we don’t have our own people?” Brixley raises one perfectly arched eyebrow as she echoes my thoughts. “Xander, you should go home.”

“I thought we were all in this together, like in the old days,” he protests. “And Cassidy needs me.”

“Don’t bring me into this,” I say, at the same time Powell says, “Leave my sister out of it.”

Xander glowers at my brother. I once heard him arguing that since I’m not a blood relative, Powell needs to drop the overprotective act. It’s not an act, we’re a real family. And even if we weren’t, Powell would still protect me from him. And any other creep that came along. Hopefully he’d do a better job of it than the scene I witnessed last night. While entertaining for the rest of us, a drunken slap-fest is in no way heroic. I suppose it was cathartic for them though, since they can’t retaliate against the unknown person or entity that killed their friend.

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