Chapter 80
I lean against the doorframe and raise a brow. “You know Dia’s going to murder you, right?”
Luther jumps like he’s been electrocuted.
Milk goes flying.
It spills all over the counter, over his iPad, and right onto Diana’s precious strawberries.
We both stare at the mess.
“Shit,” he mutters, frozen like he’s trying to mentally undo the last three seconds.
I cover my mouth to stop the laugh bubbling up.
He slowly looks up at me like I’m the one who spilled milk all over the kitchen, then lets out the most dramatic sigh I’ve ever heard. He hops off the counter, pushes his glasses up his nose, and drops the milk carton with a wet splat.
“Why the hell are you so annoying?”
I lean against the doorway, arms folded. “It’s a gift.”
He starts wiping down the counter, grumbling under his breath. I watch for a second, then feel a tiny bit bad and step forward to help. But the second I reach for his iPad, he swats my hand away like I’m a fly.
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“Okay, rude,” I say, raising my brows. “Sorry for trying to help.”
“You can also say sorry for causing the mess.”
I blink. “Excuse me? Me? If you weren’t acting like a raccoon in the first place, none of this would’ve happened.”
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” he mutters, shooting me a glare as he dabs at the spilled milk. “I was sketching ideas for the exhibition project. You know, being productive? Something you should try once in your life.”
I smirk. “Aw, look at you. Little artist boy getting all defensive.”
He throws a strawberry at me. I dodge, barely.
“You’re impossible,” he mutters.
“And you love me,” I say sweetly, grabbing a paper towel and helping anyway.
He tries to hide the little smile pulling at his lips, “What? Did you come all this way just to hang out with your incredibly cool, charming older brother?”
I snort. “What? Since when have I ever had one of those?”
He grabs a wet paper towel and chucks it at me. It slaps onto my left cheek with a disgusting splat, and I let out the most offended gasp known to mankind.
“Luther!” I shriek, peeling it off and hurling it right back at him.
It hits the counter and sprays more milk everywhere, making an even bigger mess.
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“You’re so mean, Emily,” he grumbles with a pout. “You only come talk to me when you want to gush about that country bumpkin of yours.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Country bumpkin? Really? We’re still doing that?”
He rolls his eyes. “I call it like I see it.”
I open my mouth to defend Zane, ready to fire back with a full- on monologue… but then I remember the Maine incident too.
Yeah. Maybe not tonight.
“For your information,” I say with a dramatic toss of my hair, “I only came down for Diana’s strawberries. But you ruined them.”
He frowns a bit, eyeing me up and down as he tosses out some paper towels. “Isn’t this what they call defamation of character? Slander?”
“Really, Luther? You can’t be serious-” My hand slips while wiping down the counter and hits the carton of milk, spilling the rest of its contents on the kitchen floor.
We stare at each other for a second… then burst out laughing. I shake my head as he tries to clean milk off his sketch screen, mumbling curses the whole time and I start on the mess of milk on the floor.
Even when he’s annoying, even when he throws wet paper
towels at me, there’s something kind of perfect about moments like this.
Later, when the kitchen is finally clean (and only smells faintly of
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milk and regret), we reward ourselves with microwaved
doughnuts and Mum’s leftover melted chocolate. It’s not fancy, but it hits the spot.
Luther’s sitting beside me at the counter, barefoot, glasses
slipping down his nose, sketchpad back in his lap. He’s all focused again, that little crease between his brows making a comeback.
“I’m thinking of making this one different,” he says suddenly, his voice low but excited. “It’s my final project. My last sculpture before graduation. It has to stand out, you know? Something that’ll make people stop and say, ‘That’s Luther C. Vanderbilt. That’s the one to watch.“”
I lean against him, resting my head on his shoulder, still chewing on a warm piece of doughnut. His body heat is comforting, familiar. The sketches on his screen still look like organised chaos to me — wild lines and sharp curves — but I know better than to say that out loud.
—
Instead, I smile. “I’m sure Mum and Dad will personally send engraved letters to every art investor on the planet letting them know you’re it, Lu.”
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Chapter 81
