What the fuck, this is so freaking delicious it feels like my taste buds are melting. The meal Jordan whipped up for me last time is nothing compared to tonight's feast. I don't care if we already have a chef in the kitchen, I want my husband to replace him asap. Alright, fine, the guy can stay the kids' cook, no problem, but Jordan has to be in charge of my meals from today onward, and that's not up for debate.
Oh my god, it tastes divine. I'm glad to have been married off to this household just for this meal.
"Are you alright?" Bryan asks, his voice slightly worried. "You're drooling."
I wipe off the drool on my chin and pretend nothing's wrong. My brother left the clan quite early on and had the chance to eat proper meals far earlier than I did. So, yes, I might or might not have a weakness for good food.
"I must admit," Bryan laughs softly, an emotion I can't quite decipher twirling in his eyes, "your husband is quite the cook."
"Right?" I can't help the smile as I take another bite, deciding to push aside the feeling of discomfort in the pit of my stomach. It can wait.
I swear, the meat is so tender, and the broth so flavourful...! I'm in heaven.
Silence falls on the table, so I lift my eyes to peek at my brother. He's staring at the kids' plates with a slight frown. I'm just about to ask what's wrong when I get an epiphany.
Ah, I forgot.
We got into the habit of not putting a hiding spell on the kids' food, as it serves no purpose whatsoever with me around. Instead, the cook makes the food look like "normal" human food to the best of his capabilities, just so I wouldn't feel like retching whenever I eat with the kids.
The thing is, his efforts still can't hide everything, and some bits wriggle on the children's plates, trying to escape.
I've grown used to it, so I don't really notice anymore. Can't say the same for my brother.
Dang it, that was an oversight on our part.
Bryan doesn't comment on it, though, and focuses his attention back to his own plate.
Thank God, I wouldn't have known what to say. I'm good at spur-of-the-moment lies, but not that good, and my brother can be overly perceptive at times. On the bright side, he knows not to step out of boundaries in someone else's house and won't ask indiscreet questions. I'm grateful for that.
"Dad, Dad!" Elois calls me, and when I eye his plate, I'm left stumped. He's wolfed everything down in less than five minutes! Kid, that's not good for your stomach! "Is it time for dessert yet?"
…Ah, I see. He wants to give Bryan the apple pie. But buddy, my brother has only eaten a third of his meal. You'll have to wait for a bit longer.
"Not yet." Elois makes a pout in response. There's no point, though. My brother gotta finish his meal first things first, whatever the kid might say. "I'll tell you when it's time."
Oh, come on now! Don't slump on the chair like it's the end of the world!
"What's for dessert?" Bryan takes the hint, and the next instant, Elois comes back to life. Somehow, I feel like my brother's eating pace is also getting faster, but that might just be my imagination.
"Apple pie!" Elois bounces on his seat.
"We made it with Dad!" Ellena adds, her mouth full, enough that she spills whatever she's eating everywhere, and it's wriggling on the table like drowning worms. Girl, chew on your food properly. That's gross. "And we didn't make the kitchen explode this time!"
Well, guess that's one thing to be proud of.
Of course, Bryan has no idea what we're talking about, and to his quirked brow, I sigh, "Don't worry, I used mom's old recipe and supervised the kids. The apple pie should at least be safe for consumption."
"You remembered it…?"
My brother sounds surprised, and I can only answer with a shrug.
Mom was bad at cooking. Her meals were terrible, always turning people's stomachs upside-down. Still, there was one thing she was good at, and that was baking apple pies. When we were kids, we often sat with her at the table to help her prepare the pies, and the recipe stayed in my mind—maybe 'cause that's one of the last things we did before our abduction. Back then, she also promised that once we escaped the basement, she'd bake me an apple pie.
It's a daunting promise she was never able to fulfill. But that bit, I refrain from saying it aloud. My brother doesn't need to know that.
***
We're sitting in the living room, a slice of apple pie in our hands. The kids wanted us to eat the dessert while showing off their drawings. As they explain to us what the messy scribbles are, they're practically bouncing off the walls with excitement.
I peek at the antique clock hanging on the wall.
Eve and Jordan seem to be late. I thought they would be home before we were done with dinner, yet there is no sign of either of them. Not too surprisingly, Jonathan, too, is nowhere in sight.
"You have a sister now?" Bryan asks, and I almost choke on the apple pie. It goes down the wrong pipe, and I have to pat my chest to alleviate the pain. "Are you alright?"
Do I look alright to you? The question lingers on the tip of my tongue, but I pinch my lips and keep quiet, eying Ellena's drawing instead. Ah. The scribble does seem to have a dress. Actually, there are two very similar scribbles next to each other, almost like twins.
Is that James and her?
"No, James is not my sister!" Ellena proudly says, her chin held high. "He's my uncle! But Uncle has shrunk, and he's super-duper cute! My dresses suit him better than Elois's pants!"
"That's not true!" Elois stomps his feet. "He's super cute in my clothing, too!"
"Liar!"
"No, you're the liar!"
Bryan's smile doesn't reach his eyes as he peers at me. I pretend not to have noticed his gaze. I'm pretty sure he's connecting the dots. There were two kids with me yesterday. He had met Jonathan before, although the patriarch was sleeping and drooling on my shoulder the first time, too. As for the little girl… He didn't know her, but with the kids' words, it's easy to guess who it was.
"I didn't know the vampire heir had such an…" Bryan pauses, seemingly taking a second to find the right words. "An interesting hobby. Where is he, by the way? According to my sources, he's living with you, isn't he?"
Oh, please, bro, don't flaunt your team's intel-gathering ability! Though it makes me wonder how much he actually knows.
"He's sleeping."
That's all I say. It's not a lie, either. Sleeping apparently helps with adjusting to a new body form. And, well, James kinda needs that rest right now. I don't like it when he's not in top shape. It makes me fear for his safety, considering how many people are after his head and how unlucky he is. Not sure he'd survive a javelin through his chest in a boy's body, so, y'know…?
The squeaking sound of a door being opened resounds, and I forget everything about James. I instinctively shift my gaze toward the entrance hall. Looks like Jordan and Eve are finally back. We can't see them yet as there's a wall in the way, but I'm expecting them to pop up in our sight any time now.
My brother, too, turns his head toward the noise. He can't hide his curiosity. Oh? Maybe his intel-gathering agents are not that efficient in the end. Or more like, Jordan doesn't scream on the rooftop who and what he is, making it nearly impossible to gather information on him.
For some reason, that makes me proud of my husband. It's a childish feeling, and it brings about a bit of mischievous happiness.
"Scott, I'm home!" Jordan says, appearing in the doorframe the next instant. There's a gentle smile on his lips, and his gaze is tender when he looks at me. "Eve will be a little late. She couldn't make up her mind on what kind of wine she wanted to bring to your brother, and she's still in the store pondering her options with Lucy and Jonathan."
Why am I not surprised? Although, girl, don't bring a kid into an alcohol store, please! I know Jonathan is technically older than me, both physically and mentally, but he looks like a good darn boy for the time being!
"As long as she doesn't return past midnight," I chuckle before turning around toward my brother, getting ready to make the presentation.
But no words come out of my mouth.
There's something off about Bryan. His whole body has grown stiff, and he's clenching his jaw with so much strength that a vein seems about to pop up on his forehead. He's also gripping the armrests of his wheelchair to the point where his knuckles have turned paler under the effort. There's a whirlpool of emotions dancing in the depths of his eyes, and I can discern a hint of fear, awe, and uncertainty in them.
…Brother? What's wrong?