Chapter 45: Alexander

I didn’t want to hurt her—but neither could I lie to her. And it was with this paradox in mind that I spoke. "He's disappeared."

"What?" This outburst came not from Katerina, surprisingly, but from my cousin across the room. Georgia's voice was slightly muffled by the strange decision that she had made to lie prone on the couch, but the message was there. She rolled over and sat upright, a stricken look coming into those blue eyes. "What do you mean, he's disappeared? How the heck do you lose a grown man?"

"Well, easily enough because when they run off by themselves, packing a bag, not leaving a mess, the police and everyone else tends to assume they have run off of their own volition," my father explained.

"Then what are you doing in Italy? Why aren't you looking for him?" Georgia interrogated us, a determined look coming into her eyes.

"Yes," Katerina interjected firmly, her voice less unhinged than Georgia's—her calm was what I now recognized as that supernatural surety in God's provision even in times of crisis. "Let's all leave Italy before we get killed by a maniac and go look for my brother."

"Kati, es-tu sûr?" I asked, laying a hand on her arm. Are you sure?

"Mais, bien sûr," she responded, a slight edge coming into her tone. "C'est mon frère."

But of course. He is my brother.

"Fine." I stood up quickly, recognizing when it was best not to argue with her—with her and that selfless instinct that seemed ingrained in her moral compass. "It's settled. We ought to leave right now, then."

The situation was too close for comfort. I couldn't help but think of that moment fifteen years ago when I had had a sibling missing. Only, Katerina hadn't helplessly watched her brother be torn away from her before her very eyes. She hadn't spent nights replaying that instant, wishing there was something she could have done. And I didn't want that for her. I didn't want her to feel that guilt, to look back and think about what she could have done for him. I wanted to help her, to do something for him, right now.

"But the shooter hasn't been caught—" And I saw her bite down on her next words, saw her clamp on her lip so savagely that it turned white. For once I could see that conflict written so clearly on her face for once, not hidden behind a mask of cool courtesy. She straightened under my arm and cleared the emotion from her face. "You're right. My brother is more important."

Georgia was already by the door, suitcase in hand, a look on her face that bothered me. I hadn't realized she was that close with Katerina's brother—yet I thought I had been doing better, thought I had been getting closer to the members of my family. Had I missed such an important event as a romantic relationship between them? The thought gnawed at me as we checked out of the hotel and got back onto the jet, which was fuelled and waiting for us thanks to a quick call from my father. Once situated on the vehicle, with Katerina facing me, I watched without really perceiving any of it, as Abigail sat across from my father and Georgia and Sylvia talked quietly with one another.

"Are you—is everything all right?" Katerina reached for my hand, and I caught hers, circling my thumb around the diamond gleaming on her left ring finger absentmindedly. "You seem upset."

"Did you know about them?" I asked, wanting to divert her attention from my emotional state and simply to get answers. It was not that great of a move, perhaps, but it was the one I felt I needed to make. "About your brother and my cousin?"

"What about them, Alexander?" she cocked her head, not giving up the information so easily. That was fine—I could handle a challenge, especially if it was from her. "That they have very similar names?"

"Don't be pedantic, Katerina," I said slowly, "and I won't be elusive."

She smiled, her anxious frown transforming into laugh lines and crinkled hazel eyes. It was infectious. "I shall go first, then. I did see them, well, together, as in, locked in an inappropriate, PG-13 situation, but I was so very disturbed that I quickly closed the door and…that was a few weeks ago."

"Before or after your father's birthday?" I interrogated.

"Before," she admitted. "But I didn't tell you, because they hadn't made any formal announcements yet and..."

"And what?" I prodded, despite the pang in my chest telling me I might not like the answer.

"And, I didn't want to burden you, Alex." She hurried to add, "It's not that I think you're weak, or a child. I simply…after that you proposed for real! I wanted to work on us, selfishly, not to have thoughts of my brother's quasi-relationship or hookup or whatever it is hanging over my head. I only wanted the world to be small, and simple. I wanted it to be just the two of us, and God. I know it was selfish, but—"

I interrupted her. "It's not selfish of you to want to spend time on a relationship as unconventional as ours. It's not. Thanks for telling me."

She nodded, shifting her fingers so that they laced with mine. "Your turn."

"It bothers me to think that something was going on between them that I completely missed. Frankly, I thought I had changed enough—that I had become close enough to my family, that Georgia would feel comfortable enough to tell me these things."

Katerina shook her head, but it was far from a chastising gesture; only warmth radiated from her. "Change isn't overnight—it's a journey. And I…I'm proud of you for starting it, but don't be so quick to think that it's over."

+

I mulled over her words as we split out through the city looking for one George Cartier Devereaux. She was likely right—and I was human. I liked the idea of magic and instant transformation as much as the next guy—I disliked the idea of slow change and progress over time as much as anyone. But I was slowly learning that the difficult decisions were generally the best ones. This was too much wisdom for one day, though, and so I brushed the thoughts aside as I crossed the street and pushed open the door of a pub that George usually frequented.

"I'm looking for a George Devereaux, a tall and bulky guy around my height, with a scruffy beard and—" I cut myself off as the bartender pointed towards a table in the corner. "Thanks."

Walking hurriedly, I sat across from him. During the flight, I had thought to perhaps prepare a nice speech, some brotherly combination of where have you been and what's wrong with you? But now, my mind was blank.

"So," I blurted out.

He looked up. "Want a drink? It's on me."

That wasn't a bad start, and I supposed that a drink couldn't hurt. "Sure, why not? And while we are waiting for one, I think you can tell me exactly why you ran off to the middle of nowhere while your sister and my cousin were in possible danger."

To his credit, he didn't even blink at my words. "I know they were in danger."

"And you simply didn't care?" I snapped.

"Don't act like you've never felt the same way."

I have cared, I wanted to scream at him, to shake him. I just pretended I didn't. But I supposed he was right in a way. Because really, what was the point of caring if you didn't put that affection into action?

"I won't." I thanked the server as he handed me a cold iced coffee, refreshing compared to the muggy New York heat. "I will, however, ask you why you didn't act like you knew that your only living relative was possibly dead."

"We have a complicated relationship," he argued, before downing his drink, his movements too quick for me to tell if it was alcohol or something less toxic. "One that is hardly for outsiders to judge."

"Aren't we family now?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mayhap." He slammed his glass on the table, making mine rattle. "But too much has transpired for any relationships to ever heal."

"I thought the same once," I told him vaguely. "Come on. I'm not going to reprimand you for worrying your sister half to death, because I will let her do that herself, but I think it's in your best interests to come back to the penthouse."

He gave my outstretched hand a disdainful glance, then picked up his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder, and walked out of the bar ahead of me. I sighed and slapped a twenty on the table, then ran out after him.