Page 96 of By All Accounts
FINN
Marshall and I made it down an entire flight of stairs before he stopped and leaned against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest.
“What?” I asked, finally daring myself to look at him.
I’d expected disapproval, judgment, but when I looked my brother head on, I found neither. There was worry, sure. Marshall was always worried about something or other. It was in his nature. But there was no disappointment, only concern.
“How long?” he asked.
“Not long,” I told him, but that felt like a lie. It had been long enough for me to fall in love with the two of them. I corrected myself, “Long enough.”
“I don’t want to know how it works?—”
“Good.”
“But.”
I groaned, bracing my hands against my hips and looking up through the hollow of the stairwell. The sound of my heartbeat echoed in my ears.
“But,” he said again, tone softer. “Are you happy?”
“Yes.”
“Are they good to you?”
I nodded.
“And it’s serious?” he asked.
“Very.”
Marshall let a breath out and gestured to the next flight of stairs with a jerk of his head. I followed after him.
“I meant what I said up there, you know. Sophie is brilliant. She’s one of the best interior designers in the city.”
“I don’t know shit about it, but I’m sure she is.”
“Did you know we were working together?” Marshall asked.
“I did.”
“Were you going to tell me?”
I shrugged. “Eventually.”
“Who were you waiting out?”
“What do you mean?”
Marshall stopped again, blocking my way with his hand on the stair rail. “Were you waiting me out or them?” he clarified.
It was a knowing and loaded question, and I hated how well my brother knew me, but it was also one of the things I loved the most about him. A man like Marshall contained multitudes, able to be a thousand things for a thousand people, his well never running dry.
“Maybe both.”
“Why me?” He took his hand away and we resumed our trek downstairs. I watched the back of Marshall’s hair with every step, wondering when he’d gone so gray. “Did you think I would see you differently than I always have? Judge you?”
“You do judge, Marshall. We talked about this with Riggs and Lincoln, but no. I…maybe. I didn’t want you to think less of them for being with me.”
