Giovanni
“Who’s that?” the little boy asks, pointing so his finger is inches from my face.
Declan’s face hardens when he turns his gaze to mine. “That is your Uncle Giovanni,” he says, setting the boy down. “Meet your nephew, brother. James Declan Scott.”
James steps toward me and holds out his hand like a little gentleman.
“How do you do?” he asks. “I didn’t think you were real.”
God. Can I feel like more of an asshole?
I crouch down, take the boy’s small hand in mine. “Nice to meet you, James. I can assure you I am very real.”
“You don’t talk like us.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Do you fly Giovanni’s too?” he asks. “Like Grandpa? He said you did. He said you were good at it.”
He said that?
My father was a falconer. I had just begun learning the sport when the shit hit the fan so many years ago.
“No, James. Not anymore,” I say, straightening. I look at my grandfather. “I’m tired. Let’s get this done.”
“Go find Alice, James. Help her with lunch,” my brother says.
James rolls his eyes. “Alice is so boring.”
I can’t help but grin.
“Go on,” Declan says. “We’ll eat together. Make sure she bakes her shortbread.”
At that, the boy smiles then turns back to me. “Nice to meet you, Uncle Giovanni,” he says before walking out. Declan closes the door behind him and turns to me.
“Why don’t you let him know he’ll need to vacate his home? Maybe you can do that after lunch,” Declan says.
“Sit down. Both of you,” Benjamin says.
We remain standing, glaring, until Declan finally moves, knocking my shoulder when he walks past me to take his seat.
“Declan!” my grandfather’s tone is chastisement enough. “You’re not boys anymore for Christ’s sake! You’re men. Declan, you’re a father. And whether either of you like it or not, you are family and just about the only family you have left.”
Like hell.
Declan and I both take a seat.
I’m tired and meeting James like that, I was unprepared.
I want this done. I want to get out of this room. This house. Clear my head in the crisp Highland air.
Benjamin nods, turns to the attorney. “Michael, let’s go over the will,” he says, and Michael takes over, explaining the will that leaves everything, as expected, to Declan. Including the debt of the house.
That’s where I come in. Because without me and without my money, this place will turn into a pile of rocks and the family distillery which went public under Ann’s ridiculous advisement, is now under my control. And that, too, I will drive into the ground.
I want to gloat but then I remember why I’m here. I think about my father. About him in the ground. I think about the little boy who calls me uncle. Who didn’t believe I was real. I don’t know the first thing about him.
I look around the office, remembering things I’d forgotten. Amazing how the brain works. Adjusts. Protects.
The last thirteen years, life has gone on here while I’ve been living my own separate one. They all moved on. I guess I did too, but part of me, it’s still sixteen years old as I sit here.
And that part of me that, even now, feels a pang of jealousy of Declan.
He slipped right into my place, took over my role like it was his from the start. Stole it right out from under me. Stole both my father and my life.
“Why didn’t you name him Giovanni?” I ask out of the blue, interrupting the reading of the will.
I look to Declan who looks to me.
“First born male child carries the name,” I say. I was disowned. Didn’t that erase my existence and give Declan that status?
“First-born of the first-born. The name wasn’t mine to give,” he says.
Fuck.
Am I supposed to be grateful?
Michael clears his throat. “The distillery is still bringing in some money, but not nearly what it used to.”
“Giovanni knows well what the distillery is bringing in, Michael,” Declan says. “He holds fifty-one percent of the shares, not quite honorably obtained, but well, what can you expect?”
Michael gives me a glance but is clever enough to keep his judgement to himself.
I sit back, take a deep breath in, keep my face hard as stone. “Just business, brother.”
Declan’s hands fist on his lap but he keeps his gaze forward on the wall of shelves behind my grandfather.
When the will’s been read, Benjamin slips another document onto the desk. My offer to buy the house. He clears his throat.
“Before that’s signed, I want to see the house,” I say, standing. “Declan.”
“What am I, your personal tour guide? Don’t remember where things are?”
“I want to see the state of things. I assume you know it best.”
“I have more important things to do like meeting my son for lunch,” he says, and walks out the door.