Familial Patterns

Nathan's lips were burning. They had been prickling for weeks, but the slow burn had intensified considerably since 9:42 p.m. last night.

It wasn't an uncomfortable burn, like when he drank coffee too quickly or forgot to use sunscreen on a hike.

This wasn't even a nuisance. It was pleasant, even. A frisson that tingled over his mouth during waking hours and augmented whenever he saw Joni.

Or thought about Joni.

Or more specifically, thought about Joni's mouth.

Which happened a lot.

He was up to three showers a day.

"Nathaniel?"

It had started with kissing her in the middle of a department store. Actually, that was incorrect. It had started the first night they'd met at that damn bar, when she'd popped up on her toes to "pay him back" for his kindness with an innocent kiss to the cheek but ended up smashing her lips to his instead.

That spark had been blown into embers in her boss's office when she'd kissed him the first time, and Nathan had all but mauled her right there on the couch.

He still couldn't believe he'd lost control that easily.

Kindling had been added with that "practice" kiss at Bergdorf's. Blown into a flame at dinner, where watching Joni savor ten courses worth of fine dining with those absurdly luscious lips was no better than pornography. Fanned considerably in his office last night (he'd legitimately considered fucking her on his desk even with Charlotte Mueller in the next room) and blazed into a full-blown inferno at…whatever he should call that place Joni had taken him in Brooklyn. By the end of that damn party, Nathan's entire body felt licked by flames.

And yet he wanted to walk straight into the fire and let it consume him.

Every instance had been a taste. A step toward completing the ruse they had set up together—however oddly determined and almost certainly ill-advised it was. He still wasn't sure why exactly he had thought it was a good idea to propose such an insane idea. But even now, in the cold light of day, with his head pounding and body aching after maybe an hour of sleep on that shitty warehouse couch, he still wouldn't do anything differently. He only knew it was better than the alternative: Virginia. His parents.

And then, of course, there was Isla to worry about.

"Nathaniel! What is the matter with you?"

The sound of his mother's peevish voice, the faint Virginian accent sliding over her vowels, was enough to yank him out of his fantasies. For now, anyway. At the moment, he wasn't in a place to consider further self-immolation in the form of kissing Joni Zola, but in fact, he was about to have his second brunch in two weeks with his parents, who had just arrived in the city in anticipation of the Sinai Children's benefit on Friday.

"Hello, Mom." He greeted his mother with a perfunctory kiss to the cheek, then nodded to the man next to her before sitting down at their table at BG Restaurant on the seventh floor of the Bergdorf's department store. "Dad."

"Nathan." Radford mirrored the same abrupt gesture without lowering his newspaper.

Much like Nathan, his parents—especially his father—were creatures of habit. Radford Hunt had enjoyed the same breakfast, lunch, and dinner for most of his eighty-three years. His days followed the same routine no matter which of his houses he was occupying. And when he did divert from those routines, they were only to other well-established paths of travel.

Bergdorf's was one of them and had been since before Nathan had even moved to the city as an intern. It didn't matter if the eggs were sometimes rubbery or the coffee a bit weak. Radford liked to read the Wall Street Journal with a view of Central Park, and Lillian liked her single crab cake before meeting with Andrea, her favorite personal shopper, on the fourth floor.

"Nathan, where have you been? We were expecting you thirty minutes ago. And whatever are you wearing?" Lillian Hunt sniffed. "Is that patchouli?"

Nathan offered the grim smile his mother called his "mopey face" (whatever that meant). He was aware of the irregularities. Tardy when he was always on time. Dressed in last night's wrinkled jeans and a dusty T-shirt instead of the tailored clothes his mother typically sent from Milan or Paris when she went. Reeking of the strange Brooklyn warehouse where he had spent the night on a stained floral sofa with Joni wrapped in his arms instead of alone in his three-thousand-thread-count sateen sheets.

The MDMA had been strong, and they hadn't been able to stop touching each other once it had set in. Nothing more than that, as if by some unspoken agreement, they both knew it would violate some basic rule of consent. For some of the party-goers, the public space hadn't stopped them from enjoying each other more thoroughly in the darker corners. Nathan, however, hadn't minded keeping his hands over her clothes and his lips above her collarbone. He and Joni had remained fused on that dance floor, touching, dancing, twirling, and, yes, kissing, until they'd finally collapsed on a couch in the corner and drifted off to the sounds of that terrible band reinventing bossa nova as punk rock.

It was unequivocally the best night of his life.

And maybe one of the best mornings too. Nathan had woken with a half-asleep arm and a sore neck, the snoring of multiple people buzzing in his ears, and Joni's face smashed on his chest. She hummed lightly in her sleep, a nondescript song that had no real melody; one hand curled into his shirt, her black lashes fluttering over opalescent eyes as she approached consciousness. Nathan swore he had known that song before he had ever heard it.

When she woke, she'd looked up at him, her typically bright, if slightly sad, green eyes full of something sweet and light. Something like hope. Something so indelibly right.

And he hadn't been able to breathe.

His lips, however, still tingled as if just the memory of her face set them alight all over again.

He still couldn't make any sense of it. He wasn't sure he wanted to. And certainly not to the people sitting at this table.

Nathan perused the menu, which was written in blurry script that wasn't helping his headache. He'd just order the same thing he always got. His parents were still staring as he removed his glasses and massaged his forehead.

Once again, those bright emerald-colored eyes flashed in his mind, her sly, slightly crooked smile curving under the multicolored lights strung across the exposed rafters of the warehouse. That perfectly proportioned mouth opening just under his, back arched as his hands slid up her ribcage, daring to cup her impeccably petite, exquisitely round, utterly grabbable breasts?—

Nathan cleared his throat and replaced his glasses. His parents were staring at him like his skin had turned blue. Lillian was ignoring her mimosa while Radford had actually set down the financial section of the Journal.

"I had a long night," Nathan said, realizing they were still waiting for an answer to his mother's comments.

"At the hospital?" his mother wondered.

Nathan didn't answer, and she seemed to take that as confirmation. His father's shoulders relaxed a bit.

"Not sure how any son of mine ended up working a night shift," grumbled Radford as he snapped the paper in front of his face again. "Absurd is what it is."

"People have emergencies at night too, Raddie," Lillian said. "Although they are running you ragged, Nathaniel. You know your father is good friends with the chairman of Georgetown's board, and he has personally assured us that you would get to choose your hours at the hospital to fit your needs. It's just a phone call away, honey."

"I'm not looking for a different job," Nathan said as he raised a hand toward a server.

His parents shared a glance. But before either of them could reply, the waitress arrived.

"Welcome to BG," she said with a broad smile that revealed slightly too many teeth. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't Joni's, whose smile—every iteration—was perfect. "My name is Emily, and I'll be your server. Can I start you off with anything to drink?"

"Club soda and the salmon salad," Nathan replied shortly.

"Are you sure?" Lillian pressed. "The specials did sound very good. Perhaps you should hear them."

"Lillian, don't pester the boy." Radford's voice was typically sharp. "He orders the same thing every time, just like we both do." He flipped the paper back up while he spoke to the server. "He'll have that salad like he always does. My wife will have the crab cake, and I'll have the croque madame, no parsley."

With one hand, he waved the server away. She stole an extra glance at Nathan, and after he nodded, she disappeared, leaving him and his parents in silence while the rest of the restaurant chattered.

"You're looking well," Mom said finally. "Other than…" She waved a manicured hand toward his clothes. Today, her nails were the color of the pink seashells he and his brothers used to collect on the North Carolina beaches.

Nathan glanced into one of the many mirrors mounted on the walls, if only to determine what she saw. Aside from his disheveled appearance, he looked identical to when she'd seen him only two weeks ago. Worn out and dirty, but otherwise, there was the same brown, curly hair that flopped over his forehead because he hated the feel of hair products. Same brown eyes he'd inherited from Lillian and the long, straight nose with the crooked bridge granted by Radford. Same large body maintained at the gym every day except Thursdays.

Same, same, same.

Except right now, everything felt different. And Nathan still didn't understand why.

Joni's green eyes blinked in his mind's eye, and his lips burned a bit more in response.

"You've got to take better care of your wardrobe, Nathan," Lillian said as she took a sip of her mimosa. "Denim's for the farm, dear, not Bergdorf's. Those jeans belong in a donation bin. Where are the Stefano Riccis I sent?"

"I have no idea. Probably in my closet with everything else you sent."

Nathan already knew there was no way he would ever get rid of the jeans Joni had approved for him last night. Jeans he had never worn before then.

His mother sighed but wisely didn't press. She probably knew this line of questioning wouldn't go anywhere.

Nathan looked around the table expectantly. His parents had invited him to brunch this morning because the family was all arriving early before the gala at the end of the week. He'd expected his brothers to be there too. But there were no other jackets on the backs of chairs, and the table was only set for three.

"For God's sake, Nate," Radford said as he turned a page of his paper. "You obviously have a question. Just ask it."

Nathan frowned. He didn't have a question. Maybe some musings. Generally, he didn't ask questions unless he really needed to know the answers. Sometimes, he still forgot that it was a typical part of a conversation.

His father knew this, but Radford Hunt had never been a particularly forgiving man. Nor a patient one.

So Nathan asked, "Where are Spencer and Carrick?" mostly to put his father at ease. He honestly didn't care where his brothers were.

"Carrick arrives Monday night." Behind the paper, Radford took an audible sip of his coffee. "He's whipping votes for the next bill that includes some important earmarks."

Despite having retired from Huntwell, Radford seemed to have his fingers in the business more than ever. According to Carrick, Radford had left before the board could vote him out, but not before installing an interim CEO he could manipulate from home.

It wouldn't last forever. Which further explains his parents' sudden intensified desire to bring Nathan back into the family fold. Despite his best efforts, he had a feeling they would never give up hope that he might take his father's place at the company, if only as a puppet.

"And Spencer's in Warrenton until Friday," Lillian added. "There's a new stallion arriving. You should come down and see it, hon."

Nathan nodded. There wasn't much about Virginia he cared about anymore, but he did miss the horses. The occasional ride in Central Park couldn't compare with a gallop across Huntwell Farm's fifteen hundred acres. It was the largest original patent left in Virginia, land that had passed undisturbed through generations of Hunts since granted in the wake of the Revolutionary War.

His family all still lived on the old plantation that had been converted to a thoroughbred breeding operation near the last turn of the century. Thanks to Spencer, what had originally been a family hobby had become profitable enough that he was able to make it his full-time job while Carrick worked on behalf of Huntwell Corp. in Washington. In that way, at least, Nathan was grateful for both his brothers. Their willingness to take on parts of the family business was why Lillian and Radford had begrudgingly allowed their eldest son and assumed heir to become a lowly doctor.

For a while, anyway.

"Cary said you got yourself a new roommate," Lillian said after the server had brought Nathan's drink and refilled his parents'. "And that you're bringing her to the gala."

Radford emitted a groan, though Nathan wasn't sure if it was in response to Lillian's question or to something he'd just read in the paper, which he set back on the table.

"Girlfriend," Nathan corrected her. "She's my girlfriend. Not just a roommate."

"A girlfriend," Lillian repeated. "That you're living with."

His parents shared a look that he couldn't read. He hated it when they did that, mostly because they knew exactly how difficult it was for him to interpret their faces.

Not like Joni, whose face was an open book. Like Nathan, she almost always said what she was thinking. He had learned her expression faster than anyone he'd ever met, and while she seemed to think her lack of self-censorship made her a "mess," it was honestly one of Nathan's favorite things about her.

Joni was Joni. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Perfect.

"Well, go on. Tell us about her," Lillian prompted.

Nathan ground his teeth, though he had known it would come to this. "Her name is Giovanna, although she goes by Joni. She's a dancer, originally from the Bronx, who is currently bartending while she recovers from a recent injury to her knee."

It didn't seem adequate, this description of Joni. These were the things that might be listed on a brief bio, maybe a cover letter. But they were so unimportant when compared to all the traits he had learned about her over the past month.

But was he supposed to tell his parents about the way her green eyes changed from emerald to almost jade when she thought something was funny? Or the way her lips curved at the edges when she daydreamed, like she had a secret to share with only him? Would it even matter that she moved like a piece of art, had a laugh like a song, or had a way of making any person in the room feel like they had the most important voice in the world when she listened?

Or should he point out the obvious, which was that he was only able to notice these things in her and no one else because of his dangerously growing obsession with her?

And it was an obsession. He could admit that now to himself. To the point where he was taking three showers a day, regretting that he had ever given her bra back, and could not get the memory of the exact shape of her nipple against his tongue out of his mind.

While he was at it, maybe he should also mention that she wasn't really his girlfriend, just a young woman desperate enough to play along in exchange for free rent and his help chasing away an ex. That he couldn't bring himself to ask her if she actually liked kissing him of her own accord or if she was only doing it because others might see them and support their charade.

It was the truth. But that didn't seem right anymore either.

His parents again traded looks, and this time, even he could tell they weren't impressed.

"A dancer. Really?" His father almost looked bored by the idea. "I went out with a dancer once. When I was a nineteen-year-old grunt in the army, not a respected man of business."

"You think she…might enjoy an event like the benefit?" his mother added. "A girl like her?"

Nathan frowned. "Why wouldn't she?"

Radford rolled his eyes and grumbled something before taking another sip of coffee.

"Just that it might be a little…lonely for her with all these strange people," Lillian said.

Nathan only blinked. "She won't be lonely. She'll be with me."

"What about Charlotte Mueller?" his mother wondered far too nonchalantly. "Her mother is an absolute darling. Debbie joined the DAR last year, and you know she's a dear friend. She said Charlotte's enjoying her work with you, and she's already attending the gala with the rest of your doctor friends. You would make the perfect escort. And don't you remember how well you two got along when you were little?"

"Joni is my girlfriend," Nathan said clearly. "She's who I'm bringing, and she's important to me. I'd like you to meet her."

He found no trace of a lie in any of the statements.

"Nathaniel, there's no need for that tone. I'm only trying to help."

"Like he'd ever appreciate it," Radford muttered.

"Radford, hush," Lillian told him. "That's why we're here, isn't it?"

"What do you mean by that?" Nathan figured his father should be happy. He was asking a direct question. "You're here for the hospital gala."

Lillian sighed and twirled a bit of her ashy blond hair between her fingers. "I mean, here without your brothers. Your father and I wanted to see you alone because we're still worried about you, honey."

Nathan frowned at the endearment, which was used multiple times now. His mother only used pet names like that when she had bad news to share. Or requests she knew he wouldn't like.

Nathan remained quiet when the server appeared with their orders and waited patiently for his mother to explain, as he knew she would eventually.

"Look at him," Radford finally said. He had set down the paper again to cut up a few bites of toast, cheese, ham, and egg. "Say something like that to anyone else, and they want to know why. They ask questions. They respond, for God's sake. From him, it's nothing."

"Raddy, please," Lillian chided. "He's made progress. Not like when he was a child, you remember. He barely talked at all back then."

"I'm also still here," Nathan added shortly as he picked up his fork. He hated when they did that—talked about him like a zoo animal. "I'm just listening. You're apparently still worried about some nonexistent issue with my social skills. I suppose you'd like to tell me why and what you'd like to do about it."

Lillian took a large sip of her mimosa, looking a bit like she wished it were something stronger.

"Your father and I have decided…that it's time for Isla to go back to North Carolina."

Nathan froze, fork poised over the filet of grilled salmon, and looked up at his mother. He could have sworn she flinched. But only a little. "Say that again."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a request.

"She's in school," Nathan said. "And she's making progress. You'll ruin all of that."

"It's inappropriate," Radford said. "The press is going to find out about her, and that's the last thing we need after what Carrick put us through last year."

"Isla has nothing to do with Carrick's indiscretions with senators' wives," Nathan said. "She's a child."

"She's seventeen."

"With the social skills of a seven-year-old. You know this." Nathan couldn't help the way his voice heightened. He tried never to lose his temper because when he did, it seemed to scare people. But Isla was a pressure point his parents like to find.

"And that damned school is saying she'll need to stay there for another five years or more," his father bit back. "When we signed those forms, no one thought it would take this long."

Nathan stared at his plate, fighting the urge to throw it to the ground just to hear the porcelain shatter. "You promised. I've done everything you've asked of me, and you promised you would take care of her."

"Sometimes promises have to change." His mother's voice was trying to be kind. He could hear that. But it wasn't working. "We just don't have the bandwidth to continue overseeing her like this. Of course, if you came home…perhaps you could take over. She could visit the farm. Really be part of the family, since that's what you want so badly."

Silence descended over the table like the thick bechamel sauce oozing from Radford's toast, cloyingly rich and far too heavy.

Nathan stared down at his salmon, weighing a bite. But suddenly, even the texture of the salmon looked wrong. His stomach roiled, and it had nothing to do with the hangover.

He set down his fork and pushed his plate away.

"That's impossible," he said. "The court said it's impossible. Because of you."

"The court ruled that you have no legal rights with Isla," his mother said. "But since your father and I were able to procure guardianship, we do. Including deciding what's best for Isla's immediate future." She looked at Radford. "I think we can oversee them both in our own home, don't you, Raddy?"

Radford gave a curt nod.

"Then it's settled," Lillian said with a bright smile. "You'll sell your shares in that bitty little practice, split your time between Georgetown and Huntwell, and come home where you belong. Isla can stay at Ferndale, and she'll relax knowing you're close. Everybody gets what they want."

She looked around the table. Nathan wondered if she was expecting applause.

Unfortunately, by the time she was finished speaking, Nathan's hands were shaking in his lap, fingers pinching his thighs so tightly his knuckles were almost white.

Rage. That's what this feeling was. Pure, blinding rage.

"Nathaniel?" Lillian seemed very far away. "Doesn't that work out just fine?"

Nathan closed his eyes, counted to ten, then opened them. He had to do it four more times before he could unclench his teeth.

"Nate," his father barked. "For God's sake, speak."

"Since I was a child, I have done everything you have ever asked of me." Somehow, Nathan managed to keep his voice even. Kept it from shaking.

Radford snorted. "That's a fairy tale I haven't heard before."

Nathan's eyes were as sharp as knives. "It's the truth. I'm sorry I haven't been the son you wanted. I genuinely am. None of us turned out the way you planned. You needed smart, charismatic leaders to take over once you retired. Instead, you got Spencer, Carrick, and me."

"Dr. Doolittle, Gordon Gecko, and Rain Man," his father muttered. "Lucky fucking me."

"Radford!"

"Well, it's true," he snapped at her, and Lillian obediently quieted.

Nathan didn't bother arguing with him. He'd heard enough versions of that insult over the years that it no longer stung.

"Yes, Dad. You wanted an acceptable heir to your self-made throne," he continued. "And while I admit I have never become exactly what you wished, I have, in fact, done nearly everything you requested over the last ten years. You wanted me to attend board meetings while I was in the middle of my residency? I spent hours reading quarterly reports instead of sleeping after thirty-six-hour shifts. You demanded I see a therapist that you chose? Dr. Mitchell is officially my longest adult relationship. You insisted I still live with a roommate? I've spent my thirties acting like Bert and fucking Ernie despite being one of the highest-paid surgeons in the city."

"Nathaniel," Lillian said as she set a hand on his shoulder. "You just struggled so much as a boy, as a young man. We saw you needed the push, is all. We have only ever done this for your own good."

"You did it for yourselves," Nathan snapped back. "And I did it for her. For Isla. Because you said you would take care of her when the court ruled I could not."

"And whose fault was that?" His father spoke through his teeth, his gray eyes somehow darker than the steel on the table.

"Mine." Nathan's response was immediate. "I was twenty-one and barely able to speak after what happened. As you never cease reminding me. But this…" He shook his head. "So, now you'll sacrifice a young girl's future just to get what you want. And you'd have me throw away an entire life I've built for myself just to control me. Why can't you shape Carrick or Spencer into what you need? They're already in Virginia with you."

"Because Carrick and Spencer are parasites without a lick of sense between them, and you know it," his father finally burst out, his silverware landing on his plate with a clatter. A few tables next to them went quiet. "You might be a social idiot, but you're smarter than everyone else in this family. You're the only one of my sons who can take over my life's work."

"And what about my life's work?" Nathan asked.

"You're only thirty-four. You don't have a life's work."

"It took me a decade to become a surgeon. It's what I'm supposed to do."

"No, what you are supposed to do is be a goddamn Hunt," his father barked. "It's a fact, not a choice. And the sooner you get it through your thick head, the better."

They stared at each other for a long time. Minutes passed while the clamor of the restaurant merged with the roar in Nathan's head.

Eventually, though, the roar quieted into a low growl of resignation. One that, unfortunately, Nathan knew well.

"I need time," he said as he sat back in his chair and stared at his full plate of food. "A few months, at least. To sell the practice. Finish the surgeries I've already committed to doing. Transition patients. I can't just leave."

Lillian glanced at Radford, who had already gone back to reading his paper. "I should think that would be just fine, don't you, Raddy?"

Her voice sounded like a children's song. Far too happy in the face of unbearable tension.

Nathan's father only grunted.

Lillian turned to Nathan with a brilliant smile. "There you have it. Let's see, two months would put us right at the Gold Cup, as luck would have it."

"That's not luck," Nathan said to the table. "It's a calendar."

"We'll have you home right at the start of the season." Lillian beamed. "We'll celebrate your homecoming then. A family reunited."

Nathan didn't respond. His mind was too busy working.

Because he had two months, starting now, to figure out how to take his life back from the people who had owned it from the day he was born.

And he wasn't sure if Joni would like what he had in mind.