It’s not only us who’ve noticed the difference, either. People around the office are more at ease with us, meetings are smoother and more productive, and Dad and I even had lunch one day without Boston needing to intervene. Major progress.

  “Is Jayme coming tonight?” Dad asks, carefully stepping into a touchier topic from the superficial event humor.

  I can’t contain the smile that steals my face. “She is. She’s meeting me here because she knew I needed to be onsite early.”

  Dad hums agreeably as he takes a sip of wine. We return to overlooking the party in companionable silence. I’ll admit that I’m scanning for Jayme, looking for her blonde hair and inviting smile. But that is not who I find.

  “Motherfucker.”

  “What’s wrong?” Dad responds quickly, following my line of vision and spying my brother. He sighs heavily, and for the first time, I feel the sadness that resides beneath the disappointment I’d always seen. “Did you invite your brother?”

  I glare at Dad incredulously. “Of course not. I’m just getting over an image issue. The last thing I need is to remind people who I’m related to. Or that he’s associated with Americana Land.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” With a straight back and a clenched jaw that looks vaguely familiar to the one I’ve seen in the mirror, he takes two steps toward Archer.

  I catch up to his side. “We’ll take care of this. Together.”

  Across the garden, Archer is smiling gregariously, looking like the epitome of a rich playboy as he laughs at something Mrs. Stephens, the billion-dollar grand dame heiress, just said. He’s wearing a nice suit, though it’s gray instead of the standard black, but it at least looks well-fitted.

  “Archer. Mrs. Stephens.” Dad interrupts their conversation without apology. Before Archer can say something, he smoothly tells Mrs. Stephens, “I believe I saw Delilah Jones over by the bartender getting a gimlet. Have you seen her lately?”

  He knows that’s a dangling carrot she will not be able to resist. Those two have been frenemies for at least a decade, smiley face to face while clearly trying to one-up each other in terms of fashion extravagance or other ostentatious displays of wealth. Hopefully, that means each of them ponying up huge donations tonight.

  “Oh! I haven’t seen her in ages!” Mrs. Stephens leans to look around Dad toward the bar. “Ooh! She looks amazing!” she raves. “I need to see what new secrets she’s discovered. If you’ll excuse me, boys.”

  She pats Archer’s arm to excuse herself and wanders off. While I’m sure that their conversation will be sugary sweet while also laced with arsenic, I know they won’t cause a scene.

  Personally, I don’t think Delilah Jones has done anything other than pull her hair back a bit tighter and had an expert makeup application, but what do I know? Hopefully, she’ll share whatever tricks she’s got with Mrs. Stephens, or at the least be flattered that she looks so good that people think she’s had work done.

  Either way, Dad got what he wanted—a moment alone with Archer.

  I force a smile to my face, knowing it’s more of a feral grimace than anything welcoming. “Archer, what are you doing here?”

  He grins easily, taking a healthy swallow of the amber liquid in his glass. Scotch, by the smell of it. Dammit, I should have checked. Most of the permanent Americana Land staff know that Archer Steen is not to be given anything stronger than a Sprite. But he’s been out of the picture so long, that lesson might have been ignored or forgotten. “Thought I’d come see what the family’s up to. These parties were always so much fun. Remember?”

  His eyes cut from Dad to me, measuring the impact of every word, every second. Rather than letting Dad get going, I grunt, “I do remember.”

  I’m thinking of the time Archer and I were working the party, acting as teenage representatives of Steen Amusements, Americana Land, and Dad, and instead of sticking to the party line of ‘watch for the fresh, new rides and fun, Broadway-level shows’, Archer had gone completely off-script . . .

  “Great? I guess if you call decades-old, county fair-quality rides ‘great’, then sure, that’s how things are going.”

  “Archer, tell Mr. Richardson that you’re kidding,” I say, trying to mitigate the damage my brother can do in one sentence. When Archer’s quiet, I speak for him. “He’s joking. He just has a bad sense of humor.” When he doesn’t immediately agree, I bump him with my shoulder, trying to encourage him to get his shit straight.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Richardson doesn’t look convinced, and Archer smirks at me like the favored child who was gifted a pony for his birthday while I received a plastic horse cowboy toy from the dollar store.

  Still trying to undo Archer’s work, I add, “Dad’s updated our classics, like the Founding Fathers Carousel, because they’re the favorites people return to time and time again. Those rides hold their families’ history along with the history of Americana Land. But we’re also adding new attractions, like the Baked Alaska, our seasonal sledding hill with a firepit and s’mores station at the base. And the upcoming show, ‘One If By Land, Two If By Sea’.”

  I sound like a used car salesman on his first day on the job, but it’s the best I can do. I’m just a kid mostly repeating what I’ve heard at the dinner table. Not the PR department.

  “Interesting,” Mr. Richardson says dryly before excusing himself. He walks away, and I can almost read his mind and the shade he’s going to throw on the park after this. Pissed off, I turn to Archer.

  “What the fuck, Archer?” I hiss.

  He shrugs as though he’s not torpedoing Dad’s company. Our company. Or at least what will become our company. Archer’s just happy to be here, fucking off with free access to champagne and appetizers.

  “It doesn’t matter. Dad’s never going to turn over the reins of this place to us. It’s his baby, the only one he cared about.” He snorts, correcting himself. “Other than Toni.”

  Realization dawns. This is about Toni, who’s been sweet and innocent and is still not too sure how she fits in around a house that’s probably bigger than the entire apartment building she was living in before things became public. “Are you seriously jealous of your little sister? Is that what this is about?”

  “Dad has been putting Izzy and Toni before us for years. We knew it, even when we didn’t know why or what he was doing. But we do now,” Archer sneers.

  Archer has a point, actually. The news of Dad’s long-term infidelity and second family is fresh and new and sharply painful. And Archer’s been taking Mom’s ditching us extra hard, even sitting on Dad’s front steps with a backpack, vehemently telling everyone that she’s coming for him and that she wouldn’t leave him behind.

  She never came. And in front of me, I realize that on some level, Archer is still that kid on the porch steps, pouting at being forgotten by one parent and never appreciating the parent who loved him unconditionally, even long after he deserved it.

  “Yeah, we used to grab as many desserts as we could and stuff them in our pockets, then we’d sneak champagne by pouring it into the water glasses until they were nearly full to the brim,” Archer says as if what we did was always just good, clean fun. “And we’d sit under the carousel, down there with the dirty mechanisms in our penguin suits, and gorge ourselves while we talked about what we’d do to make this place actually fun. Remember that, Carson?”

  I’ll admit, we did have some fun together as boys, but those weren’t the good old days, and Kesha and Macklemore aren’t sitting around somewhere singing about us. Archer grew up. And I grew up.

  And we definitely grew apart

  “I do. I’m actually following through on those plans, making Americana Land better for today and the future,” I tell him sternly, my voice a few degrees above freezing only by pure effort. Archer notices and scoffs.

  “Making Americana Land bigger, better, wow-er,” he mimics in a chiding voice. “You always were a people pleaser, the classic middle child.”

  It’s more of a dig about Toni’s existence than any of my personality traits, and we all know it.

  “That’s enough, Son. I think you’ve done what you intended tonight, and it’d be best if you leave now,” Dad says tightly. He’s trying his best to keep his cool, and for once, I’m on Dad’s team.

  We’re not perfect, but after everything I’ve done to help Americana Land’s reputation, I will not let Archer torpedo it again in one drunken outburst. This is bigger than a single, sullen teenage conversation with a donor. This is our charity event, and the hospital is depending on us to fundraise, not make a scene with our family drama.

  “Time for you to go, Archer,” I growl softly, grabbing his bicep tightly to physically drag him out if need be.

  He makes a quick move, breaking my grip at the same time he shouts, “Get your hands off me!”

  As he wanted, everyone’s eyes turn to us curiously. I can already see heads tilting together as people begin to whisper.

  He tugs his jacket down, straightening it as though I mussed him by merely touching him. “Are you saying my donation isn’t as good as everyone else’s? Think of the children.”

  His volume is loud enough to draw gasps from multiple people.

  “Archer, do not try to manipulate your misbehavior.” Dad matches his volume and forceful energy, not putting up with Archer’s strategic posturing and very nearly correcting him like the wayward teen he once was. “Your exploits are well-known . . . unfortunately.”

  Archer’s face reddens as he looks around, realizing that the attention he’s receiving isn’t leaning his way as he expected. Some of the crowd’s reaction is due to the fact that Dad is a respected man among them and Archer is the quintessential spoiled brat child that many of them can relate to.

  “Hello, gentlemen,” a female voice sings from right behind me. I flinch reflexively, but it’s Jayme who places her arm around my waist. “Oh! Archer, so nice to meet you. I’ve heard quite a bit about you. I’m Jayme Rice.”

  She extends her hand out in greeting, and part of me wants to stop her from shaking his hand. I don’t want Archer to even touch her, as if my brother’s poison will somehow infect her. But I swallow the growl trying to climb my throat in favor of some vestige of manners.

  Archer’s confusion is obvious as he looks from Jayme to me and back before he takes her offered hand. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, as I’ve heard nothing about you.”

  He means it to be a dismissive barb, but Jayme’s already gotten what she wanted . . . a calmer, quieter exchange between the three Steen men. Everyone’s attention is slowly starting to wane now that there’s not a fight brewing. She’s a fucking miracle worker.

  I want to take time to appreciate how beautiful she looks, but with this Archer situation still on a tenuous edge, I can’t. But I get a quick impression of a blue on white print dress with a short hem and a floaty train. Mostly, that’s because when I glance down, I see that Jayme’s tanned, toned legs are visible down to her white strappy heels. Her lips are blood red and smiling at Archer in an ominous way that makes me eager to hear what’s about to come out of her mouth. I’m not one to let anyone fight my battles for me, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that Jayme needs zero help and is particularly skilled in arenas like this. So I let her work her magic while staying very close and watching carefully, ready to jump in if need be.

  She laughs as if Archer’s told a joke. “Of course you haven’t heard a thing about me. Why would Carson or Ben tell you anything? You’ve been gone for nearly . . . what’s it been . . . ten years?”

  Archer clenches his jaw, gritting out from behind his teeth, “Five, almost six.”

  Jayme scans his face, frowning. “Hmm, it looks as though it’s been longer.”

  “You bitch.”

  In a flash, fury rises in my gut and my fists clench. I’m nanoseconds away from punching my brother in the nose for daring to speak to Jayme like that when she pinches the shit out of my waist where her hand was resting so gently a moment before. “Ouch,” I hiss, reflexively jerking the chunk of skin she’s got ahold of out of her reach.

  And then she steps in front of me. I want to push her behind me protectively, but I realize that in moving between Archer and me, she’s effectively protecting me. Not from Archer, but from my own reactions and the repercussions they would have.

  Her face flat and no-nonsense, Jayme tells Archer, “What we’re not going to do is get in a dick measuring contest here. Because news flash . . . I’ll win.”

  The absolute weirdness of what she just said makes all of us blink, and I remind myself to ask whether she did that on purpose. I wouldn’t put it past her because she’s too smooth as she continues on. “Not in actual dickage,” she clarifies. “I don’t have one of those weak, sensitive but fun to play with appendages. I’m talking nature, soul, Archer. You’re right, you don’t know me, but I know every little thing about you. Even things dear old Dad and your brother over here don’t know.”

  The veil on her threat is damn near as transparent as loose-weave gauze, and Archer raises a brow as he takes Jayme’s measure, realizing for the first time that he might’ve misjudged her. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he spits out. When Jayme stands stoic and strong, not showing an ounce of fear, nor any sign of answering, Archer turns to the one person he thinks he can manipulate best. “Dad, are you gonna let Carson’s latest whore talk to me this way?”

  Dad chuckles. “Jayme is many things, but she’s no whore. And she’s earned the right to speak to you any way she’d like.”

  Archer definitely didn’t expect that. He sputters, eyes wildly clicking from Dad, to Jayme, to me as if he’s not sure who to aim at next.

  “You should go,” Jayme tells him quietly.

  As a last-ditch effort, Archer lifts his chin proudly, nose in the air. “What about my donation? If you think I’m giving to the hospital after this treatment, you’re dead wrong.”

  It’s Jayme’s turn to scoff. “You were never going to donate anything, and we all know it. Hell, I know how much is in your checking account right now.” Archer flinches, and even Dad and I side-eye each other behind Jayme. Does she really know that? “Did you have to borrow money to buy a ticket? Consider it refunded.”

  There’s a hint of actual care in the question she asked, and I do wonder what else she knows about my brother’s current life. She researched everything else to an obsessive degree, but it never occurred to me that she would dig into my long-lost brother too. He’s not an issue or even a thought for me, but Jayme apparently wanted to cover all the bases, including any potential pitfalls. I should’ve known better. She’s nothing if not thorough.

  She turns around to Dad and holds out her hand expectantly. Taking the hint, Dad reaches into his pocket and pulls out several hundred-dollar bills. I watch as Archer’s eyes widen ever so slightly, as though he’s eager to get his grubby hands on that much cash.

  Jayme smiles sweetly. “Oh, no, Ben. Charity is for the children who need it, like the ones in the hospital. Archer only needs his ticket refunded, nothing more and nothing less.” She keeps three of the bills and tucks the rest in the belt on her dress.

  “Here you go, Archer.” She holds the bills up, and he snatches them from her hand. Patting her belt, she says, “And this will go into the big Plexiglass box at the front of the Garden. Thanks, Ben.”

  Dad chuckles as Archer glowers. “This isn’t over.”

  He’s trying to save a little face, but it’s too late. Jayme’s already shown her hand, and it’s full of aces, so though she’s physically slightly shorter than Archer, she manages to look down her nose at him. When his threats don’t get the desired reaction, Archer spins on his heel and stomps out. We all watch until he gets through the gate of the Great Garden and disappears out of sight.

  “Holy shit, I thought you two were bad. That one is definitely worse than you combined,” Jayme jokes as she turns her attention back to Dad and me.

  “Hey!” I retort, but inside I’m smiling a little. I know what she means, and it doesn’t sting as much as it used to.

  Dad, though, cringes painfully. “I know he’s . . . what he is, but Archer is still my son. I’m sad that the choices I made affected him so much, but I’m disappointed that he didn’t take control of his life and do better in spite of me.”

  I’ve never heard Dad’s regret and pain quite so clearly. “Archer isn’t your fault, Dad. There are plenty of things you can be blamed for, and I’ve been doing a fair job of laying those at your feet for years. But he’s like that because he wants to be. You can’t make him get over his past. Only he can.”

  I guess Jayme’s turned me into Dr. Phil too, or in healing some of my own shit with Dad, I don’t want him to blame himself for Archer’s failures.

  “Thank you,” Dad chokes out, fighting down emotions I’m betting will come up again later when we don’t have an event to manage. To Jayme, he adds, “And thank you too. Are you sure you won’t reconsider that job offer?”

  Dad melodramatically winks at me to let me know it’s a joke this time, and the three of us laugh.

  “Glad things are going better over here,” Toni says, walking up. She’s holding hands with a guy I’ve never seen. “With everything going to hell on a speeding train, I figured it couldn’t get worse. What better time to introduce you to my date? Dad, Carson . . . this is Topper. Topper, this is my Dad. You can call him Ben. And Carson’s . . . friend? Jayme.”

  Toni’s eyebrows lift in question as she tries to suss out what Jayme and I are, and Dad holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Topper.”

  They shake, and then Topper offers a hand to me. It takes me a long second to react because I’m looking from Toni to Topper, trying to figure out the dynamic here. Toni is someone who’s never met a stranger and is bold and full of personality. She said that Topper was quiet, but this guy is tall, skinny, with tattooed fingers and hands, and looks like he might shit himself over meeting Dad and me. He’s polite, but judging by his rapid breathing and clammy hand, he’s also very nearly having a panic attack. “Hi.”