Chapter 56
Chapter Fifty-Six
Why did my sister stare at the orange juice carton?
It said concentrate.
—From Bash’s dad joke collection
Bash
Aten-year age gap could be an insurmountable boundary for sibling bonding.
By the time Honor was born, Bash had been barreling toward puberty.
Her health crisis, however, fostered a deep connection between them.
There had been times, especially as they both hit the accelerator on their careers, that he and Honor would barely see each other once a year.
But their connection never wavered. Whether it was texting frequently between projects or FaceTiming from various movie sets around the world, they treasured that contact and ensured it remained a necessary part of their lives.
Still, nothing beat quality, in-person time with his sister.
Honor was the one person who understood everything about his world.
They navigated the superficial nature of their chosen industry together, often guided back to reality through the deep love of their parents.
Jock and Clem always managed to ensure their children knew they were adored, all while keeping their marriage at the center of their family—a tower of strength defying the shifting sands of a mercurial, inconstant world.
When Bash woke that Friday morning, alone in the bed still rumpled from him and Arabella declaring their love with their bodies and their loud, but unspoken words, he knew there was only one person to turn to for emotional support. Because he was deeply in love. And freaking the fuck out.
Sometimes, you just needed your sister.
He stopped by his favorite coffee shop, where he picked up a small latte for Honor—he knew she was only enjoying one cup daily, and he’d offered to grab that plus a chocolate croissant for each of them.
He didn’t need those calories, but he’d work them off later.
Brinder and Honor were building a state-of-the-art gym and Pilates studio on their spacious grounds.
In the meantime, Brinder, his friend, Cole, and now Bash all still used the private gym at Brinder’s former condo.
“Hello, the house!” he called, entering using the code he’d memorized during his stay at his sister’s guest house next to the large pool they’d installed.
“In the breakfast room,” his sister’s disembodied voice answered from a speaker near his head.
He pressed a button. “I’ll grab a map and see if I can find my way through the palace,” he teased through the built-in mic, smirking at the image of Honor rolling her eyes at the other end.
Bash strolled into the sunny room, which was enclosed on three sides by floor-to-ceiling windows. Honor had designed it to be similar to her sanctuary at her home in Wales.
“Good morrow, dear sister.” Bash dropped a kiss on Honor’s head. Her hair was in a low, messy ponytail, little Jude nursing contentedly at her breast.
“Well met, dear brother,” she replied, not missing a beat. “Wherefore come you hither?”
Ok, he could acknowledge that the interactions among his immediate family of thespians probably seemed weird at first to outsiders. But he loved it. Wouldn’t change a thing.
Bash plopped into the ridiculously comfortable leather couch his sister and Brinder referred to as ‘Couchie’ for some odd but fitting reason. “Can’t a brother pop over and see his sister and his little nephew?”
“He could.” Honor arched a knowing brow. “But this particular brother carries with him the scent of pathetic desperation.”
Bash snarled teasingly. “Rude.”
“But am I wrong?” she asked superciliously.
“It’s not desperation, pathetic or otherwise, HonBon. It’s—I could use—I need—” he stammered, unsure how to frame the words despite every combination of them whirling through his brain since Chicane woke him with his morning zoomies and chattering.
“Do you think your uncle has lost his powers of articulate speech, Judie?” Honor murmured, popping the baby off her breast and tucking him against her chest, his legs scrunching adorably as she patted his back.
He glowered at her with no heat. “I came for advice, ok?”
“Would this have to do with a certain chief of orthopedics?”
He nodded.
“And let’s see…” She tapped her chin. “You entered into what you thought would be an easy, fun, low-stakes marriage of convenience. Only, now you’ve gone and…what? Fallen in love with Arabella Remington?”
Bash closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes. I told her I loved her last night.”
A wide smile danced across Honor’s face, her dimple popping. “And did she return the sentiment?”
“She did.”
“Outstanding! Another Wheatley actor in love with a doctor. Excellent combo! Five out of five stars. Highly recommend.” She paused her gleeful reaction, cocking her head. “Sorry. I seem to be the only one kicking up her proverbial heels in celebration. What’s wrong?”
Bash chuckled. “Fear thee not. I’m kicking up my inner heels too.” He fixed his attention on a square of refracted sunshine on the rustic, distressed hardwood floor.
“Then I’m not clear on the problem here, brother.”
“I’m just—I’m terrified that she’s going to hurt me.
Or, worse, that I’m going to hurt her. Inadvertently of course, but hurt her nonetheless.
I’ve never done this before, Honor. And she’s—” He paused, searching for the words.
“She’s been badly broken. It’s like she’s carefully put herself back together, but I can see the fracture lines.
And I’m terrified I’m going to fuck this up somehow.
The idea of that wrecks me. I—I’m battling this bizarre blend of paralysis and wanting to rush everything with her because I can’t wait to do all the things with her for the rest of my life.
” He released a massive exhale and laced his fingers on the top of his head. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, BashBash,” his sister sighed, watching him with sympathetic eyes the exact color and shape of his.
“Welcome to true love. Where the only thing more frightening than loving someone is the idea of not loving them. Where you realize you’ve been given something so special, so rare, and now you have to protect it.
Nurture it. Because anything else is no longer acceptable. Life without them…isn’t even a choice.”
Bash was silent for long moments. “Damn,” he eventually breathed out. “That’s it exactly. It’s like…I have been given this precious gift. And I have no idea if I’m good enough. If I deserve it.”
Honor stood and shifted his now-burped and sleeping nephew into a wicker Moses basket lined with soft cotton batting. Then she settled in on the opposite end of the couch, tucking her legs under her body, and faced him. “You love her that much?”
“I do,” he whispered.
She lifted one shoulder. “Then you have to trust enough in yourself and in her to let that love grow into what it’s meant to be. It’s the biggest leap of faith you’ll ever take. But there’s nothing like the feeling of sticking that landing.” She grinned at him.
He returned the smile, clarity and ensuing relief at her words coursing through him. “We’re not gymnasts, sister.”
Honor shrugged. “I played one once.”
“You did indeed. And quite well.”
They shared the single-dimpled smiles entertainment reporters loved to say was as much Jud Wheatley’s legacy to his grandchildren as the acting gene.
“I’m proud of you for going after Paradise, Bash. You’re going to give the performance of a lifetime. And I can’t wait to see it. World’s proudest sister.”
He dropped his head, his heart filling with emotion. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, frowning. “What if I fuck up?”
“The role?”
“No. Well, yes, that too. But…loving Arabella?”
Honor laughed softly. “We all fuck up in our relationships, Bash. Sometimes, we even cause pain to the person we love most in the world. We’re human and fallible.
It’s inevitable. As much as it feels like it some days, we don’t live in fantasy.
We live in a world of human emotion and human error.
Even in the best of relationships, sometimes a hurt bomb gets detonated. ”
“Then what do you do?”
“You own it. You apologize. Then you do better. You cradle that love in your heart like the precious gift it is, and you make sure Arabella Remington knows and sees it—in your words and your actions.”
“I can do that.” Bash nodded then smirked. “When did you get so damn wise?”
“When I was lucky enough to rediscover what loving, and being loved by, Brinder Desai feels like.”
“I think this goes down as our deepest conversation ever,” he mused with a wink.
“I know! Too much. Too much! Subject change?”
“Sure…”
“Want to join me in some non-malicious industry gossip and speculation?”
“Do you even need to ask?” Bash rubbed his hands gleefully. “Lay on, McDuff. Let’s do this.”