Chapter 3 Crazy
Crazy
Henry
Elliot doesn’t like having his hands strapped to a railing with his own tie. He especially doesn’t like dangling over the edge of a cliff.
At least, that’s my assumption from his blubbering.
I move my lips into a smile. “You really whiffed it on the steps.”
“Help,” he wails.
“Are you a strong swimmer? You know what? Don’t bother answering.
At this height, the water would feel like concrete, either way.
If you slip, keep your body rigid. Go in feet first. If you can slow the fall by grabbing onto the cliff face on your way down, it’ll increase your odds of survival.
” He’s not going to fall. I’ve got him trussed up nice and tight, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Help me,” he squeals.
I raise an eyebrow. “When you tripped, who helpfully tied you to the railing in case your grip was weak? Honestly, I feel unappreciated right now.”
“Pull me up.”
“We need to talk first.” I lower to a crouch beside him, my forearms resting on my knees. “Get a lot of women throwing themselves at you, do you? The cashier at the market? The barista where you get your coffee? Every woman you meet wants you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Sure you did. You think if a beautiful woman smiles, she’s issuing an invitation.
” I grimace. “That’s gross, Elliot. But, it’s the strangest coincidence, because it turns out most straight men who meet my wife actually do want her.
Well, who wouldn’t? She’s brilliant. Kind. Fucking gorgeous, am I right?”
Elliot kicks his feet when his toehold slips, rocks skittering and bouncing off the cliff face before plunging into the sea below. His eyes flare in panic.
“Am I right, Elliot?”
“Yes.”
“So, I have a little skill with lip reading.” I pinch my finger and thumb together to demonstrate.
“And I’m even better at body language. I’ve studied it thoroughly.
It’s a bit of a hobby. So, I’m going to tell you what I saw.
I saw a man who took one look at my wife and decided he was entitled to her time and attention. Am I right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Am I right?”
“Yes,” he wails.
“First, you attempted emotional manipulation by trying to make her feel insecure about using a cane. You were clumsy as hell about it, but even if you weren’t, Franki can recognize that shit from a mile away. The real question is: What kind of wanker does something like that?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“You’re smarter than that. You do know.”
“A wanker like me?” he sobs.
I take a dramatically bracing breath of the salty air. “A wanker like you. Then you disparaged her intelligence. Does negging really work on anyone? It’s so . . . obvious.”
He blinks back at me.
“Does it?”
His chin wobbles. “Not yet.”
“Not ever. You wanted to show her you were the smartest person here. Instead, you made it clear you’re the most insecure.
If you want to impress women, Elliot, you have to listen to them.
Respect them.” I pull my switchblade from its sheath on my calf, flick it open, and use it to scrape the tip of my thumbnail.
“You have to be a good person.” I spread my arms. “Look at me. That woman loves me like I hung the moon. Do you know why?”
“Because you have money?” he sobs.
I scoff. “Because I treat her like she’s the sun and the stars. Isn’t that poetic?”
“You’re crazy. Help me up.”
I fumble the blade and “catch” it half an inch from his nose. “Oops.”
“It’s poetic,” he cries.
“I think so too.”
“I’m sorry I was gross. I’m sorry I tried to neg Dr. McRae. I’m sorry. Please let me up.”
“Sibling rivalry can be so tedious, especially when one sibling doesn’t even realize his brother is jealous enough to deliberately undermine the most important day of his life.”
Tears stream down Elliot’s cheeks and snot bubbles from his nose. “Everyone thinks Noah is perfect. It’s not fair.”
“Your brother once stepped in front of a gunman to protect my wife and save my dog. He was terrified, and he did it anyway. You don’t deserve it, but he’d do the same for you. What do you think I’d do for a man like that?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“What. Do you think. I would do?”
“A-anything?”
“With that in mind, what else would you like to apologize for?”
“The menu?”
I nod wisely. “You failed to recognize that chefs, as a collective, have notoriously short tempers and access to very sharp knives. Had you succeeded in altering that menu, I’d be very concerned for your welfare, Elliot.”
He looks down at the sea below, then back up at me, his expression a cross between incredulity and desperation.
“What else would you like to apologize for?”
“The . . . cake topper?”
“Are you asking me?”
“The cake topper. I’m sorry. I broke the cake topper on purpose.”
“I know. I’ll send you the bill to replace it. You may have to sell a kidney to afford it, but we’ll work out those details later. And how will the rest of the weekend go from here?” I ask.
“I won’t be a problem.”
“I hope that’s true. This place is crawling with McRaes.
And, if I’m honest, I’m, by far, the most reasonable of the whole bunch.
My brother-in-law, Dean? The big guy who looks chronically ready to knock heads together?
That’s because he is. My brother, Gabriel, thinks torture is funny.
Bronwyn doesn’t tolerate bullies. My parents .
. . the less said there, the better. And my wife knows five ways to render you incapable of fathering children with that cane of hers. ”
“You won’t have to worry. I won’t cause any more problems.”
I grasp his forearm and use the knife to slice through the tie. It flutters to the sea below. Then I clamp the hilt between my teeth and yank Elliot up and back onto the steps where he sprawls, clinging and puking.
I’ve barely re-sheathed the knife when a middle-aged woman with a basket over her arm makes her way down the stairs. Her dark brows come together with concern.
I smile in reassurance. “Ha paura delle altezze.” He’s afraid of heights.
She shakes her head with a chuckle, likely as amused by my atrocious accent as she is by Elliot’s clinging to the steps. When she continues on her way, I squeeze his shoulder. “Up and at ’em.”
He staggers to his feet, and I run a full visual inspection. He’s a bit dusty and windblown, and crying, of course, but he doesn’t have a mark on him. I did promise Franki I’d do my best to be pleasant.
“If you need to clean up and take a minute to calm down before dinner, I’ll make your excuses. Be there in time for the toasts.”
He nods.
“And, when you go home to England, get some therapy, buddy. You are fucked up.”