Chapter 24 #2
"Then your memory is selective." He began to pace, his hooves striking the wooden floor in an agitated rhythm.
"Every accomplishment I had, you diminished.
Every relationship I built, you undermined.
And Jen—" He stopped, turning to face his brother.
"Jen was supposed to be different. She was supposed to prove that I could be chosen for who I was, not what I looked like. And you took that from me."
"I took nothing that wasn't already leaving."
"Bullshit."
"She came to me, Thallos." Silas's voice hardened.
"She approached me. Started asking questions about you, about your past, about what you were really like behind the charm.
And yes—I told her things. Things that were true.
That you'd never committed to anyone. That you ran when things got difficult.
That underneath all that magnetic appeal was a man who didn't know how to love anyone but himself. "
"You seduced her."
"I gave her what she was looking for. An excuse to leave you before you left her.
" Silas picked up his wine glass again, taking a long drink.
"But you're right about one thing. I did it partly out of jealousy.
I'd spent my entire life being the competent one, the reliable one, the one who worked twice as hard for half the recognition.
And you just—existed. Smiled and charmed your way through everything while I ground myself to dust trying to earn what you were given freely. "
The confession hung between them, ugly and honest.
He felt some of his anger drain away, replaced by something more complicated. "I never asked for any of it. The gifts, the attention—I didn't want them."
"I know that now." Silas's voice was quieter. "I've had five years to think about it. Five years of running the business Father always intended for you, of being the 'good son' who stayed, and realizing that none of it made me happy. I got everything I thought I wanted, and it meant nothing."
"So what? You came here to apologize?"
"I came here to—" Silas broke off, frustration crossing his features. "I don't know what I came here for. To see you. To understand how you could walk away from everything and seem… content. To figure out if there was any path back to being brothers instead of enemies."
He was quiet for a long moment, processing. The rage that had driven him here had faded to something more complicated—a tangle of resentment and understanding and the faint, persistent ache of missing someone he'd once considered his closest friend.
They'd been close, once. Before the rivalry had poisoned everything. Before they'd both become too proud to admit they were hurting.
"I'm not the same person I was five years ago," he said finally. "I'd like to think I've learned a few things. About running away. About what actually matters."
"The florist."
"Marigold. Yes. And this place—the vineyard, the town, the people here. They see me differently than people back home ever did. They don't care about the family name or the magic or any of it. They just… like me. For who I am."
"And who is that?"
The question should have been mocking. It wasn't.
He considered. "Someone who's trying to be worthy of being chosen. Not because I'm charming or attractive or any of the surface things—but because I actually show up. Because I stay when things get hard instead of running."
Silas was quiet for a long time, his dark eyes fixed on some middle distance.
"I've never had that," he said finally. "Someone who chose me just for me. Everything I've ever had, I had to take or earn or prove I deserved. And even then—" He laughed bitterly. "Even then, it never felt like enough."
"Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you can't earn being loved. You just have to let it happen."
"Spoken like someone who's been loved too easily."
"Or like someone who finally figured out that the hard way doesn't always work." He moved closer, though he still kept some distance between them. "What do you want, Silas? Really. You said you're planning to stay for a while. What does that mean?"
His brother's expression flickered—surprise, maybe, at being asked directly. "I don't know. I took a leave from the business. Told Father I needed time to think. This seemed as good a place as any to do that thinking."
"And you're not here to—" He hesitated. "To interfere with my life again?"
"Would you believe me if I said no?"
"I don't know. Would you?"
Silas actually smiled at that, a ghost of the sardonic humor that had once made them partners in mischief rather than rivals. "Probably not. I have a history of making promises I don't keep."
"Then don't make promises. Just—" He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly exhausted. "Don't touch her. Don't try to poison what we have. Whatever you're working through, leave Marigold out of it."
"I had no intention of—"
"Yes, you did. Tonight, in the grove—you were testing her. Seeing if she could be turned against me, the way Jen was."
Silas didn't deny it. "Old habits."
"Break them. Or I break you."
The threat hung in the air, devoid of playfulness. He meant every word.
After a long moment, Silas inclined his head. "Fair enough. The florist is off-limits. I give you my word."
"Your word hasn't meant much in the past."
"No. But I'm trying to change that." Silas set down his wine glass and moved toward the door. "I'll find lodging in town. One of the inns, perhaps. Give you space."
"The Summer Dance Festival is in a few days." The words came out before he could think better of them. "Marigold and I are chairing it. If you're going to be here anyway, you might as well come. See what kind of life I've built."
Silas paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. "Is that an invitation or a challenge?"
"Both, probably."
"Then I accept. Both." Something shifted in his brother's expression—a softening, perhaps, or the beginning of hope. "Thank you, Thallos."
"Don't thank me yet. I reserve the right to throw you in the creek if you misbehave."
"I'd expect nothing less."
And then he was gone, his footsteps fading into the darkness outside.
He stood alone in his cabin, surrounded by the evidence of his chosen life—the wine bottles waiting for labels, the comfortable furniture he'd selected piece by piece, the view of vineyards he'd nurtured from struggling shoots to thriving vines.
He'd built something here. Something real and valuable and worth protecting.
And maybe he could build something with his brother too. Not the relationship they'd had as children, before the jealousy and the competition had twisted everything. But something new. Something honest.
He thought of Marigold, waiting for him in her apartment above the flower shop. Of the festival they'd planned together. Of the dance they'd practiced until it felt like flying.
Of the fiddle gathering dust in his closet, untouched since the day he'd left his old life behind.
Perhaps it was time to stop running from his past entirely. Perhaps some things were worth reclaiming.
The festival was in a few days. The opening dance was just the beginning.
After that—who knew? Maybe he'd finally find the courage to play again.