CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

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My older sister made a grand entrance, wearing a one-shouldered, sequined bodice, high-waisted, flare-trousered jumpsuit, with hair pinned back in a messy yet sophisticated up-do and slingback stilettos that threatened to snap her ankles

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My older sister made a grand entrance, wearing a one-shouldered, sequined bodice, high-waisted, flare-trousered jumpsuit, with hair pinned back in a messy yet sophisticated up-do and slingback stilettos that threatened to snap her ankles. Too much war paint for nude-toned fabrics, scarlet red lipstick and incorrectly applied foundation and bronzer. A stark contrast from yesterday's light and natural image.

Nonetheless, I admired her beautiful confidence and unflinching bravery. It took a lot of courage for her to walk into this room when the jury was still out on her character. I know she is perturbed by the omniscience and omnipotence of Hamish Hughes.

Patty, with tentative steps and coy smiles, stayed in my sister's shadow, keeping a respectable distance to repel any suspicion.

God forbid, despite the fact homosexuality is socially acceptable, the opinionated and outspoken commentators in the room unearthed the truth behind their secret romance.

It is the twenty-first century, for goodness sake. Why should Mary and Patty live a lie because they fear judgement? Or, more to the point, why should they pretend to be friends, not lovers, to assuage the anger and disgust of a homophobic bigot?

I never thought I could hate Hamish Hughes any more than I did at that particular moment. He is our father. He is supposed to love us unconditionally, not conditionally, regardless of religion and sexuality—or children born out of wedlock.

A self-involved narcissist is without redeeming qualities. Hamish owned us. He created us. He gave us life so we could serve him with unreciprocated loyalty and undeserving reverence.

And yet, unfortunately for him, the Hughes siblings came into the world with a rebellious streak, defying authorities and traditions for a better tomorrow. That robust assertion is only accurate if you exclude Martin and Miles. My brothers' loyalty to siblingship has been a bone of contention for many years.

I would like to think stubborn rebelliousness was a gift from our mother, but sadly, Martha Hughes is the antithesis of defiant and obstreperous. A pitiful submissive is more accurate.

"Darling, I have been looking everywhere for you." Mary threw her arms around Brad's shoulders, yanking him down for a tight bear hug. He embraced her, chest-to-chest, locking an arm around her middle section. "Where is Hamish?"

His soft, amber-coloured eyes drifted over her shoulder to investigate the matter at hand. "At the table."

"Great." Mary's heeled shoes scraped along the floor as she brushed past him like a breath of fresh air and a fragrance of rose and patchouli. "Is he observant?" For breakfast, she selected a bowl of mixed fruit and a honey-flavoured yoghurt pot. "I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head."

"Yes." Brad glared at Hamish over the rim of the coffee mug. "If he continues to look at your sister like she is nothing but shit on his shoe, I will take the knife out of his hand and stab him with it."

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