I’m flustered and likely acting a fool, but Mary takes it all in stride, laughing softly. “Relax, Elle. While we Brits might be famous for our stiff upper lips, we’re not monsters. I’m not going to eat you alive. What porkies have you been telling this poor girl about us, Colton?”

Colton isn’t smiling, though, glancing past his mother to Edwin. “The truth.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Edwin asks, his face pinching even more. “Do you have something to say, boy?”

“I’ve merely told Elle some of the history of the family,” Colton replies. “I’m not going to feed her bog roll and call it candy floss.”

Before Edwin can cut back at his son, Mary steps forward, putting her petite body between them. “Come now, there’s so much to catch up on. Alfred, could you serve tea while we wait for Eddie? He’s supposed to arrive home soon, and I know he’d like to see you, Colton. You boys were always so close.”

Colton snorts. “Mum, you know that’s not true. So does everyone else here, so there’s no need for airs.”

Mary flushes, shrinking a bit, and I feel bad for her. Right up until she says, “Well, I guess that’s true. It was more competitiveness than closeness. You were always trying to live up to your older brother, weren’t you?” She smiles again, like everything is sweet and totally fine, but I can tell by the tight set of Colton’s jaw that it’s anything but.

Alfred jostles the teacups he’s setting down on the large table in the room. Something tells me his steady hands did it intentionally to break the tension in the room and draw everyone’s attention to tea service. He’s a genius because it works.

The table is larger than most people’s actual dining tables, holding ten people easily with plenty of elbow room. Inside, I giggle about my total lack of a dining table at all. My apartment has a bar top between the kitchen and living room that’s always served me just fine. Hell, most of the time, I eat on my couch while watching television, so this seems beyond fancy.

And it’s not even the actual dining room.

Edwin and Mary sit at opposite ends of the table, boxing us in like two nobles holding court. Nan sits next to Mary, Lizzie plopping down beside her, and Colton holds out a chair for me before sitting at his father’s side. Everyone is quiet as Alfred moves around the table, setting steaming tea before each of us.

This is not like the tea parties I had as a girl, where Dad would cut peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into triangles and we’d sip Kool-Aid from plastic cups. Grape, of course, because it looked the most like tea but was deliciously sweet.

But this isn’t idle chats and silly gossip about my dolls.

This feels like serious business.

Confession time. I don’t like tea. Give me coffee, black as my soul or sweet and creamy. Either is just fine. Hot chocolate, hell yeah. But tea tastes like dirt water, as far I’m concerned. I hadn’t really considered that coming to London and meeting the Wolfes would require me to drink it down like it’s delicious angel tears. My mouth is already filling with too much spit and I have to force myself to swallow it down.

I hold myself still but watch Lizzie. She’s young, so surely, she’ll drink hers as sweet as possible. Maybe I can follow her lead on how to fix mine so I don’t make a fool of myself . . . again.

I’ve got a small pour of milk and an unhealthy amount of sugar in my cup, stirring it gently just like Lizzie. She picks hers up to sip, but I’m saved by Alfred’s booming wrestling announcer voice.

“Master Eddie and . . . companion.” Even though Alfred maintains his professional tone, I can hear a hint of disdain. It’s a fine line he’s walking, precisely appropriate but almost . . . catty. It makes me want to sit down with him to see what he really thinks of everything that’s going on around here. Over a glass of scotch, maybe. Anything but tea.

Eddie Wolfe doesn’t walk in so much as he struts in like peacock, and I get my first real look at the eldest Wolfe son.

As I do a quick study of his features, I’d say that where Colton gets his face from his mother, Eddie is nearly the spitting image of Edwin, right down to the pinched face and hawk-like nose that nearly cuts the air in front of him.

Where Colton is walking sex in a suit, attractive almost to the point of being pretty, Edwin is . . . not. He’s dressed well in designer gear and looks to be quite fit, but he’s not a head turner.

Still, considering he has a girl on his arm, he obviously doesn’t have to look very hard to find female companionship . . . although honestly, as the girl totters and giggles her way into the room, her fake breasts in danger of popping out of her low-cut top and her vag nearly visible at the hem of her skirt, I wonder just what the girl is interested in . . . Eddie or his bank account.

“Later, we’ll head up to Soho. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” The baby talk tone is weird to say the least, but the girl’s hanging on Eddie’s arm like a desperate little puppy. She’s straight up fawning over him. “I’ve heard of this new club, and you know I can get us in—”

“Eddie.” Edwin’s bark is sharp, cutting Eddie’s not-at-all humble brag right off.

Eddie just grins, though, his eyes slowly leaving the girl to turn to Edwin. “Father.” The greeting is only a single word, but even I can feel the casualness that seems in direct conflict with everything around us and everything I’ve learned about the Wolfe family. Eddie doesn’t even look at the other end of the table when he says, “Mum.”

“Hello, Eddie,” Colton says, his voice strained but polite as he stands up. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Coltie!” His performance is a virtual mime of surprise that fools no one. When no one responds favorably, he gives up and comes around the table. “Oh, stop with the faffing. Come here, old chap! Give your brother a hug!”

There’s something in the way he says it, like he’s commanding a minion instead of a brother. It pricks at my nerves, and to me, he just sounds condescending.

Colton approaches his brother warily, hugging him and holding back any response as Eddie cinches him in tight and starts pounding on his back a little too hard to just be excitement. It looks and feels like a big brother picking on his sibling, something they’ve done a thousand times before in their lives, and even though Colton’s the same size as Eddie now, the pantomime goes on. Edwin and Mary even smile, as though this is a normal, sweet greeting, and I’m suddenly very thankful I’m an only child. At least I never had to put up with aggression in the guise of affection.

When he’s done, Eddie claps his hands and shouts, “Alfred! Forget the tea, we need wine! And make it the good stuff. Not the piss rubbish Nan drinks. It’s time to celebrate!”

Nan hisses, her teacup clattering to its saucer. “You wouldn’t know piss rubbish if your tart of the day were pissing in your face and calling it gold.”

I choke on my tea, and not because it’s gross tasting, though it is. But uhm, did little old sweet Nan just make a joke about Eddie getting a golden shower? Surely . . . not? And eww times a thousand. When I look at her, trying to keep my brows from crawling up into my hairline, she looks innocent as can be. But there’s something in her eyes that says she isn’t the daft old woman she lets everyone think she is. A keen intellect is hiding inside her.