God of Fury (Legacy of Gods #5) by Rina Kent

“You sure it’s okay to be away from school all this time?” Dad asks amidst the sound of chopping. “It’s been a week since you came home.”

“Yeah. I told my supervising professor I’d be working on my graduation piece from here.” I smile and joke, “Bored of me already?”

“Nonsense. I’d rather you move back in. You know that.” He sighs. “Have kids, they said. They’ll keep you company, they said. And here I am trying not to haul the three of you back home.”

“You and Uncle Aiden left Grandpa, too.”

“That’s different. Your grandpa is a bloody dictator and a ruthless autocrat. He couldn’t wait for us to sod off so he could crack on with his plan to conquer the world.”

“The same grandpa who worships at Nan’s feet and treats Glyn like a spoiled princess?”

“That one, yes. Your nan tamed him. Before her, he was an insufferable prick and was often cross with us. We clashed all the damn time.” He shakes his head with apparent nostalgia and extends his hand.

I pass him the bowl of potatoes before he even asks for it. We’re in sync like that, Dad and I.

“Really? But you guys have a good relationship now.”

“That’s the thing about relationships. They take work and time. Besides, admittedly, I was a little wanker as a teenager. I might have burned down his mansion and caused enough problems in school to make him a permanent visitor.”

My hand pauses on stirring the broth. “No way.”

“Let’s say I was wild.”

“I can’t believe that. You, wild? Intense, yes. But wild?”

“Wilder than an untamed black horse. No one could restrict me. Not even your grandfather.”

“Wow. It’s hard to imagine you doing all that.”

“Who do you think your brother gets his behavioral issues from?”

“Oh.” I continue stirring, breathing in the smell of aromatic basil and oregano. “Oh! Is that why you were strict with him at one point?”

“It was like watching myself and seeing the image from Uncle’s point of view. Not a pleasant feeling.” He clutches my shoulders. “But I have you, so I can’t complain.”

He pushes past me to the cupboard and I remain frozen in place, the thoughts from earlier rushing to the surface like a hungry shark.

“Will you be ready to serve in twenty?” he asks while fetching a salad bowl.

“Yeah, I think I can make it.”

“Make what?” Mum calls before I’m attacked from behind by a hug.

She’s much shorter than me and I have to bend so she can kiss me on the cheek.

Mum’s hair is gathered in a messy bun and some paint smudges her shirt’s sleeves. Unfortunately, I came at a time when she’s battling a deadline, so I haven’t seen much of her and she keeps apologizing for that, but I get it. I’m also supposed to be working on something. The keyword being supposed to.

The thought of painting those mindless nature scenes bores me to fucking death.

“Something smells divine.” She tries to sneak past Dad, but he wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her, then pushes her in the direction of the dining room.

“Go relax. We’ll serve in a bit.”

“I love it when my boys spoil me.” She strokes his hair and fixes his collar.

While I continue stirring, I can’t help watching them.

I grew up surrounded by their passionate, unconditional love and that’s one of the reasons that hope was kept alive inside me—as futile as it is.

“Dad, the oven,” I say and he finally releases her.

“By the way, Grace will be joining us for dinner. Can you count her in?” She stops beside me, grinning contagiously. “This is a good opportunity for you, baby. She’s really considering signing you. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“I already found an agent, Mum.”

“Oh. Who?”

“Maxine Saul.”

“Landon’s agent? She’s high on sculpting and wouldn’t get you. Besides, Grace is a household name and much more well-known and respected. She’ll get your work out there in no time. I was so lucky when she took me on.”

“I don’t think she appreciates my style.”

“She said she does. Come on, Bran. Just listen to what she has to say. If you don’t like it and still prefer to go with Maxine, I’ll respect your choice.”

I nod and she hugs me again before disappearing to the dining room.

“You don’t have to agree to anything,” Dad says. “Your mum wants you to sign with a celebrity agent because she worries about your future, especially since you’ve been refusing to take part in exhibitions, unlike Lan. But if you want to tell us anything, we’re all ears. Maybe you don’t want to continue with art. Maybe you prefer to go a different path. Whatever it is, we’re here.”

The tension disappears from my shoulders as I nod with a smile. Why does he always say the right words to make me relax?

When the four of us sit down for dinner, however, that tension returns in waves.

I try to swallow past the lump in my throat as they talk about Mum’s upcoming exhibition and how they’re expecting brilliant results.

Everyone can’t wait for it.