Penelope

I pour the ginger ale into the punch as Jake and Cassian bicker back and forth.

"Says the one who forgot to pick me up at the airport," Jake drawls. His face isn't visible from my angle, but I can hear the smile in his voice. They've been trading banter for the past twenty minutes. Within that twenty minutes, I haven't stopped smiling. It's as if they haven't seen each other for years; like they're two high school buddies at a reunion.

Jake's been here for two weeks. We're just under a week away from Christmas. He's helping with some ultimate design plans. The designs we've approved came from Cassian. It was surprising to see Cassian's sketchbook out on the table. I've caught him with it before, but I didn't know what he was doing in it. It's a wonder he never went to university for art or graphic design. He's amazing. 

"God," Cassian groans. "You're going to hold this over my head forever."

"Sure am," Jake laughs. "You're lucky Tim Horton's was there for me. No guilt or shame for eating ten Timbits."

"Fuck, now I want Timbits," Cassian replies. "The chocolate ones. None of those confetti birthday cake bullshit ones."

"Confetti birthday cake is the best flavour. Change my mind."

I set the empty bottle of ginger ale down and pick up the bottle of gin, adding a few shots to the punch. Both of them are wrong. Chocolate Timbits are too dry and flaky. The birthday cake ones are too sweet, and I hate the addition of sprinkles on the top. The old-fashioned Timbits are the best. "Okay, doughnut snobs," I say, turning to face them. "Have we finished hanging the garland?"

My gaze flicks to the countertop behind them, where the garland lays. Then I glance at Cassian. He's gazing at me, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth. He's trying to fight a smile. Cassian looks down at the nails he's holding. Then the hammer in Jake's hand. His lips curve into a smile as he says, "Who's supposed to hold the garland for us? If I'm holding the nails in place and Jake is hammering them..." He trails off, cocking an eyebrow.

I roll my eyes. Next time I round up a crew to decorate a partially completed coffee shop, I'm hiring Patrick and his team. The party starts in an half an hour. These two have been loitering around. My brother would've been precise and completed the job within minutes. "I think Jake can handle the nails and hammer while you hold the garland. If Patrick were here, he'd be finished by now. In fact, he would've finished within three minutes."

"Damn right I would've."

We turn around, watching Patrick enter through the decorated doorway. My brother can clean up nicely. This is the first time I've seen him in anything but his typical work attire: jeans, a flannel, a muscle shirt, and his work boots. Tonight, he's wearing a white button down with navy blue dress pants and dark brown, polished shoes. His hair is as unruly as ever. Blond curls brush his shoulders and small tufts stick up in random directions. Even going out for lunch, he was never this... well-kept. 

He grins at the three of us, stepping inside and setting down his cooler down on the table. The blue cooler looks out of place next to my crystal punch bowl and fancy snacks. "I brought the beer," he states. He shoots Cassian and Jake a look, knowing they're not big fans of beer. Just like their opinions regarding doughnuts, their alcoholic beverage preferences are snobby. It's whisky, gin, or the highway. That being said, Jake will drink Corona on hot summer days. So long as the bottle is ice cold and there's plenty of lime juice. Cassian? Not so much. 

Still, they're both snobs, and it amuses me.

"Unless it's Corona," Jake says, "you can keep those to yourself."

Patrick snorts, sweeping his gaze around the coffee shop. Thanks to Cassian's sketches, things have progressed much quicker. We're confident we could have our soft opening within the first week of the New Year. With an outline, we've been able to work efficiently. "What would I finish in three minutes?" Patrick asks, his gaze settling back on Jake.

Cassian snorts. "Pen thinks you could hang the garland in under three minutes. She's taking a jab at us because we haven't hung it yet."

"I asked you an hour ago!" I exclaim. Despite my inner frustrations, though, I can't help but smile. Who am I to take away Jake and Cassian's time together? It would be like Cassian interrupting my time with Patrick. I avert my gaze to my brother. "I can't get them to shut up. They're like little chipmunks scampering through the forest and chirping."

Patrick glances down at his suit, his mouth pulled to one side as he contemplates his options. I know he's going to agree to Cassian's inadvertent challenge. He cracks open a beer and takes a quick swig, setting the can down on the table before he shrugs off his suit jacket. "Give me the nails and hammer. Penelope, please pull your phone out and set a timer?"

I follow Patrick's request, mainly because I want to see Jake and Cassian cower in their polished shoes. I've gotten used to the relentless banter and teasing, so it's fun to throw shade at them every once in a while. And boy, do I hope Patrick can shade them. After I've unlocked my phone, I open the clock app and switch over to the timer, setting it for two minutes. I don't start it, though. That'll happen as soon as Patrick is finished rolling his sleeves up and gathering everything he needs.

After the sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up, he holds his hand out, palms facing upward. "Hand over the tools, boys."

Smirking, Jake and Cassian hand over the nails and hammer. I glance down at my phone, shaking my head. Fools. I've seen Patrick install shelving in less than five minutes. He'll be able to hang some flimsy fake garland in under three minutes. Jake and Cassian were supposed to hang it along the underside of the outcropped counter. That means no extra effort was required; no ladder to reach the point and no measuring tape to make sure they're straight. 

"Where am I hanging this, boss?" Patrick asks, turning to me.

A smile curves my lips. I enjoy being called the boss, but this company would be nothing without the four of us—Patrick's construction skills, my skills with numbers, Jake's charm and expertise in business, and Cassian's affinity for horticulture and interior design. But I'm not about to downplay the praise. "Beneath the outcrop of the counter," I reply, nodding to my right. "There's a wooden beam beneath. The nails can go in there."

Patrick gives me the two-finger salute, a twinkle in his eyes and confidence bleeding from him. He heads over to the counter, stepping past Cassian and Jake. He sets the nails and hammer down, and picks up the garland. "Ready, Penelope?" he calls.

I suppress a giggle, my thumb hovering over the button. I'm glad he's agreed to partner with us. I hope work isn't the only time I get to see him, though. "Yes."

"Okay," Patrick replies. "Go!"

I start the timer, watching as the clock ticks down to two minutes and fifty seconds. Patrick uses the first ten seconds to asses the length of the garland. He counts how many nails there are. As soon as the numbers make sense in his head, he gets to work. He secures the first section of garland. While Patrick works, playing well with the time, Cassian and Jake saunter over and stand beside me, watching from afar.

"For the record," Jake murmurs to me, "I was not part of this. I said nothing."

I chuckle, making sure Jake's the only one who can hear me. "What about the smirk on your face?"

Jake shrugs. "Banter is fun. Your brother's a good guy." He pauses, glancing at me. "Is it okay I'm referring to him as that? Having a brother is new. Not to mention a twin brother."

Biting back another chuckle, I glance at Patrick. Jake rambles when he's anxious, so I tune him out until he's done speaking. I see Patrick's halfway done and has well over a minute to go still. I don't have a problem with Jake referring to Patrick as my brother aloud. I've had time to come to terms with it. We're still working on our relationship, but I can accept the fact Patrick is my twin brother wholeheartedly now.

"It's fine," I smile. "Although it was overwhelming, I'm glad we found each other. Patrick seems happier now."

"Are you?" Jake asks.

My gaze flicks to Cassian. He's leaning against the snack-slash-drink area, arms crossed over his broad chest. His hair is longer now, almost skimming the top of his shoulders, and it contrasts nicely with his maroon suit and dark skin. The answer to Jake's question sits on my tongue, but Cassian's presence makes me unable to speak. Of course I'm happy. I'm happier than I've ever been. Questions about my biological parents still run through my head, but my life is where I want it. I have a dependable job, friends, a loving family, a boyfriend. What more could I ask for? 

Cassian, who can feel his gaze on me, glances up and smiles. He gives his head a small shake, knowing he's losing this game. Feeling flustered, I turn back to Jake, meeting his dark blue gaze. "Of course I'm happy," I reply softly.

His smile broadens, and he gives me a half hug. "Cassian's happy, too," he murmurs. After he's finished hugging me, he gives me a little shove. "Better get over there. He needs a shoulder to cry on."

I walk over to Cassian without hesitation.

I nudge him in the side. "Bet you fifty bucks he can do it in under two minutes."

Wrapping his arm around my waist, Cassian pulls me against his body and dips his head down, pressing a kiss to my temple. "You're on, Pen." He holds out his hand and I take it, making sure my grip is as firm as his. The grin on his face is cocky, and I can't help but chuckle at his stupidity.

He's going to lose this bet.

Just as the conclusion runs through my head, Patrick tosses the hammer to the ground, imitating a mic drop. "Text me when you need a lesson, boys," he says, keeping his chin tilted high.

I pause the timer on my phone, glancing down at what remains. "A minute and fifty-fiveseconds," I announce. "We need to reduce the time, too. I didn't hit the button in time with Patrick dropping the hammer."

Jake snorts and tosses back the rest of his drink. Just as he's about to make a comment, his phone goes off. With a frustrated sigh, he removes it from his dress pants and says, "Sorry, guys. Excuse me for a moment."

While he's amid turning around, I catch the look on his face. It changes from frustrated to admirable. A smile curves my lips. Gemma's calling. Whenever she's around or present through FaceTime or phone calls, even text messages, Jake gets this soft look in his blue eyes. It's almost like whenever something involves Gemma, his entire world stills and there's nothing more important. And my assumptions couldn't be truer than they are now. It's difficult for Jake to be away from Gemma when they're expecting a baby. He's expressed his concerns about the birthing procedure to me many times. He doesn't want to feel helpless or stand there and do nothing. Although Gemma has reassured him several times that being by her side and holding her hand will do, he's still worried. Hopefully, all the times I've had to reassure him have helped a little.

Returning my attention back to the garland, I turn to Cassian and grin. "Cough it up, buddy." My voice is teasing. So is the smile on my face.

Cassian removes his wallet and slaps a fifty-dollar bill in my hand. I'm surprised. I didn't think he was going to pay me. Couldn't he tell I was only teasing him? I shove the money back at him. "You don't need to pay me," I argue. "I was only joking."

He grips my hips and tucks the money into the pocket of my dark-green pantsuit. I've accented it with ruby stud earrings and a pearl necklace to match my white heels. His dark-brown gaze holds mine, locking me in place and making my nerves burn. Although Cassian and I promised each other we'd take it slow, I've been fantasizing about the next steps, wondering when we'll be ready to take them.

His hand lingers at my side, teasing the seam of my pocket. "You won the bet, Pen," he murmurs. His voice is deep and smoky, reminding me of the whisky he likes to drink. "Don't argue with me. Though, I wouldn't mind convincing you." He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, causing my knees to quiver.

Goddamn Cassian Russell and the things he does to me!

"Ugh," Patrick groans. "Get a room."

"Give us some fucking privacy," Cassian retorts over his shoulder. He doesn't move his hands from my waist. The heat coming from his palms is intense.

"I would... if you weren't out in public," Patrick drawls. He crosses his broad arms. "You better watch your back, Cassian. That's my little sister you're dating."

Cassian tips his head back and laughs. "Dude, come on. I know you don't have a problem with me and Pen being together."

Patrick joins in on the laughter, shaking his head. He runs a hand through his styled curls. "Fine. Maybe you're correct. But if you hurt her, I will kick your ass." Patrick directs his gaze to me and smiles. It's a smile that strikes a chord in my heart. I never thought I'd be able to experience love from a sibling. We're still new to this, but we're coping well. 

"I'll let you kick my ass," Cassian replies. He directs his gaze back to me and lowers his voice as he tucks a blonde curl behind my ear. "She deserves the fucking world."

The banter and Cassian's comment nearly bring me to tears. One thing I've admired about Jake and Cassian is their acceptance of others. Patrick has fit into this workspace and our daily lives like the piece of a puzzle. And Cassian...? Well, that's a different story. I feel spoiled, but in a good way. Although he had every right to pine over Ophelia and strive for his own happiness, I'm thankful he's found that in me. He enjoys my optimism and my seriousness as much as I enjoy his silliness and humour. Especially his humour. Sometimes, he uses it to hide his emotions. But underneath, I know he has a heart of gold.

Cassian steps back and sighs. "For the sake of your comfortableness, Patrick, Pen and I will save our romantic atmosphere for later. Besides"—he nods at the door, and we all turn to the entryway— "Rocco and Tessa are here. More guests are going to show up, too."

"Just out of curiosity," Patrick says, "would you have continued if we weren't expecting more guests?"

Cassian exchanges a glance with me, and I feel heat spread through my cheeks. "Nah," he winks. "We would have kicked you out of the building first."

Patrick cocks an eyebrow. "And left me in the snow?"

"Damn right," Cassian replies.

With that, he leaves Patrick and I standing near the food table and heads over to greet Rocco and Tessa. Tonight, Tessa has brought her husband, a broad, dark-haired man with brown skin, and her kids. Rocco's girlfriend stands next to him. And I can't help but press a hand to my heart as Cassian leans down and greets the kids first, making sure he's face-to-face with them. He shakes their hands, the smile on his face never faltering.

"God," Patrick mutters, sidling up beside me. "He's a fucking charmer, isn't he? It makes me sick."

"Hey," I say, nudging my brother. "You like him, too."

Patrick stares at the exchange going on before us. Just as Rocco and Cassian are catching up, Jake reenters the room. Cassian introduces everyone to his business partner. When I look back at Patrick, I see his face has softened. I can't help but feel compassion for him. He's been trying to find me for years, facing backlash and an unsupportive family. For the first time, I think he feels genuinely welcome.

I take his hand and squeeze it, smiling and taking in all the similar features we share. "You know you've got a place here, right? No matter what happens when we discuss this with our parents, you'll always have me, Cassian, Jake, Gemma, and the rest of the gang?"

Patrick gapes at me, avoiding the emotion. He doesn't like that we had to postpone the meeting with our parents. But that's how life is. Things will pop up and alter your schedule. "There're more of you?"

I toss my head back and laugh. "You have no idea." He has yet to meet Hanna, Morgane, Nolan, Reid, and even some of my friends from high school.

"Should I be scared?" he asks.

"No," I laugh, waving at Tessa. "They'll only interrogate you for the first five minutes."

Beside me, Patrick groans.

* * *

I love Christmas parties almost as much as I love Christmas itself. Joy is infectious as we mingle over drinks, treats, snacks, and laughter. The lights are dim and the décor is exquisite—even with the area only being partially complete. In particular, the garland is my favourite attribute. Somehow, I'm going to give Cassian his money back. The fifty-dollar bill still rests in my pocket.

My cheeks ache from smiling. My heels from dancing. But I'm filled with exuberant joy. 

Halfway in, Mom and Dad showed up, along with Gabriel, Ophelia and her parents, and my biological mom. Not all together, but around the same time. People from Patrick's team and Utterly Uncorked are also here. Having Renée here is questionable in the sense it's slightly awkward. Her presence doesn't dampen my mood, though. It's the holidays! I'm also surrounded by people I love. I'm not about to let one person ruin my day. Ophelia's been civil, too. All in all, the night has progressed well. 

At the drink table, Cassian sidles up next to me, causing me to sway a little. Although I've stuffed myself with brie and cranberries and crackers, quiche, and other fancy appetizers, the alcohol is getting to my head. "Please tell me you will not cut my hair again," Cassian chuckles, pouring himself a glass of whisky on ice.

I give him a playful shove. "That only happens when two people are drunk."

He shoves me back, a cute smile on his face. The goddamned smile looks so cute on his face I want to kiss him. A small hiccup escapes my mouth as I glance away. PDA bothers me when I'm semi-drunk. Which is a paradox. I lose my filter with the effects of alcohol, but also lose confidence. I want to kiss him, but I feel too humble to do so. 

Cassian eyes the red wine, a smirk on his lips. "Don't drop the wine glass."

"Shut up!" I gasp-laugh. "At least I didn't forget my best friend at the airport!" Though I can understand why Cassian did. He was disoriented because of his exchange with Ophelia. He thinks she's scouting for information about Patrick and I. Ever since Cassian told us, we've been careful about what we say around Ophelia. Yes, she's family, but she's chosen a side. One we can't agree with.

"He forgives me," Cassian shrugs. "Besides, he got to enjoy Timbits." He juts his lip out at the end.

"Don't worry," I say, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll buy you a double-double and some Timbits. Who knows? Maybe there's a Tim Horton's gift card in your stocking." The mention of Tim Horton's makes me snort. It's ironic how he runs a coffee company yet still goes to Timmie's for coffee and doughnuts.

"What's so funny?" he asks.

I watch as Cassian adds a spiralled orange peel and a piece of candied ginger to his drink. In another life, I like to think he was a bartender. He always makes fantastic drinks. This past summer, just after Jake and Gemma's wedding, he made a sangria I still dream about.

"I think you were a bartender in your previous life," I blurt.

Cassian glances at me, eyebrows raised. "And I think you love your red wine a little too much," he chuckles. He threads his arm around my waist, pulling me close. He smells of whisky and cloves, with a hint of the outdoors. I press my cheek against his chest, inhaling deeply. "But I'm not judging," he continues. "I love my whisky, too. Now, what's so funny?"

Giggling, I take a sip of my wine. "You run a coffee company, yet you go to Timmie's all the time. Why? You could literally get coffee for free."

Cassian pressed a hand to his chest in mock-disbelief. "Timmie's is part of Canadian culture, Pen. Just like hockey and toques."

"And all the rest of the Canadian stereotypes?" I laugh.

"Just like maple syrup and our merciless winters." He pauses, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. "One day, I will learn how to drive a Zamboni." 

I almost keel over, I'm laughing so hard. Cassian sets his drink down and grabs my wine glass, also putting it on the table. "To prevent you from spilling. Or... Or dropping the wine glass."

Through my laugher, I swat at him. He grips my wrists and pulls me into a tight embrace. The warmth of his body is enough to lull me to sleep, which makes me realize I need to slow down on the alcohol. Within the past few minutes, the buzz has heightened, and the world is titling. "Jeez," I mutter, gripping his toned body. "Can you do me a favour and grab me some water? The alcohol is hitting hard."

He presses a kiss to my hairline, his lips smooth and warm against my skin. "Of course, Pen." Cassian reaches around my body and grabs a plastic cup. The pitcher next to the spiked punch is filled with water and sliced citrus fruits. He fills the cup and pushes it into my hands.

I lean against the table, eyes closed, and fight for balance. Damn. I love red wine, but it can do some damage. When the dizziness wears off, I collect myself and bring the cup to my lips. The liquid is ice-cold and refreshing, a hint of citrus teasing my tongue. I take several more sips, standing next to Cassian and staring at the party surrounding us. It's a shame Gemma couldn't make it. Or the rest of our core group. Nolan and Morgane would've had a blast. Just like Cassian and Jake are.

Then a thought occurs to me. "Oh, shit!" I exclaim, looking down at the water. "Thank you! Thank you for the water."

Cassian coughs, trying to cover up a laugh. My heart throbs in my chest. While I'm okay with him teasing me for drinking, so long as it's playful, he's trying not to. "You're welcome, Pen."

Just then, Patrick stumbles up beside us, bumping in to the table. The force knocks over the stack of plastic cups, causing them to clatter against the floor. "Oops," Patrick slurs, gripping the edge. "I've had too much to drink."

I giggle, pressing a hand over my mouth. "It's the twin telepathy!" 

Cassian clears his throat and adjusts his suit jacket, scanning the area for Jake. As much as he enjoys my company, I think wants to mingle with the group. I know I can count on him to have my back throughout the night. If I stumble over my feet, he'll be there to help me up. But I'm not going to stop him from having fun. "There's nothing better than getting drunk at a Christmas party," he chuckles. "Is it okay if I leave you two alone? Or are we going to drop wine glasses and knock over plastic cups?"

I gesture to the wine glass sitting on the table. "It's still intact. And—"

Cassian flashes a cocky smirk at me. "And so is Jake," he drawls, ending his sentence with a wink.

Damn. He knew exactly where I was going with this conversation.

Smiling, I shoo him away. "Go hang out with your brother."

The smile on his face as he turns away is warm enough to melt ice.

When Cassian has woven himself into the crowd of people, Patrick nudges me. "You were right, y'know."

"About?" I frown.

He gestures to the space in front of us that's bordered with Christmas lights. It's where Jake and Cassian are talking to Rocco. I'd like to assume they're discussing Cassian's terrible haircut by the way Rocco makes a cutting motion with his fingers. I could be wrong, though.

"Your boyfriend is growing on me," he replies. When Patrick glances at me, he sobers up a little. "My emotions were fucked up earlier, but thank you. It's what I've meant to say from the beginning of all this. Thank you for giving me a chance. I know I sprung our blood relation on you. I never meant to uproot your life, Penelope. I've just... I've wanted to know for so long..." He trails off, averting his gaze to the floor.

My heart squeezes, and I close the space between Patrick and I. Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around him and pull him in for a hug. He hugs me back, sniffling. He's slightly taller than me, and whatever cologne he's wearing is strong, but there's something about his embrace that strikes familiarity. We probably shouldn't be doing this with his—our mom is here. This interaction between us could cause suspicion. But I feel bad for Patrick. Throughout his life, he's lacked the support my parents and friends gave me. It's too bad he's never had a cousin like Gabriel or parents like mine or friends like Gemma, Jake, and Nolan. Or a female equivalent of Cassian to brighten his day.

"It's okay," I murmur. "You uprooted my life in some ways, but I'm glad you did. This has been—"

"Funny. You and Patrick don't appear to be fighting."

Patrick and I jerk away from each other and turn around, coming face-to-face with our cousin. Ophelia's wearing a sparkly gold dress. It matches the highlights of her caramel hair and looks dazzling against her perfect skin. Her makeup is flawless, too. The contour of her face gives her cheekbones nothing but angles, adding to her intimidating vibe.

Beside me, Patrick stiffens. So do I.

Cassian was right.

Ophelia is trying to find information, and she believed the lie Cassian spun.

Patrick sways as he stands next to me. Now that he's realized he's had too much, his face is getting greener and greener as the minutes pass by. I think the stress of our upcoming conversation was getting to him and he wanted to unwind.

"We just made up," I explain, playing along with Cassian's lie.

"Uh-huh, sure," Ophelia replies. She side-eyes her cousin and then flicks her gaze back to me. "We need to talk, Penelope. Privately."

Although I don't want to leave Patrick alone, there's not much I can do for him until the alcohol has worn off. With Ophelia's help, we get Patrick in a chair close to the garbage can. I also give him some Advil and a tall glass of water. Ophelia suggests giving him some food to mop up the alcohol, but I shake my head. Patrick's past the point of food helping. He needs to take the Advil, drink some water, and pray he doesn't throw up before the party's over.

Before Ophelia and I exit the coffee shop, I update Cassian on the situation. He looks worried, but he tells me he'll monitor Patrick while I'm gone. When I turn around to follow Ophelia, I'm jerked back, slamming hard into Cassian's solid chest. "You shouldn't do this," he murmurs. "You're a little tipsy, Pen."

"What choice do I have?" I whisper. My voice is still slightly slurred, but not as bad as earlier. The glass of water I chugged helped. Or maybe I'm just fooling myself. Either way, I need to know what Ophelia wants. "She wants to talk, Cassian. It's probably not a good idea, but what if she knows something?"

He shoots a weary glance at Ophelia. She's standing in the doorway, looking frustrated. "Fine. But call me if you need anything, okay?" He removes his phone from his pocket and shakes it next to my face. 

I plant a quick kiss on his cheek. "Of course," I smile.

Cassian releases my hand, allowing me to follow Ophelia. She leads me down the hallway and to the women's washroom. It's between the boutique and the wine tasting room. Just like the rest of the winery, the bathroom follows a modern rustic theme. The floors are tile and the colours are neutral. Everything inside is top notch, too. From brass taps to a lovely vanilla candle in the far corner, and plants decorating the corners. 

In the women's washroom, I remove a compact from my purse and open it up so I can powder my nose. All the dancing and mingling has led to me sweating, which has made my skin oily. Thank goodness for waterproof mascara or else I'd look like a sweaty raccoon. I busy myself, waiting for Ophelia to speak. If she has something to say, she can be the first to speak.

"You need to stop poking around," Ophelia says. "For the sake of Patrick and his family, you need to stop."

My tongue is loose from the red wine. I set my compact down and glare at her from the mirror. "Why?" I demand, my temper snapping. The emotions towards Ophelia have been pent up for months now. It was only a matter of time before I snapped. "Why do you keep pushing your cousin down? And I'm not referring to me when I say that. You and I? We're far from cousins, Ophelia. Blood may say otherwise, but I refuse to accept I'm related to you. Suppressing Patrick's curiosity is harmful to his character. You've never given him any support."

My words and voice are harsher than I intended, but they represent nothing but the truth. 

Ophelia, who is an inch taller than me, steps closer. The venom in her voice is poisonous. "I am trying to prevent this family from falling apart. If his father finds out, there will be consequences."

Her comment catches me off guard, and I have to grip the edge of the sink. Cassian's assumptions ring in my mind. "What do you mean? What does my biological father have to do with this?"

Ophelia wags her finger at me. "Enough. Just stay in the shadows and keep your head low, Penelope. If you know what's good for this family, that's what you'll do."

Through my semi-drunken haze, I snort. "I don't know what's good for this family. I was given up."

"For good reason, too!" she snaps.

It feels like she's slapped me across the face. I flinch backwards, my ego aching as I process her words. What a bitch. How can she say that? 

"You can't justify why my biological parents gave me up for adoption when they kept Patrick," I glower. "Clearly, there's something you and the rest of this fucked-up family are keeping hidden." I take a step closer to her. She wants to play the intimidation card? Fine. Two can play at that game. "I'm not afraid of you or this family. Do you know why? Because this isn't about me. This is about Patrick. None of you have treated him the way he deserves to be treated. Only a damned fool would suppress someone's interests. He has every right to know the truth!" I pause, my heart beating frantically in my chest. "How long have you known, Ophelia?"

Her face falls, as if I've called out her greatest sin.

I snort, flicking my gaze to the ceiling. "I presume a long time? God, I wish Patrick and I could've been adopted together."

She slams her hand down on the marble counter. "Patrick's mom made a tough decision. She did what she thought was right for the family! You can't fault her for that."

I toss my head back and laugh, the room swaying. If I don't stop making jarring movements, I'm going to puke all over her glittery heels. "Where do the lies end? First you say it's about our dad, and then it's about Renée. Decide!"

Ophelia releases an exasperated sigh. She looks like she's ready to rip her hair out.

"Why was I given up for adoption, Ophelia?" I ask. "Why are you guys such assholes to Patrick?"

"Because," Ophelia says, her dark gaze connecting with mine, "the man that Patrick calls his father isn't really his father. Do you understand why you can't poke around? Renée had an affair." She slouches in defeat, rubbing her temples. Her sparkly green nails reflect the lighting. Her bracelets make a jingling noise. "Doug is very patriarchal and forced Renée to keep Patrick and give you up. He claimed it was the only way to save their marriage. He wanted a son who could pass on the Collins name. If that asshole finds out Patrick has found you... Heaven help us all."

Ophelia's voice is sharp and judgemental, as it should be. Although I'm taken aback by this sudden revelation, I'm also disgusted. Feminism isn't about hating men or being anti-men, but it's times like these where I want to be anti-men. The patriarchal system is toxic, and this situation proves that. What makes a man think his last name is mightier than the woman who birthed the child?

I can't help but feel sorry for my biological mother. While I am pissed at her for staying with a man like Doug, I have to take a step back and view this from a fresh perspective. Being a woman is difficult—especially when we're silenced into thinking our voices mean nothing. I have to question if that's the type of situation she was facing when she found out she was pregnant with another man's kids. Sometimes, women don't see a point in fighting. Sometimes, all hope is lost and we comply. It's a terrible, skewed perspective that should've never been introduced to society. Or bestowed upon women. 

In reality, women are strong and beautiful, regardless of their culture, skin colour, and beliefs. Our diversity, our novel experiences in life make the female population so unique and powerful.

"That's... That's... horrifying,"I whisper.

I have nothing else to say.

"It is," Ophelia nods. "I never meant to hurt Patrick, okay? I thought I was helping."

"Do you know who the actual father is?" I ask. "Do you know how much this is going to hurt Patrick?" It hurts me, too, but only a little. I have a family. A family that has never lied to me. My heart aches for my brother. 

"No," she replies, shaking her head. Her eyes are full of sadness. "If I did, I would call him and tell him."

I draw my bottom lip between my teeth, tears threatening to slide down my cheeks. Patrick is going to be devastated when he finds out. His parents must have tampered with the birth certificate. That must be why he doesn't know. It's the only plausible explanation.

A wave of sadness overwhelms me. Suddenly, I feel claustrophobic. It feels like the walls are closing in on me. Patrick doesn't know about Doug not being his real father. He's been lied to all his life. I press a hand to my chest, my heart aching. 

"I need to leave," I gasp, shoving past Ophelia.

"Penelope!" she calls.

I ignore her. And when I'm running down the hallway passing the party, I ignore the music and the people inside.

How am I supposed to tell Patrick about this? Especially after our exchange tonight. He's finally starting to feel like he belongs. Now? This is going to rip the rug out from under his feet. 

Cassian was right about there being more to the story.

I just didn't think it would hurt so much.