Rowan

THe last time I attended a funeral, I ended up with a broken arm. The story made headlines after I threw myself into my mother's open grave. I It's been over two decades since that day, and while I've completely changed as a person, ny aversion

to mourning hasn't. But due to my responsibilities as my late grandfather's youngest relative, I'm expected to stand tall and unbothered during his wake. It's nearly impossible, with my kin itching like I'm wearing a cheap polyester suit.

My patience wanes as the hours go on, with hundreds of Kane employees and business partners offering their condolences. If there's anything I hate more ihan funerals, it's talking to people. There are only a few individuals I tolerate, and my gran d father

was one of them.sio Tnoe s cfto dban ot

And now he's gone.

The burning sensation in my chest intensifies. I don't know why it bo thers me as much as it does. I've had time to prepare while he was in a coma yet the strange sensation above ny rib cage returns with a vengeance whenever I think of him.

I run a hand through my dark hair to give myself

something to do.

"Im sorry for your loss, son. "A nameless attendee interrupts my thought, enough venom "Son?" The one word leaves my mouth with to make the man wince.

The gentleman centers his tie across his chest with fumbling hands. "I'm-well-uh."

"Excuse my brother. He's struggling with his grief" Cal places a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. His vodka and mint-coated breath hits my face, making me scowl. My middle brother might look dressed to the nines in a pressed suit and perfectly styled blond hair, but his red-rimmed eyes tell a completely different story.

The man mumbles a few words I don't bother listening to before heading for the nearest exit.02

"Struggling with my grief?" Although I don't like the idea of my grandfather's passing, I'm not struggling with anything but uncomfortable heartburn today.Ialaald sn bead "Relax. That's the kind of thing people say at funerals." Two blond brows pull together as Cal stares me down. "I don't need an excuse for my behavior." "No, but you need a reason for scaring off our biggs Shanghai hotel investor."

"Fuck."There's a reason prefer solitude. Small talk requires far too much effort and diplomacy for my taste.

Can you try to be nicer for one nore hour? At least until all the important people leave?

"This is me trying." My left eye twitches as I press my lips together.

"Well, do better. For him." Cal tilts his head toward the picture above the fireplace.

I let out a shaky breath. The photograph was taken during a family trip to Dreamland when my brothers and I were kids.

Grandpa smiles into the lens despite my tiny arms wrapped around his neck in a chokehold. Declan stands by Grandpa's side, caught in the middle of an eye roll while Cal raises two fingers behind his head. My father shows a rare sober smile as he

wraps an arm around Grandpa's shoulder. If I try hard enough, I can imagine Mom's laugh as she snapped the photo. While the memory of her face is fuzzy, I can make out her smile if I think hard enough. A weird scratchiness in my throat makes it difficult to swallow.

Residual allergies from spring in the city. That's all.

I clear my irritated throat. "He would have hated this kind of show." Although Grandpa was in the entertainment business, he disliked being the center of attention. The idea of all these people driving out to the edge of Chicago for him would have made his eyes roll if he was still here.

Cal shrugs. "He of all people knew what was expected of him," "A networking event disguised as a funeral?" The side of Cal's lips lifts into a small smile before falling back into a flat line. "You're right. Grandpa would be horrified Becausee he always said Sunday was a day of rest.

"There's no rest for the wicked,"

"And even less for the wealthy." Declan by ry other

stops side, He stares at the crowd of people with an unrelenting scowl. My oldest brother has intimidating people down to a science, with everyone avoiding his pitch-black His suit matches his dark hair, which only adds to his cloak and dagger look.

I'm somewhat jealous of Declan since people typically talk to me first, mistaking me as the nicest child because I happen be the youngest. I might have been born last, but I most certainly wasn't born yesterday. The only reason guests take the time to

speak to us is because they want to stay within our good graces. That kind of fake treatment is to be expected. Especially when all the people we associate with have a moral compass pointed permanently toward hell.

An unknown couple walks up to the three of us. A woman pulls out a tissue from her purse to dab her dry eyes while her counterpart offers us his hand to shake. I look down at it like he might transfer a disease.

His cheeks flush as he tucks his hand back into his pocket. I wanted to offer my condolences. I'm very sorry for your loss. Your grandfather---

I tune him out with a nod. This is going to be one hell of a long night. This one's for you, Grandpa.