AN: Hey guys! Sorry this one took a bit long to get out. It was a little different, and I wanted to make sure I got it right so I didn't want to rush. You will see why. Thanks!

Chapter Fifteen

2014

The first time Logan had received the invitation, he wasn't entirely sure it was real. It felt more like some elaborate prank - something that the higher ups at the London office would try to pull over on the new guy - the new American guy - who wouldn't know any better.

He stared at the piece of paper in front of him for a few minutes, contemplating it and turning it over in his hands as if to verify that it was real and not a meticulously crafted piece of stationary that came from his own supply room.

The Lawn Tennis Championships 2012

The Chairman and Committee of Management of The Championships request the pleasure of the company of Mr. Logan Huntzberger and Guest in the Royal Box on Thursday, 28th June.

R.S.V.P to the Secretary

The All England Lawn Tennis Club

Church Road, Wimbledon, S.W.19 Please see overleaf.

(This invitation is personal and non-transferable and does not constitute a ticket of admission. In the event of acceptance, a ticket will be forwarded together with car parking label and instructions).

He read the words multiple times, his eyes scanning over the logo of the All England Lawn Tennis & Croquet Club in the top left hand corner and the elegant cursive font. His name was hand written into a blank spot on the invitation, as was the date. It certainly seemed real...

He tapped the cardstock on his desk a couple of times before tossing it down and moving his fingertips to the keyboard in front of his computer and typing a few words in.

Wimbledon Royal Box Invitations |

He'd hoped to find a picture to compare, or if nothing else some kind of description on what the actual Royal Box invitations looked like. Unfortunately, he had no luck. In the end, all his search had yielded was one small paragraph on the Wimbledon website detailing what kinds of people might expect to receive such an invitation.

" British and overseas Royal Families are invited as well as heads of government, people form the world of tennis, commercial partners, British armed forces, prominent media organizations, supporters of British tennis and other walks of life."

Prominent media organizations…

It had been enough to make him believe in the possible legitimacy of the invite - enough to convince him to respond - discreetly - with his acceptance. The worst that could have happened would be that his reply would end up in the hands of whatever prankster had decided to pull the wool over his eyes and they would all get a laugh at the boss' expense - something that his ego would survive. The best that could happen would be that he would have front row seats in the most elite box at the biggest tennis championship in the world.

And Logan loved tennis.

To his delight, the next time a piece of mail showed up on his desk in a similar envelope, he actually had been sent two tickets. And this year he'd been sent four. Either HPG had been significantly growing in prominence as an arm of the British media or he had managed to ingratiate himself into whatever circles impressed The Chairman. Ultimately, though, he didn't spend much time worrying about how he'd managed to get his name on whatever list it had landed on.

He just showed up.

The first year he brought Honor. It had been an ideal birthday present, considering her weird crush on Andy Roddick. The second year he'd shown up with a date. Samantha. That hadn't lasted very long, but the sex had been good. Especially that night. This year with his personal life being as unclear as it was, he'd decided to simply ask his friends in an effort not to complicate things. Nick and Phillip couldn't come, and that left him with Bobbie, her husband, and one empty seat.

A seat that Bobbie had jumped at the opportunity to fill for him.

"You remember Odette, don't you?"

The question came just as Bobbie grabbed his hands and leaned forward to place a friendly kiss on both his cheeks. It was a genius move really, because that way she wasn't able to bear the brunt of his withering stare. Instead, his eyes landed on Jason who was only able to provide him with an innocent shrug.

So much for not complicating things.

"Of course," Logan replied. He fixed his expression into a smile and turned his attention to the chic brunette standing in the aisle just behind Bobbie.

She was dressed elegantly but comfortably in a white silk v-neck blouse and tan pencil skirt with a modest slit over her left knee. A pair of nude suede pumps - Manolos if he had to guess - were wrapped around her feet. A large pair of square brown Chanel sunglasses were perched on her face, and a clutch bearing the classic Louis Vuitton monogram was tucked under her arm. Her almost black hair was falling loosely over her shoulders and her lips were colored with a subtle red gloss that shone in the bright afternoon sun.

There was no denying she looked incredible. Especially as she smiled at him. But, then, that was exactly the problem.

She always looked incredible.

Bobbie knew she always looked incredible, and she knew that Logan always noticed. She knew that Logan liked her. That they got along well. She knew that he made her laugh and that her sardonic wit kept him on his toes. She knew that the somewhat masochistic part of him liked that. The challenge of it. She knew that they'd already slept together once. And as far as she knew…up until the moment when Rory had shown up at Jason's party a couple weeks ago, he'd been interested in doing it again.

But she also knew that if Rory hadn't left to go back home just a few days ago that she would be the one sitting there with them.

And she didn't seem to care. Bobbie rarely cared what toes she stepped on when it came to getting something she wanted. And it was becoming very clear that what she wanted was to set her two friends up with each other.

"How could I forget?" Logan asked. He smiled at Odette over Bobbie's shoulder and watched as her gaze ran him up and down much in the same way that his had over her just seconds ago.

It occurred to him at that moment that they practically matched. Her in her designer tan skirt and him in his designer beige blazer, light blue button up, and navy blue diamond check tie. Her Louis Vuitton clutch matched the wallet in his back pocket. Her nude suede Manolos were just a couple shades lighter than the tan leather pair popping out from below his navy blue pants. And the smile on her face made it clear that she found him just as pleasing to look at as he did her.

"Odette," he said, moving past Bobbie to place a kiss on the other woman's cheek. "You look wonderful."

"Merci."

With a wave of his arm, he gestured her down the aisle into one of the green wicker lawn chairs that were assigned to them. He followed in step behind her, leaving the end for Bobbie and Jason.

"Oh my God, they're actually here," he heard as a hand wrapped around his bicep from behind.

"What?" he asked, turning around to see that Bobbie's eyes were fixed upon an instantly recognizable bald head sitting front and center four rows down from them. "Oh. Yeah. I guess so."

"Have you talked to them?!" she asked.

"Uh…" said Logan as he unbuttoned his blazer and sat down in his chair. "Am I supposed to?"

"Well… not unless they talk to you, of course."

"Right…" he said with a nod. "I don't think they know who I am."

"Well get an introduction then!"

"And I would go about that… how exactly?" he asked.

"Dear God, you're hopeless," Bobbie exclaimed with a roll of her eyes.

She dropped her purse on her chair and climbed over her husband. And as soon as she was out of their aisle she started shaking any random hand she could grab, as if by some kind of strange domino effect of introductions she would end up standing in front of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge themselves by the end of the afternoon.

Logan could only scoff in amusement.

"The English and their monarchy…" an annoyed voice chimed from next to him.

He looked over to see Odette watching Bobbie with the same amused but somewhat judgmental look on her face. Logan smiled.

Finally. An ally in the strangely archaic world of English society that always somewhat eluded him. Even with his upbringing, he'd never quite felt totally comfortable in it. As experienced as he was in the world of wealth and status, there had always been a certain element to the English hierarchy that he simply did not understand - probably due to his more American sensibilities.

And the French woman sitting next to him was the first person he'd met here to understand.

It was so cliché that it actually circled back to become endearing.

"I don't get it either," he said, shaking his head. "The box is nice though."

"The box is very nice," said Odette. "Thank you for the invitation."

"Oh. My pleasure," Logan said, leaning over slightly to help her hear him over the chatter of the crowd. "Though… in the interest of full disclosure. Bobbie didn't tell me you were the friend she was bringing."

Odette smirked at him.

"Est-ce un problème?" she asked.

"No!" Logan replied with a laugh. "No. It's not a problem. It's good to see you."

"Your…ehm… friend will not mind?" she asked. "The brunette? From the party?"

Logan paused for a moment. He knew full well what Odette was asking him, and it didn't actually have anything to do with his friend's feelings. Odette didn't care about her feelings. Odette cared whether or not he was available.

The problem was, he wasn't exactly sure himself.

Was he available?

Would Rory mind ?

That question - or some variation of it - had been haunting him for days.

She'd told him that she didn't. She told him that he was free to see other people when they weren't together. And they weren't. Not now. She'd left for hom a few days ago, and all he'd heard from her since was a notification that she'd arrived at

JFK safely.

"Um…no…" said Logan, realizing that the only sensible thing to do was to take the actual words that Rory had said to him as the truth of the matter. "She's not… Well she's not my girlfriend. So…"

"But she is your…ehm… lover? Non?"

Logan could only stare at her for a couple seconds, trying to process the shock of hearing the question asked so bluntly.

Once again, she'd succeeded in putting him on his toes. And what was perhaps the most surprising about the question was the casual way in which she had asked it. As if it meant nothing to her at all. As if she wasn't really all that interested in the answer. And yet she was here. At Wimbledon. With him. In something that through no effort of his own had been turned into a kind of impromptu double date with their mutual friends.

Surely she knew what Bobbie was up to when she'd asked her to come. And yet she seemed unbothered.

This woman was such a mystery to him. And as much as he hated to admit it, he had an undeniable urge to peel back her layers and find out what exactly made her tick.

"She's uh…" he started, scratching his head. "We were together in college. For a long time. It didn't work out. And now she's… Well she still lives in The States, and I'm here. So it's… uh…"

"C'est compliqué?"

"Ah… yeah," Logan replied as an amused smile started to curl at the corner of his lips. "That's a good way to put it I guess. Complicated."

"Je comprends," Odette replied.

With the sunglasses covering her eyes, it was a little hard for Logan to read her expression, but there was something about her body language that told him her words weren't empty. That perhaps she comprehended a little too well.

"Je comprends très bien…" She continued with a nod and a trace of sadness in her voice. Her eyes were still glued to the court as she spoke, but Logan couldn't tear his off of her. "Although…lately I feel like I am getting too old for complicated… T'sais?"

When she turned to face him, Logan felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. As if her words had frozen it for a moment. And perhaps they had.

It was so easy to ignore it while Rory was there. Reality. The ticking clock on the wall and the ripped calendar pages piling up as more and more time passed. He was thirty-two years old. Ten years older than his parents had been when they were married. Eight years older than Honor. And seven years older than he himself had hoped to be when he'd first gotten down on one knee.

Of course, he knew that it wasn't such an issue for him, being a man. He could stay a bachelor for years. Father children in his eighties if he wanted to. But lately he had been feeling something.

The pressure from his family to settle down was building more and more with each passing day. Passive aggressive comments from his mother about not having enough grandchildren were weaved into every conversation. Lectures from his father about his responsibility to carry on the Huntzberger name and legacy were presented to him at every opportunity. Friends on both sides of the pond wouldn't stop posting pictures of their weddings and pregnancy announcements on social media.

But if he was being honest, it was more than the pressure from his family, friends, and society.

He was tired. Like her, he did feel like he was getting too old for it all. He didn't have the energy anymore. He was tired of the games. He was tired of eggshells he was constantly treading. He was tired of being in a constant state of 'complicated.'

He was tired of being alone…

"You don't look a day over twenty."

Odette laughed.

It was a musical laugh. Almost as musical as the sound of her fingers sliding over the keys of a piano. And just as mesmerizing.

"You are always charming, Monsieur Huntzberger," she said. "I will give you that. Is not what I expected from Bobbie's American friend."

"Oh?" Logan asked. "And what did you expect, Ms. Poirot?"

"Oh… J'sais pas…" she said. "Something more… rugged I guess. Like ehm… Indiana Jones or… Clint Eastwood."

"Oh!" said Logan with a teasing laugh. "So you wanted like a cowboy type then? Big leather hat and chaps? Spurs on my boots?"

"Perhaps," Odette replied with a smile.

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint," said Logan. "Though my grandfather does have a few hundred head of cattle in Omaha. So maybe not all hope is lost."

"Omaha?" Odette asked with her brow furrowed. "Is that…Texas?"

Logan laughed.

"No," he said. "No, it's not."

"What is in… Omaha?"

"Absolutely nothing," he replied with a wide smile.

He waited for a teasing remark or a judgemental grimace, but several seconds passed and none came. Instead, Odette got quiet for a moment and tilted her head again as a contemplative look passed over her face.

"That sounds nice."

And yet again she'd thrown him off his rhythm.

Logan was so used to flirting with women like her. Society women. Rich women. Women who cared mostly for money and status and social capital. Who wanted him for all three of those things, and who didn't really care to actually get to know who he was beneath the layers of wealth and privilege. At first Odette didn't seem all that different from them. She came from that world, after all, and she blended into it well.

And yet… there was something about her. Something undeniably unique. Interesting. Something that Logan hadn't really experienced while getting to know someone since…

Well since Rory.

Perhaps it was her more artistic sensibilities. They gave her that unknowable quality that captivated him. They gave her a kind of… ennui. The kind that gave Logan the unquenchable desire to make her smile.

Most women from the social circles Odette walked in would scoff at the idea of a place like Omaha, Nebraska. Logan himself often scoffed at Omaha, Nebraska. He rolled his eyes every time he was called there for work. There wasn't much to do there. Other than a handful of halfway decent restaurants, the place had little to offer. It was far from New York, London, or San Francisco. And it definitely wasn't the place where people chasing money, status, and social capitol wanted to gravitate.

But right now, as Odette's entirely genuine observation fell on Logan's ears, he couldn't help but think of the last time he'd woken up to the sun rising over the plains of his grandfather's ranch outside the city. He could feel the warmth radiating from a mug of freshly brewed coffee as he sat on a rocking chair on the porch with no sound other than the birds chirping and wind blowing through the trees reaching his ears. He could see the horses and cattle grazing in the fields during the day and the skies that lit up with more stars than Logan's city-boy imagination could even comprehend at night.

"Yeah…" he replied with a nod. "I guess it is in a way."

The contemplative look suddenly fell from Odette's face, and the next thing he knew she was smiling at him again.

"Perhaps you will take me there someday."

He took a deep breath.

Would he take her there someday?

He found it hard to say no to her smile. And as much as the part of him that was still in love with Rory - his heart - wanted to tell her that it was impossible, he couldn't form the words.

Maybe because in his head he wasn't entirely sure they were true.

She'd left again.

She left without a conversation. Without a label. Without any indication of when - or if - she was coming back.

And he'd given her plenty of opportunities.

When he'd told her about Odette. When they'd talked about his family - about whether or not to tell anyone they were in each other's lives again. He'd put the ball in her court, but he'd thought that he made it clear that he was open. He thought that he'd given her enough line to bite.

But she didn't. Not even a nibble.

Would he be stupid to say no to this woman? The one that was right here. Now. Telling him in no uncertain terms that she was open to the possibility of being with him. Of knowing his family.

Could he say no to a woman that he was undeniably attracted to? Who knew and got along with his friends? Who fit into his life like a glove? Who seemed to match him without even trying? Could he say no to a woman who he liked - who he knew in his heart he could potentially love someday - for the small possibility of having the woman he loved now?

Or was this thing with Rory - in fact - a game that he was getting much too old to play any longer?

"Maybe I will," he said with a small smile.

It wasn't a yes or a no. It was an open door. It was a path he was keeping clear in the event that the one he was hoping to travel on became blocked. He'd had to figure out an alternate route before. He'd be foolish not to consider that now.

In the meantime… he would enjoy the rest of the afternoon with no more thoughts about the future looming over him.

Odette turned her attention back to the game being played on the court. Logan did as well. And they watched as the bright green ball was lobbied over the net between the two players until it landed on the ground of one side just to the left of the center service line.

"Fifteen - Love."

2036

The only thing that Alexandre Huntzberger hated more than being forced to attend sporting events was being forced to attend sporting events where the games being played on the sidelines were more important than the game being played on the pitch.

He found it all so tiresome. The politics of it all. The pageantry of it all. If the people there actually cared about the sport or the athletes he might at least have a begrudging respect for the event. It might not be his cup of tea, but he could at least understand where the people populating the stands were coming from. But that was rarely the case. And it was especially the case when it came to the Henley Royal Regatta.

"You know… for someone who claims to hate sports, you sure do seem to care a lot about what I decide to wear to this stupid boat race."

Alex could have sighed, but it wasn't quite enough to convey his annoyance. He did feel his eyes roll of their own volition, and when he turned to look at the source of his derision he saw her holding up a pale yellow sundress for his input.

"Too short," he said, not even needing to glance at the garment twice. Riley groaned and hung the dress back up on the rack with a clank.

"I didn't take you for a prude…" she grumbled. Alex found his eyes rolling again.

"It's not about me being a prude," he explained, impatiently. "There's a dress code. I don't make the rules."

"What kind of sporting event has a dress code?"

He was about to go out of his mind. Would he be haunted with these kinds of questions for the rest of his life?

"A royal one," he answered.

"There's nothing else in here anyway," Riley said, gesturing around her. "This store is practically empty."

The store was sparse, yes. That was part of the experience. It was part of the aesthetic. It highlighted the unique and meticulously crafted nature of every item within its walls.

"I'm sorry," Alex said. "Would you like to walk a few blocks down to the Primark and fish some mass produced floral monstrosity out of a bargain bin so you can wear the same exact dress as ten million other girls on the planet before it falls apart in three days time?"

"I don't know what Primark is…" Riley replied before holding her phone up to his face. "But Google maps says there's a Zara not too far from here."

"We're in Mayfair and you want to go to a Zara?!"

"What's wrong with Zara?"

If Alex wasn't so dead inside, he might actually scream.

How on Earth had he ended up here? Arguing with some insufferable American girl in the middle of the Bond Street Miu Miu because she refused to listen to his advice despite a lifetime of experience that rendered him an expert in the extremely complicated and precarious social world that she was butting herself into…

She was hopeless, really. She was sheltered. Uncultured. Undignified. She was clumsy and loud and annoying. She drove him absolutely crazy.

And, yet, he couldn't help but have a begrudging affection for her. One that he didn't want to spend too much time thinking about.

"Stop looking at me like that!" said Riley. "You're always looking at me like that. I hate that look."

"What look?" he asked. He felt his back stiffen in self-defense and his eyes narrow at her. "I don't have a look."

"You do have a look," Riley insisted. "It's your holier-than-thou, snobby, judgemental 'I'm better than you' look. It's annoying. It's like you think I'm a monkey in a zoo throwing its dung around, and you're my keeper or something."

"Seems pretty accurate to me," Alex grumbled.

He tried his hardest to ignore the judgemental and disgusted gaze of another shopper as she overheard their conversation, but considering the sheer volume of Riley's American voice, he knew that any attempt to fly under the radar was futile. He turned on his heel and started walking out of the shop, but Riley's loud complaints didn't cease.

"You didn't have to come, you know!" she said as she landed in step beside him on the busy sidewalk. "I could have done this by myself. I didn't ask you to come with me. So stop acting like being here is this huge burden to you. I've been nothing but nice to you since I got here. I actually like you. And I've defended you even though you've been nothing but a little asshole to me. What exactly did I do to you to make you act like such a little shit all the time?!"

Had it not been for the hustle and bustle of the hundreds of people around them, Alex might have actually frozen in place in the middle of the sidewalk.

She'd never stood up to him like that before.

Since she'd arrived at their home, she'd always been so timid and careful around him. He made her nervous, and he was happy to bask in the power that her nerves provided him. Perhaps it was simply because he liked to see her squirm. But, if he was honest with himself it was probably much deeper than that.

It had been a long time since Alex had felt power over any aspect of his life. He was powerless when it came to school. He was powerless when it came to his future. He was powerless when it came to his place in his family or in the society that he lived in. He was powerless to help his mother as he watched the life behind her eyes wither away in front of him for months. And he was powerless to keep his father from spiraling and growing more and more distant as things kept getting worse.

The small amount of power that he was able to claim over Riley Gilmore's emotions was like a lifeline to him.

Perhaps he had grasped onto it too tightly. Afterall, she was right. She had been nothing but nice to him. She was pleasant to be around. She was smart albeit oblivious at times. The problem wasn't anything that she had done.

The problem was that she simply existed, and he didn't quite know how to process that fact.

Or any of the myriad of facts that revolved around said existence.

"Since when does a person need a specific reason to be an arsehole to his sister?"

In yet another display of their differences, Riley actually did come to an abrupt stop in the middle of the sidewalk as she registered his words. The person behind her nearly crashed right into her before diverting course with a few colorful words under her breath. But Riley didn't seem to notice. She didn't seem to notice the countless other people trying to avoid crashing into her on the busy pavement either, at least not until Alex had to literally pull her off to the side.

"You…" she began, trailing off as her thoughts seemed to be too busy to allow for actual words to tumble out of her mouth.

Alex stood there waiting.

"You…" she tried again.

After a few uncomfortable moments of waiting for her to come out with it, Alex realized that the moment was going to happen any time soon. He grabbed her by the arm and abruptly escorted them inside the nearest building.

"You…" she repeated. Again.

Alex rolled his eyes and pulled her down to a table.

"You know?"

Of course he knew.

And he wasn't entirely sure what made him the most angry about the entire situation - the fact that he had a long lost sister to begin with or the fact that apparently she and his father thought he was stupid enough not to know what was going on after weeks of her living in their house with his dad's face.

"How long have you known?" Riley continued, panic in her eyes.

"Well I've suspected for a long time," said Alex. "But I wasn't completely sure until you decided to extend your little stay with us out of the blue."

"Don't you think it's kind of a leap to assume that - "

"I figure it was either this or you were fucking him," he interrupted. Bluntly. "And sorry but you just don't seem like the type."

The look of pure horror on her face was like something out of a Jordan Peele movie. Her eyes were wide, her mouth was slack, and her already pale complexion seemed to have even less color than it usually did.

The thought had really never occurred to her.

How it looked.

Some random nineteen year old girl had shown up at their home a month after his mother's death. She'd been invited in with open arms and without question despite having no previous ties to them and their family. He'd bought her things. Food. Clothes. Airfare. He'd taken her places. Oxford. Dover. Bath.

He was affectionate with her.

He hugged her. He touched her on the arm. He kissed her on the head when he thought no one was looking.

But Alex was. Alex was looking, and he knew that other people were looking too. Which only made their upcoming appearance at the regatta all the more delicate. It was important that she made a good impression. It was important that they put some context on her relationship to his family.

It was more important than she could possibly understand.

"That's… That's disgusting ," Riley said as she finally broke out of the stupor he'd left her in. The shock on her face was gone, and it had been replaced with a look of sheer repugnance. "How could you even… How could you even think that? How could you say it?"

"Well, I - "

"That's gross! It's vile!" she continued. "Do you really think that I'm the kind of person that would - "

"I don't know you at all!" Alex exclaimed.

And he didn't.

He knew absolutely nothing about the girl sitting across from him. She was basically a stranger.

His sister.

He should know her. He should know everything there was to know about her. He should know what her favorite food was. Her favorite color. Her favorite movie, musician, tv show. He should know who her first crush was. He should know how to make her smile and how to push her buttons. He should know enough embarrassing details about her to surmount a pile of blackmail to use against her for a lifetime.

But he didn't.

And it made him angry.

What made him even angrier, though, was how much it highlighted the fact that he also knew nothing about his father.

In fact… her arrival had shown him that he somehow knew even less than he already thought he did.

"But you know Logan!" Riley argued. "I mean… do you really think he's the kind of person to…"

She didn't finish her thought. She was too sickened by it. Alex could tell by the look on her face. He knew what she was about to say though.

Did he really think that his father was the kind of person who would have an affair with a nineteen year old girl while he was in his fifties? And, if he did, was that something that he was willing to communicate to her - the girl who was so clearly smitten with the idea of their father that she could only see him through rose colored glasses?

He couldn't blame her, really. Alex knew those glasses well. He'd worn them for years. When he was younger, he worshiped his father. As far as he was concerned the man had hung the stars in the sky. He was fun. He was charming. He always knew how to make people laugh. He was cool. The cool dad. At least that's what his friends had always said. And Alex reveled in it.

But the older he got the more he could see his dad's true colors shining through. The more time that passed, the more Logan would fail to show up. To recitals. Holidays. Vacations. The older he got, the more he started to notice the strain between his parents - the way that he would look at other women and the way that his mother's lips would purse as she noticed. The quieter he got, the more he began to hear. Late night arguments. Comments muttered under their breath. Jokes that didn't seem humorous at all.

He hadn't wanted to believe it either - that his dad might not be the person he'd always thought he was. But sooner or later he'd had to accept the fact that he wasn't. He'd never thought his dad would be the type of person to have an affair, but then he'd walked down the stairs of his house to see his father's hand sliding down the skirt of an unknown blonde woman while his mother was on a plane to Cannes.

He'd never thought his dad would be the type to have a secret fucking family.

But then this nineteen year old girl had shown up at their door one evening, and she hadn't left since.

The truth was that nothing he learned about his father could surprise him anymore. And if he always assumed the worst… then Logan could never disappoint him.

He shrugged.

"I didn't used to…" he answered. "But I don't really know what to think about him anymore."

Riley looked at him for a while. Quietly. He couldn't be sure what was going on in her head, but the look of sympathy on her face made him uncomfortable. He didn't like sympathy at the best of times. And over the last few months he was getting so tired of people looking at him that way that it made him want to scream.

"Well…." said Riley. "I think that you're wrong about him. And that whatever happened between you two is clouding your judgment. Because all he ever says about you is how much he loves you and how worried he is about you."

This time it was Alex who sat and stared at her in silence for a few moments. His father seemed awfully avoidant for a person who was so concerned about him. Though… admittedly he hadn't really gone out of his way to make his Logan's concerns or affections feel very welcome.

If anything, Alex went out of his way to make it difficult for his father to reach out to him. He'd made it difficult for him to offer any comfort or support after his mom died. He'd made it difficult for him to connect or enter into his life any further than he already was. And he'd definitely made it difficult for his father to tell him about his sister.

Because he'd tried.

Alex knew he'd tried.

Logan had knocked on his bedroom door or pulled him aside on three separate occasions to sit him down for a long conversation about the girl currently living with them. But every time he got near the point, Alex would weasel his way out the conversation, leaving his father standing there guilty and anxious.

It felt good.

It felt punishing.

It felt like yet another piece of power that he could grasp on to in a situation that was too far out of his control.

He was still so angry.

"Can I just…" Alex took a deep breath.

The thoughts and emotions were swirling in his mind all over again, as they had been ever since Riley had walked into his life. The more he thought about it, the more questions popped into his mind - questions that he definitely couldn't ask his father and questions that up until this moment he hadn't been able to ask her either.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Uh… sure," Riley replied. Nervous.

Alex couldn't blame her for being nervous. He was too.

"Did he…" he started before taking a deep breath to ready himself. "Did he know?"

Confusion fell over Riley's face.

"What do you mean?" she asked, biting her lip and furrowing her brow.

"Did he know ?" Alex repeated. "About… you. Before…"

"Before?"

Alex rolled his eyes dramatically and leaned forward.

"Did he know about you!?" he asked again. "Did he know about you before you showed up here? Was he… Was he around in your life? Did you know him? Did he send you money and presents and like… visit you when he was over there?"

"No!" Riley replied with a look that implied the thought had never even occurred to her. "No… Alex… Of course not. I…. He didn't know about me until I showed up here. I swear."

"Really?"

"Yes!" said Riley. "I wouldn't lie to you about that."

Alex sat back for a moment and observed her, considering whether or not he was going to trust her at her word. She seemed to be telling the truth, but if the last couple of years had taught him anything it was that he couldn't know what to believe anymore.

About anything.

"He didn't know I existed at all. My mom never told him. He…" Riley trailed off. She threw a look toward one of the stained glass windows in the pub, watching as the colored sunlight poured through onto the table next to them. "He was really mad - is really mad about it. Mad at my mom I mean."

Riley's words tumbled around in his head for a moment as he tried to make sense of how they made him feel. There was relief of course - relief that at least the very worst case scenario regarding his father's secret love child hadn't been true. If anything it was a best case scenario situation.

Still, though…

He was angry .

He was angry, but it was a strange anger. He was still angry at his father… After all, he could do basic math. If Riley had just turned nineteen, he'd still been cheating on his mother for as long as they had been together.

But it wasn't as bad as he had feared.

His dad wasn't out there living a double life, deceiving them, pretending to be one person with them and an entirely different person across the ocean with people they didn't even know existed.

It was somewhat of a relief. But he was still angry.

And as he sat there considering the truth of the situation it almost felt like the thing he was most angry about was the fact that he didn't actually have a reason to be even angrier. It was like he wanted to be angrier. He wanted to be even more disappointed in his dad. And he wanted to rage about it.

….And what was that about exactly?

"Do you hate me?" Riley asked, timidly.

Apparently his resting bitch face had struck again. She'd been sitting across from him, watching as he processed everything that she had just told him. And Alex could only assume by the concerned look on her face that his expression hadn't exactly been genial.

He hadn't done it on purpose, though. It was just his face. He didn't mean to intimate her. As angry as he was about the situation, he knew there was no point in taking it out on her. It wouldn't help him feel any better anyway. Because, ultimately… as much as it pained him to admit it…

"No," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I don't hate you. You annoy the living daylights out of me, and you're loud and uncouth and uncultured. But I don't hate you."

Riley smiled. A little too widely.

"Do you want to get lunch?" she asked as the aforementioned godforsaken volume returned to her voice. "My treat!"

He rolled his eyes again.

"It's not your treat if you buy it with my dad's money."

" Our dad's money," Riley corrected with another smile.

Alex felt his own lips starting to curl a bit at the sides, but he fought it, remaining as stalwart as he possibly could.

"Shepherd's pie, right?" she asked as she stood up from the table and started walking past him toward the bar to put an order in.

"Uh… yeah…" Alex said, confused as to how she knew his standard pub order. But then it hit him. Oxford. Over a week ago. She'd just… remembered.

Suddenly, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck from behind and squeeze him. It almost caused him to jump out of his chair, and he stiffened at the touch. But she didn't relent. She held onto him tightly until he started to relax.

"I like you too, Alex."

After one final squeeze, Riley practically skipped over to the bar, leaving him there alone for a few moments to drum his fingers against the mahogany table and think about what had just happened.

It was out.

They didn't have to pretend anymore. At least not with each other.

He had a sister, and he was free to treat her as such.

And maybe… just maybe… there were at least some occasional moments where she wasn't entirely annoying.

TBC…

AN: Well? I've been nervous about this because I know a lot of you were expecting a big blow out moment between Alex and Logan. But... yeah that's not what's happening. Alex is too smart. He knows what's up. I hope you liked it. Please leave a review.