Seen (ONC 2024)

Chapter 11: When the Going Gets Tough

Aria pauses, her brow furrowing slightly. "Your brother? What does he want?"

I shake my head. "I don't know," I admit.

"Are you going to let him in?" Aria asks, a note of caution in her tone.

As the question hangs in the air, a knock sounds again, a bit more insistent this time, echoing through the quiet of the cabin.

I take a deep breath, reaching out to the doorknob. Even though this is opening a gate to further complications, I can't leave my brother outside.

"Daniel," I greet him. "Looks like you were able to make it after all."

He steps through the doorway, momentarily pausing as his gaze sweeps the room.

When his eyes land on Aria, there's a flicker of unmistakable awe. It's subtle, but it's there—the slight widening of his eyes, the momentarily slackened jaw. It's an odd, discordant moment seeing my brother, usually so unflappable, star-struck.

"Wow, you two look so much alike," Aria says, eyes swiveling between the two of us.

"We do," I agree, glancing at Daniel, who is still staring. He is several inches taller than me, and his jaw is more squared—reminders of the chromosome I missed out on. That twinge of dysphoria nags at me, the kind that claws quietly at my gut whenever I compare myself to him. But as usual, I shove these thoughts aside, not the time for that internal battle. "But," I continue, "I have a much more refined sense of style."

That seems to knock Daniel out of his stupor. He smiles playfully, his cheeks dimpled. One hand smoothes out the plaid shirt that's become his trademark look, and the other hand tips his well-worn Red Sox cap. "Not all of us work in high-rises in the big city. Some of us get our hands dirty for a living, little brother."

The only time Daniel's hands have gotten dirty at work is when he's been slinging mud at political opponents. But instead of voicing my thought, I just laugh and shake my head.

"Anyway," Daniel says, sticking out his hand, "Nice to meet you, Miss Stark."

Aria hesitates, making a show of inspecting his hand, which is visibly clean, and then reaches out to shake it.

Daniel laughs. "I always knew you were talented, but you're funny, too!" Then he then scratches at his unkempt beard. "You know, when Eli here said you had crashed his vacation, I didn't believe him."

Aria shoots me an accusatory look.

Fuck.

"I thought you didn't tell anyone I was here," Aria says, her eyes piercing.

"Well," I hedge, not exactly sure how to respond. Maybe if I was a criminal lawyer, I'd be better at making up excuses on the spot. Instead, I go with the truth. "I only told Daniel, and he is definitely not the one who told the paparazzi you were here. That's not his style."

From Aria's body language–folded arms, lowered chin–I can tell she's not buying it.

"Look at him," I say, gesturing to Daniel. "Does he look like the kind of guy who knows people who care about celebrity gossip?"

Aria shifts, considering.

"Hey," Daniel says, spreading his arms. "I know plenty of people. I am the favorite to win in November."

I shake my head and look at the ceiling.

"You're in politics?" Aria asks, eyes narrowing.

"Listen," I interject before things get worse. "Can we sit down? Daniel, do you want a coffee?"