Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Ben smiles, warm and genuine. “Yeah, same, man. I don’t take any time spent with you guys for granted.”
That feels good to know.
He sits beside me on the bed. I like that he’s hanging out here for a second.
I lift my sock up my calf. “I wish Dad heard me use a made-up word so I could see his eye twitch.”
“It does do that when you say gazillion-bajillion.”
I laugh. “I knew it.”
Ben smiles wider. His eyes seem brighter as they travel around my things, landing on my framed Silver Sweet album vinyl on the wall. “It’s definitely an upgrade from Eliot’s.”
Eliot gave me his room. I painted over the red walls, and there’s no ginormous four-poster bed engulfing the space or thick, heavy drapes obscuring the window.
Ben fits on a baseball cap backward and adds guiltily, “Don’t tell him I said that.”
“He won’t care,” I remind him. “You could literally call him an ugly grotesque monster, and he would not take a single word personally.” I tug the leg to my jeans down and stand. “What he knows about himself cannot be weakened or damaged by the opinions of others.” I tap my temple. “Strong mind.”
“What’s it like having one of those?” he banters.
I try not to look disturbed, but his morbid humor has high shock value, being my sunshine baby brother.
A smile plays at his lips. “Joking.”
“Stop coming for my comedic crown, Ben Pirrip,” I warn.
“I don’t think I’m much of a contender.”
“Not with that attitude.” We share a laugh, and I remind him, “And dude, you know what it’s like having a strong mind. You and Beckett have the strongest minds of us all since your brains are in constant battle.”
Ben leans back on his palms. “I like how you view the world.” It’s one of the most out-of-pocket nice things anyone has ever told me. That’s just Ben.
“I’m glad we still live in the same apartment so you can keep telling me awesome things about myself,” I say. “One of the many reasons.” The other reason comes hopping into the ajar door. “My nephew. Come to visit.” I outstretch my arms to Mister Feathers.
Ben is laughing as the white cockatoo hops past me. He flies up to Ben’s shoulder and head-butts his cheek. Then he chirps, “My home, my home.”
Good choice.
Though I have my ways with the bird. I unpocket dried-fruit treats and feed him from Ben’s shoulder. We chat about how Harriet has braved a return to the Honors House. She said most of her dormmates haven’t brought up the ordeal. Those that did just blamed her mom for causing drama.
“For a minute there, I thought she was about to move in with us,” I tell Ben.
Ben has a soft smile. “I never doubted that she’d go back. Fisher is tough.”
I don’t disagree.
“Incoming,” Phoenix announces with two nails between his teeth. He’s walking backward with something huge in his arms. Beckett holds the other end.
A midnight-blue sheet covers what looks like a framed picture or portrait or…
“Wait, is that…?” I trail off, frozen as I stand in the middle of my room, as Beckett and Phoenix prop what I’m almost positive is a painting on my dresser. It’s the same size as the Thomas Cole painting that I threw out—the one destroyed during my birthday rager.
Apropos, considering it was Destruction. The fourth painting in Cole’s five-part The Course of Empire series.
“Here, okay?” Phoenix points to the free space on the wall while taking out a hammer from his ass pocket.
That shouldn’t be attractive. Fuck him for literally making a hammer look hot. This should be illegal in front of my family. A crime…I hope he keeps committing.
“Tom.”
“Yeah, there’s good.” While he pounds in a nail, I tell Beckett, “You didn’t have to buy me a replacement.” I motion to our little brother. “I already told Ben that I fully intended to get a replica at some point.”
It’s not as though our parents gifted us originals, but they are limited edition, hand-painted oil reproductions. Not thirty-dollar art prints.
Beckett ignores me. Rude. He helps Phoenix line up the second nail, then he says, “I didn’t buy you anything.”
My brows crunch. “I don’t understand.” I study the covered object still propped on the dresser. “This is a Thomas Cole painting, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Beckett gives me another superpowered smile, then he slips the sheet off the ornate frame. “I’m giving you mine.”
My eyes blow wide at the beautiful, bright imagery. So unlike the grim painting that’d been in my room for years.
A light blue sky with no haze of smoke. Pristine white marbled buildings, arches, and domes. Ships sail through crystal clear waters. Kids play in a fountain. People joyfully flood the harbor and crowd a bridge for an elegant procession.
It’s grand, perfected beauty. An empire at its height of power. Where excess pride could topple everything. But it hasn’t yet. In this frame, it’s all contained.