After they sat down, Henry glanced at Ian and said, “I’ve already ordered, but take a look—see if there’s anything else you’d like.”
Ian smiled softly. “No need. We’ve always liked the same things.”
Pouring a cup of tea for Ian, Henry tried to sound casual as he asked, “Ian, how long have you known Vanessa?”
Ian lifted the cup, his gaze steady as he considered the question. “Ten years.”
“Ten years is a lifetime for a woman,” Henry said, setting his own cup down. He traced the rim with his fingertip, thoughtful. “All of us have seen how Vanessa feels about you. Back when you divorced Eleanor, she was always there for you, quietly standing by your side. Don’t you think you owe her some kind of answer?”
Ian looked up, his voice unreadable. “We’ve always just been friends.”
Henry’s hand, resting on the table, curled into a fist. A note of frustration crept into his tone. “Ian, you’re my brother, but even I can’t watch this anymore. After everything Vanessa’s done for you, you can’t just pretend not to see it. Are you seriously still calling her just a friend?”
Ian frowned, but answered without hesitation. “She is my friend. That’s all.”


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