Four Of A Kind - Chapter 168: [3.70] Don’t Do Anything I Wouldn’t Do

Chapter 168: [3.70] Don’t Do Anything I Wouldn’t Do

Harlow pushed back from the table so fast her chair scraped. “I’ll show her! Come on, I need to give you the full tour anyway. There’s seventeen rooms you haven’t seen yet and the library has an entire manga section and.”

“Harlow,” Vivienne said. “Iris is a guest, not a hostage.”

“She wants to see everything. Right?”

Iris nodded so enthusiastically I worried about whiplash.

“See? She wants to.”

“Fine. But she needs to be in her room by ten.”

“Ten thirty?”

“Ten.”

“Ten fifteen and I’ll do your scheduling tomorrow without complaints.”

Vivienne considered this. “Deal.”

Harlow grabbed Iris’s hand and yanked her out of the chair. They were gone before I could even say goodbye, Harlow’s voice echoing down the hallway about the difference between shojo and shounen demographics.

Cassidy stood next, grabbing her plate. “I’m out. Thanks for dinner.”

“Cassidy,” Vivienne said.

“What?”

“Your test.”

Cassidy’s entire body went rigid. “What about it.”

“We should discuss.”

“Nothing to discuss. I failed. Again. Like always.” Cassidy’s voice had that edge to it. The brittle kind that meant she was approximately three seconds from either exploding or bolting. “So unless you want to hear about how I’m the stupid sister for the thousandth time, I’m going to my room.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Sure.”

“Cassidy.”

But she was already gone, plate in hand, shoulders hunched like she was bracing for impact.

The dining room fell quiet again. Just me, Vivienne, and Sabrina, who was still working through her dessert at a pace that suggested she was savoring every molecule.

“Should I,” I started.

“Give her space,” Sabrina said. “She needs to be angry alone for approximately thirty minutes. Then she’ll be ready to talk.”

“How do you know that?”

“I observe.” Sabrina set down her fork. “Also she does the same thing every time she’s upset. Tennis court, shower, room. In that order. Very predictable.”

“You’re terrifying.”

“Thank you.”

Vivienne began stacking plates with careful movements. Mrs. Tanaka appeared to take them but Vivienne waved her off. “We can handle it.”

Mrs. Tanaka’s professional mask slipped, her eyebrows rising slightly. For a moment, the stern line of her mouth softened into something approaching a smile.

“As you wish, Miss Vivienne.”

After she left, Vivienne carried the stack toward the kitchen. I followed with the serving dishes because apparently I couldn’t help myself. Sabrina drifted behind us like a particularly elegant ghost.

The kitchen was still warm from Chef Laurent’s cooking. Vivienne set the plates by the sink and stared at them like she’d forgotten what came next.

“You don’t wash dishes often,” I observed.

“We have staff.”

“Right.”

“But Father used to.” She touched the edge of a plate. “Saturday mornings when Chef was off. He’d make pancakes and burn half of them and wash everything himself. Said it kept him grounded.”

I picked up the dish soap. “You want to wash or dry?”

“I don’t.”

“It’s not hard. Just soap, water, rinse.”

“I know how dishes work.”

“Do you though?”

Vivienne glared at me. But she picked up a plate and held it under the running water. I squeezed soap onto the sponge and worked it into a lather, then handed it to her.

“Like this,” I said, guiding her hands. “Circles. Get the edges.”

She was terrible at it. Missed half the food. Used way too much soap. Rinsed before scrubbing. But she was trying, and watching Vivienne Valentine struggle with a basic household task while wearing a school blazer and frowning at suds was possibly the best thing I’d seen all week.

Sabrina sat on the counter, legs swinging. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“I am not.”

“You are. The plate still has sauce.”

Vivienne looked down. Her ears went pink. She scrubbed harder.

We worked through the stack in weird silence. I washed, she rinsed, Sabrina provided commentary. By the end, Vivienne’s sleeves were soaked and there was a soap bubble on her cheek that she hadn’t noticed.

“You have.” I pointed at my own face.

She swiped at the wrong side.

“Other side.”

Still wrong.

“Just.” I reached over and brushed the bubble away with my thumb.

Vivienne froze. My hand was still there, suspended next to her face. Her skin was warm and soft and I should definitely move now.

I didn’t move.

Neither did she.

“Your heart is beating fast,” Sabrina observed from the counter.

“Sabrina,” Vivienne said without looking away from me.

“Both of your hearts. Very fast. Interesting.”

“Sabrina.”

“I’m simply noting biological responses to proximity and.”

“Out.”

Sabrina slid off the counter with that lazy grace she did everything with. “As you wish.” She paused at the doorway. Looked back. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“That’s not helpful advice,” I said.

“I know.” She smiled. Then she was gone.

The kitchen suddenly felt smaller. Warmer. Like the temperature rose fifteen degrees when we stopped having an audience.

Vivienne stepped back. My hand fell.

“I should check on Iris,” I said.

“Probably.”

“Make sure Harlow hasn’t converted her to the cult of magical girls.”

“Definitely.”

Neither of us moved.

“Isaiah.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” She looked at the dishes, now clean and stacked. “For. This.”

“It’s just dishes.”

“I know. But.” She hesitated. “Father was right. It does help. Staying grounded.”

I wanted to tell her that she didn’t need dishes to stay grounded. That she was already more human than she thought. That the girl who laughed at my stomach and scrubbed plates wrong and got soap bubbles on her face was worth more than the perfect heiress everyone expected her to be.

But that conversation was too big for a kitchen at eight o’clock on a Friday night.

So instead I just nodded.

“Anytime.”

Her lips curved up. Small. Real.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Four o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I headed toward the east wing, following the sound of Iris’s laughter and Harlow’s enthusiastic explanation of wig ventilation. My phone buzzed again. This time I checked it.

Felix: bro where are you

Felix: did you die

Felix: the fog machine works btw

Felix: Marin asked about you

Felix: said you looked good in the gym

Felix: are you ignoring me

Felix: rude

I texted back: alive. barely. talk tomorrow

Another message appeared. Unknown number.

My chest tightened.

But when I opened it, it wasn’t her. It was Dr. Reyes.

Isaiah. Please come see me Monday morning before homeroom. We need to discuss your attendance and recent behavior. This is not punitive. I’m concerned.

Great.

I pocketed the phone and kept walking. The hallway stretched forever. Portraits glared. Somewhere in this massive house, four identical sisters were doing four different things. One was showing my sister her entire life’s work. One was probably punching a pillow and pretending it was her math test. One was reading in the dark. One was standing in a kitchen thinking about her father and soap bubbles.

And I was standing in the middle of it all, wondering how the hell I ended up here.

My fake girlfriend situation happens tomorrow night.

My real feelings are a disaster I’m ignoring.

My mom’s somewhere in California probably composing another apology I’ll never read.

And Cassidy still has a bet to win that I’m pretty sure neither of us actually wants to collect on anymore.

I reached the guest wing. Iris’s door was open. Inside, she and Harlow were building what appeared to be a nest out of approximately forty pillows while a magical girl transformation sequence played on loop on Harlow’s phone.

“Big brother!” Iris called.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? It’s accurate.”

Harlow waved. “We’re having a sleepover! In my room! We already asked Vivienne and she said okay!”

I looked at my sister. She looked back. Her eyes were bright, happy. When was the last time I saw her look like that?

“Alright,” I said. “But you text me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“And Harlow.”

“Yes, Assistant-kun?”

I was never getting used to that nickname.

“If anything happens. Anything at all.”

“I’ll protect her with my life.” Harlow saluted. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Irrelevant. The honor stands.”

Sabrina appeared behind me in the hallway. Because of course she did.

“Your room is ready,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“Cassidy’s in the library.”

“I figured.”

“She’s not hitting things anymore. Just staring at her textbook.” Sabrina tilted her head. “You should go.”

“In a minute.”

“Now would be better.”

I looked at her. She looked back with those unreadable purple eyes that saw too much.

“Fine. I’m going.”

Sabrina nodded once. “Good luck.”

I headed back downstairs. The library door was open. Cassidy sat at our usual table, hunched over her textbook with that same defeated posture from the tennis court.

When I walked in, she didn’t look up.

“Go away,” she said.

“No.”

“I’m not studying.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I believe you.”

She finally looked at me. Her eyes were red. Not from crying, just… tired. The kind of tired that comes from fighting yourself.

“I don’t want to talk about the test,” she said.

“We don’t have to.”

“Or about rabbit ears.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

“Or about why I’m sitting here like a loser.”

“You’re not a loser.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah,” I said, pulling out a chair. “I do.”