Chapter 270: Something Real, Something Warm
Micah’s neck was still flushed with a faint pink, the afterglow of his impulsive compliment stubbornly refusing to fade. He hated that the heat wouldn’t go away, hated even more the smirk he could feel from behind him, that damn amused look on Clyde’s face. He didn’t have to see it to know it was there. He could already picture it: that slight quirk at the corner of Clyde’s lips, the knowing glint in his eyes. Micah turned his back on him and tried to pretend the picturesque landscapes in front of them were suddenly the most fascinating thing on earth.
He cleared his throat, trying to reclaim some of the dignity he had clearly dropped somewhere between praising Clyde’s face and losing control of his mouth.
"Anyway," Micah began, lifting his chin as if he wasn’t the embarrassed one. "You didn’t answer me. Dean is your nephew, too?"
Clyde’s good mood dropped like HP running out in a losing game. He made a small sound of irritation and rubbed his temple, fingers pressing in small circles. "Yes, he is. But why are you so fixated on him?"
"Shit!" Micah straightened, eyes suddenly sharp with seriousness. "Who is the patriarch of the Du Pont family? Your father? Or grandfather?"
Clyde stared at him blankly. "Are you living under a rock?"
"Huh? No," Micah replied defensively. "It’s just...My grandpa always talks about the Du Pont Patriarch with this weird reverence, like he’s some mysterious sage or something. The man never shows up at the event. Ever. Even this time, they sent the invitation, and Dean and Emile came instead. So I thought maybe he’s like... sick, bedridden, maybe. You know. Hold up somewhere in a golden hospital bed."
Clyde leaned in and flicked Micah’s forehead with a sharp tap. "So you just assumed he is some old man?"
"Ow. What the hell was that for?" Micah yelped, rubbing his forehead. "Isn’t it? I mean, how could he be young and stay cooped up in his home all the time? It sounds like a title you only get once you’ve outlived your enemies and most of your hair."
Clyde sighed. "You... really..." he muttered, exasperated. "Dean’s uncle is the patriarch."
Micah blinked. "Yeah, so?"
"Meaning me, you idiot," Clyde said, pointing at himself.