Quinn
Turning on the oven light, I lean over and squint through the glass door to check on the tenderloin. I know it isn’t done, but I need an excuse to ignore my brothers for a moment, who won’t stop asking me about the twenty-two-year-old tutor joining us for dinner this evening.
“Needs another ten to fifteen,” I say gruffly as I stand up. “Alessandra should be here any minute, so I suppose I should get started on the wedges.”
I make my way to the fridge, continuing to ignore my brothers’ slightly judgmental stares, and pull out a couple of heads of iceberg lettuce to begin the process of preparing our first course.
“You can’t dodge our questions forever, you know,” Cooper says, a stupid grin lifting the corners of his mouth.
When I don’t respond, he nudges Gavin, who takes a long s
