My Severe Brother

ch 11: Apple cake

Marco's pov

"Mr. Carnell, the results of the DNA test are ready," the doctor said.

"Thank you. Can you read the results?"

"Sure." I heard a noise as he was opening the envelope, then she said, "The results are, you are 100% brothers. I'll send you a copy by email."

"Thank you." I hung up.

Oh, shit! This is inescapable.

This is the fucking fourth test, and yes, the result is he is my brother again.

Why? Why God?

I walked to the kitchen and found him there, attempting to cook something. He was enjoying what he was doing. The smile didn't leave his face. He looked... Hmm... Let's leave it.

"What are you doing?" I asked harshly.

"Good morning, cake, sir," he said, smiling.

"Didn't I say that I will take care of cooking?" I asked firmly.

"You did, sir, but you are a busy man; you can't make cake, so I thought that I could help you," he tensed up while saying.

"Did I ask you for help or something?" I said in an unappreciated way.

"No," he said, looking down.

"Good, don't touch anything without asking me next time," I warned him.

"I'm sorry; I just wanted to help," he mumbled.

"I got the point, so shut your hole," I said with a deadly calm tone.

He pouted and looked back at his mixture. His hands shook, and his face turned red. Good, I upset him. I prepared the coffee and heated the milk for him. He washed his hands and was about to leave.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"You don't want me to do it," he said in a low tone.

"You started anyway. Finish your mess," I rolled my eyes.

"Okay," he cheered and carried on.

"I didn't find the sugar. Can you please give it to me?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Here you are." I opened the first closet on the right and gave him the bottle.

"Thank you."

I just ignored him. We were having our breakfast when I said, "Sofia will come to take you to the mall. Buy what you think is necessary for school and new clothes. Be fashionable, chic, and cool. And buy two or three suits just in case I have to take you with me to a business dinner or something."

" Yes sir, thank you."

I took a sip from my coffee and ate my tomato toast with macadamia and quinoa fruit salad. I don't know why I bother giving him instructions; he'll probably screw it up somehow. This kid can't do anything right.

He took a sip from the Blueberry-Banana-Nut Smoothie that I made for him. Initially, he eyed the glass with a puzzled expression, as if he had never encountered anything like it before. Perhaps a mix of curiosity and concern painted his features—was he questioning the concoction's safety, suspicious that I might have slipped in a dose of poison?

Well, I'll do that next breakfast! 

"Hmm, yummy," he drawled innocently.

He sampled all the dishes I cooked, then casually asked, "Why didn't you dig into my cake?"

"Eating healthy," I retorted, my tone dripping with cold indifference.

"I didn't load it up with sugar, plus, it's made with green apples," he defended nonchalantly.