Trouble By Numbers Series

by Alam, Donna

  Jon now works out of Dubai flying planes for the big commercial airline out there. Not only is our proximity an issue, but he also spends an awful lot of time flying in the opposite direction of London. Apart from our last disastrous weekend together, we’d also had a fractious week spent in our hometown of Johannesburg. Let’s just say staying with our respective families—each in our own childhood bedrooms, and alone—wasn’t exactly advantageous for our relationship. Or sex life.

  ‘He says he’ll visit.’ I’m surprised to hear how insincere the statement sounds. He said he would but it was clearly said under duress. ‘Around the time of the christening.’ Fin’s best friend, Ivy, and her movie star husband, Dylan Duffy—yes, that Dylan Duffy—graciously invited Jon and me to their baby’s christening. In their own chapel. On the grounds of their castle. With a movie star guest list. I can’t help but cynically recall how Jon’s attitude to his visit had changed when I mentioned baby Alisdair’s special day. ‘I thought I’d book us a weekend in Scotland afterwards.’ Somewhere really rural. Somewhere without the usual city distractions. Somewhere we’d be forced to talk.

  ‘Really?’ She turns to look over her shoulder, the mug she’s pulled from the cupboard paused mid-air. ‘He’s travelling here?’ She’s not the only one surprised. ‘When?’

  ‘I’m not sure exactly. In a couple of weeks, I think.’ I duck down, slipping my feet into my running shoes.

  ‘Well, that’ll be great. If he arrives before, I’ll stay with Rory, so you’ll have the place to yourselves. But I’ll still get to meet him before, though, right? We could arrange dinner before.’

  I shrug noncommittally. I hope she’ll get to meet him because that will mean he’s actually here instead of more excuses and vague promises. ‘I’m just waiting for exact dates.’ And for him to stop dicking me around. It hasn’t always been like this. We usually get on great, but the past few months have been . . . a strain.

  I’ll admit, the changes I’m sensing in him are worrying. But again, I push it all to the back of my mind. I can’t think of that now.

  ‘Speaking of dates, are you okay for dinner tonight?’

  ‘Yeah. Eight, wasn’t it? Do you think Rory will be out of bed by then?’ I glance at the open kitchen doorway, half expecting him to appear. When in the same building, the pair is never apart for very long, though I’m sure he deserves his lie-in after last night’s performance. I almost needed a cigarette myself. ‘You must’ve worn him out.’

  ‘Ha-ha. Such a comedienne. He’s left already, you know. Gone into the office.’

  ‘On a Saturday?’

  ‘Don’t look so shocked. People do work on Saturdays, you know.’

  I pull a face because, hell yes, I know. Weekends and evenings and all the hours between. Though my hours are a little better now that I have a touch more seniority. I’m no longer a junior doctor, but I still have so far to go.

  ‘I take it by that you mean you’re going to your office today, too?’

  ‘God, is it that obvious?’

  ‘Not by your state of dress.’ She glances down at her tiny pyjama pants and cream-coloured fluffy socks.

  ‘It would serve the bitch right if I went in looking like this.’ I infer from bitch she means her boss, Savannah.

  ‘What has the wicked witch of Wapping got you in for today?’

  ‘She doesn’t live in Wapping. It’s Mayfair all the way for her.’

  ‘Fancy pants,’ I respond.

  ‘Yeah, so fancy she can’t attend the client meeting I’ve got to take because it’s Pierce’s birthday.’ Pierce is the owner of the events company Fin works for, and Savannah is her manager and Pierce’s current squeeze. ‘We’re not supposed to know they’re doing the dance with no pants on the regular.’

  ‘Got to make the most of birthdays at his age. After all, I suppose he can’t have too many left.’

  ‘You’re awful,’ she says, laughing. ‘He’s not that old.’

  ‘He’s positively ancient. Definitely one for the geriatric ward.’

  ‘He’s not ready for that yet.’ Not that it stops her from laughing.

  ‘No but the lifestyle he leads means he soon will be. The man undoubtedly has the onset of gout from the champagne lifestyle he leads, though he’ll most likely die with a stiffy from all the Viagra he takes. It’s no wonder Savannah makes your life hell. She’s just jealous of who you come home to.’

  ‘I usually come home to an empty flat.’

  ‘She can probably hear your moans of ecstasy from where she lives.’

  ‘Again, empty flat,’ she repeats, referring to the hours I keep at work.

  ‘Ya, but you’ll be moving in with Randy soon enough.’

  ‘I really wish you wouldn’t call him that.’

  ‘What? Randy Rory? He should keep his hands to himself, then.’

  ‘One time!’ she says, really laughing now. ‘He touched your ass one time, and he was half drunk.’

  ‘Half drunk, and he mistook me for you? Come on—I’m like a foot taller than you are!’

  ‘You are not. And he’s still frightened of you.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ I reply with a touch of asperity. ‘You and I both know he touched my posterior because it’s irresistible.’ Standing, I turn and wiggle my bottom in her direction.

  ‘Yep,’ she responds, giving it a resounding smack. ‘Irresistible. J-Lo has nothing on those buns. Now, be gone. Go run! And I’ll see you at the restaurant later?’

  Something in her tone causes me to turn. ‘I’ll absolutely be there, but is there a special reason you ask? Are you and Rory making it . . . official?’ Rory presented her with an engagement ring months ago, but she’s yet to wear it on her finger.

  ‘Well . . . ’ She stretches the word a mile long before finally answering. ‘I may have been promoted this week.’

  ‘You little sneak! How long have you been keeping this to yourself?’

  ‘Just since last night.’

  ‘That’s amazing, Fin. You so deserve it.’ After the year she’s had, she deserves all the good things. ‘This calls for champagne.’

  ‘Yeah, totally, but not for breakfast. Go get your run in before it rains.’

  ‘I’m so happy for you,’ I say, slipping my key into my jacket pocket.

  ‘Watch for fallen leaves,’ she calls as I close the front door. ‘Those slippery little fuckers will have you on your ass!’

  Outside, the winter air is bitter cold and damp, the latter the result of this morning’s rain. I pull the building door closed behind me and curl my left heel into my bottom to begin stretching my quads when my phone buzzes.

  I pull it from my jacket pocket, fumbling and almost dropping the thing as I notice Jonathon’s face flash on the screen. I breathe a sigh of relief that we’re going to do this now—make up, I mean—as it typically takes us a couple of days to get to a place where we’re ready to even talk civilly.

  As I bring the phone to my ear, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle, prompting me not to speak—to keep quiet.

  ‘Oh, God . . .’ More groan than actual words, it isn’t a sound of pain, but one of exquisite pleasure. ‘Fuck yeah . . . like that.’

  My stomach roils, my fingers white and bloodless around my phone. My whole body begins to shake even as my mind struggles to compare the sounds I’m hearing—the voice I’m hearing—to the life I knew just two minutes ago.

  This is Jon’s voice—Jon’s breathy sighs—there’s no doubt. It may have been a while since I’ve heard him utter such curses and filthy moans, but neither my heart nor my head can deny this is him.

  ‘More tongue.’ I hear a hitch of breath, a hissed, ‘Yes,’ and I want to be sick. I swallow down the urge and the bitter taste of bile and whole wheat toast as the sound of rustling cloth sounds in my ear

  ‘Yes . . . that’s right. Take it deep.’ And then the killer comment—words that cut my heart like a knife. ‘Oh, baby. I love your mouth.’

  The call cuts off as a b
us passes, the tyres creating a wet swoosh against the road. I stare at the phone in my hand like it’s a small alien—like I don’t know what that was. Even as a million words scream inside my head.

  How could he?

  How could I not know?

  How could he do this to me?

  Jonathon.

  The father of my future children—children who will now never be born.

  The man who knows me better than anyone else, even if the same can’t be said the other way around.

  The man I love.

  The man who’s cheating on me.

  The man who just broke my heart.

  With an intake of breath that’s almost too painful to bear, I bundle my phone into my pocket and step onto the street. My feet hit the wet pavement, slick with rain and wet leaves, much faster than usual as I begin to run, not jog. I run like I can leave it all behind. The words and adjoining images swirling through my head.

  More tongue.

  I see it all happening, but I don’t slow down.

  I can’t.

  Chapter Three

  KIT

  ‘I’ll have the Macallan, the fifty-year-old malt. And you’re paying.’ Rory smiles, devilment playing in his gaze.

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Fin’s tone is dry in the extreme. ‘Here I thought the reason you’d invited Kit to dinner was so we could hang out.’

  ‘Nah,’ Rory responds. ‘You’re only here to make me look better.’ With a smile the size of half a dinner plate, he hooks his arms over the back of Fin’s chair, preparing for the punch line. ‘The only thing attractive about him is his expense account.’

  I refrain from rolling my eyes along with Fin as I place my silverware down. Rory and I both have generous expense accounts. After all, the business belongs to us both, and seeing as how we’re in the hospitality business and own a chain of boutique hotels, entertaining is our business. As is the interest the press seems to have in us.

  I’m pleased about Fin’s promotion, and dinner has been good, but I can’t say I’m ecstatic about being here. Neither were Simone and Greg. It took more than a few texts to smooth over cancelling tonight’s plans, otherwise known as Fucktastic Friday. Complaints were made about the pair having to rearrange babysitters and Saturday brunch with the in-laws, but in the end, they both agreed we could move the evening, thus renaming our get-together to Shagtastic Saturday. And isn’t that just a little piece of ridiculousness? Sometimes it’s hard to believe Simone’s a barrister. But I can tolerate feigned foolishness, if for no other reason than convenience . . . and the pair’s stellar cock sucking skills.

  ‘Absolutely unattractive,’ Fin agrees. ‘Both of you. How I ever got paired with one half of the ugliest set of identical twins, I’ll never know.’

  ‘We’re not identical, titch.’ A deep chuckle accompanies Rory’s denial.

  ‘Yeah, sure, you totally aren’t the mirror image of each other.’ Fin’s eyes dart back and forth between us; her mouth curls in one corner in a look that’s half adoration and half exasperation.

  It’s good to see—great, actually. He dishes out shit, and she shoots it right back. And true, we are a pair of good-looking twins; that fact isn’t news because people have been telling us that for our whole lives. From tow-headed tots to teenagers full of testosterone, we’ve always drawn comments and admiring glances. And later wandering hands. Take tonight, for instance. It was hard not to notice the looks thrown our way as we followed Fin inside the restaurant. The looks of desire and envy. The looks we’re still drawing now. I can almost imagine the smutty thoughts running through their heads, wondering if the hot blonde with the red lipstick pout plans on being double teamed by the twins she’s dining with. Because, yes, she’s here alone. After all the trouble I’d gone to, her friend didn’t even show. So thanks, ugly friend; I’m missing out on the fun I had planned for tonight even though I got my kicks elsewhere. It’s been fun winding up Rory, not to mention Fin is such charming company. But none of this is any competition for dirty sex.

  Rory and I may be the mirror image of each other, only not quite in the way Fin believes. True, on the surface we look very much the same, but take a closer look, and you’ll realise we’re more like opposites. Rory’s the light, fun side of the mirror. Everything’s immediate with him; he’s quick to smile and just as quick to anger, where I’m the more reserved one. My smiles are as hard won as my trust is. Rory would say I’m far too serious. Fucking brooding, I believe he’d say.

  ‘Fun times.’ Fin’s playful complaint breaks through my thoughts. ‘This is like, what, the third time we’ve dined together? And the same tune’s still playing on the jukebox.’

  ‘The place could do with a jukebox,’ Rory replies, his gaze scanning our minimalist surroundings. ‘Anyway, what do you mean the same tune?’

  ‘It’s like an old-timey country song,’ she says, thickening her accent to pure hick. ‘My brother done got all the good looks and cash.’ She twines her fingers around the delicate stem of her wine glass as her eyes slide to mine, modulating her accent once again. ‘And it’s a solo, not a duet. It’s good to see sibling rivalry lives on in other families. I thought it was just Ivy and Mac.’

  ‘Don’t compare me to that juicehead,’ Rory scoffs, following it up with a very Scottish noise of dissent. ‘Mac’s just jealous ‘cos I’ve got his girl.’

  My brother. The cock of the walk. Or just a cock.

  Depends on your perspective, I suppose.

  Ivy is Fin’s best friend from childhood, and Rory is certain Ivy’s brother has the hots for his girl. Meanwhile, Fin—

  ‘Mac is not interested in me. He’s just protective is all—like a brother. And he’s not on steroids, but you know that.’

  Anyone with balls would find the first part of that statement suspicious. I think I’d like to meet this fella to find out for myself. But I don’t say that, deciding to instead just dig the knife in a wee bit.

  ‘Sounds like Rory’s a little jealous of Mac,’ I goad, though I keep my expression disinterested.

  ‘Oh, you and your teasing,’ Fin replies.

  ‘He isn’t any competition,’ Rory responds with a glare in my direction. ‘And neither are you.’

  ‘Thank you for making my earlier point perfectly, Rory.’ Her gaze is adoring. And amused. ‘That doesn’t sound like sibling rivalry to you?’ With the question, his flinty gaze slides away. I think my future sister-in-law is going to be fun to be around especially after a little more wine, I think as I top her glass with the remainder of the bottle. She’s almost as good as pushing Rory’s buttons as I am—and I’ve had years of practise.

  ‘Because this brotherly squabbling I’m hearing? Who has the bigger expense account? Blah, blah, blah. Who is better looking? Yada, yada, yada. Who has the bigger dic—’

  She slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide above delicate fingers as my brother begins to roar with laughter.

  ‘Ah, so you have heard he’s my big brother?’

  Fin’s brow furrows as her hand falls away. ‘I thought you were older? Fifteen minutes, you said.’

  ‘Aye, true, I’m older, but he’s the bigger brother, if you know what I mean.’ His words leak innuendo. ‘I’m no’ exactly small as you know well enough—’

  ‘Rory!’ Fin’s eyes are wide as she delivers her chastisement. Not that this stops him.

  ‘Seriously, it’d bring a tear to your eye. I reckon our mother must’ve spent his formative years pulling him from the bathtub by his cock.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Elbows on the table, Fin buries her face in hands.

  ‘That’s the only explanation for it. It’s obscene—that’s probably why he can’nae wear off the rack.’

  ‘Stop. Please stop! This is so inappropriate,’ Fin mumbles as she lifts her head. Even in the soft lighting, her cheeks are an obvious and uncomfortable pink.

  She’s also not looking at me. Studiously so.

  ‘But that’s Rory.’ Picking up my glass, I drain the last of my
own wine.

  ‘Has he always been like this?’ It’s amusing how quick she looks away.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ I reply. ‘He’s probably a wee bit worse around you. I’d say it’s something to do with the way you blush.’ As expected, her cheeks deepen with that charming rosy hue. It’s not hard to see why Rory’s so into her. She’s intelligent and beautiful—the former something he’s never taken much interest in up until now. She’s a curious mixture of vulnerability and strength. Rory’s smitten, no doubt, and for the very first time.

  And I’m not going to wonder how far that blush goes.

  Also studiously so.

  ‘You’re bloody beautiful.’ There’s a touch of wonder in my brother’s voice, and as Fin lowers her hand, her gaze glides to his like silk. The look that passes between the pair is so intimate and raw that I’m forced to look away.

  I catch the eye of a passing waiter and successfully order Macallan for Rory and myself and brandy for Fin. And I probably catch his eye in more ways than one if the way his gaze flicks over me is any indication. It’s not a blatant look but a speculative one.

  ‘You should give him your number.’ I turn from the waiter’s slim shoulders and retreating form, expecting to be greeted by a knowing look, a raised brow, a teasing smile, or a combination of all three from my twin. Unusually, I get none of those. Instead, an earnest faced Rory stares back at me. It’s disconcerting. And annoying as shit. ‘Or you could take his?’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’ My face is impassive, but my answer is pure sneer.

  ‘Because no man is an island, brother. We all need a little love.’

  ‘Get some original lines,’ I reply impassively, hiding my annoyance. I’m not interested in screwing the waiter, and he has no idea of my very particular proclivities. Because you never let anyone in; you just let them assume. Unsettled as much by my thoughts as his words, my fingers reach for my glass only to find it drained. Shit. I know what I’ll be faced with when I eventually look at him. Yep, that smug fucking expression because he knows he’s gotten under my skin.

  ‘You know—Fuck!’ Suddenly, he’s leaping from his chair.