Ransom’s frown creates deep grooves between his eyebrows. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess he was confused, maybe even a little bewildered by my accusation. Well, I couldn’t care less. He claims he’s been thinking? Well, so have I, bucko.
Spinning around, I jam my key into the lock and shove the door open. Never releasing my grip on it, I turn to slam the door in his face, but Ransom is suddenly there, reaching out to block my effort.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he growls, slapping his hand against the door and shoving it and me back. “You don’t get to just walk away from this.”
Just the fact that he did that—said that—sends my anger spiraling out of control. Who is he to decide what I get to do? I have had it! Had it with him. Had it with his brother. Had it with men who think they have some kind of claim over me. My peace of mind has been shattered and I feel like everything in my life has gone out of control.
“Get out of my home,” I growl. My fists are balled at my sides and I feel on edge. I feel violent. How dare he act like he can just come into my home and call the shots? Before I end up doing something that’ll land me in jail, I force myself to walk away.
Apparently, Ransom doesn’t understand the meaning of get out because he follows me into the kitchen. Fuck this. I need a drink if I’m going to have to deal with him.
I take a beer from the fridge. With my back to him, I pop the cap and gulp down half its contents before taking a breath. I don’t offer him one, and that small act of rebellion feels like some kind of victory. At this point, I’ll take ‘em where I can get ‘em.
Ransom is deadly quiet, but I know he’s behind me. I know he’s watching me. How do I know this? Because I can feel him. I feel his eyes on the back of my head, probably judging me, or pitying me. It’s what people like him, all proper and respectable, do.
“Do you have a death wish?” I snarl.
Taking me by surprise, his chest presses against my back and the heat pouring off him is everywhere. It wraps around me like a cozy blanket. I jump, but then my body betrays me. The tension in my shoulders eases instantly, and I feel the urge to sigh into him. But I don’t. I tense up instead, getting ahold of myself and forcing my body and mind to resist that inexplicable pull he has over me.
Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe it’s Rebel who does that. How am I to know?
His heavy hands cover my shoulders, his fingers pressing in lightly. I stay strong, unbending, until the moment Ransom rests his chin on my shoulder and his low, throaty voice fills my ear. “I’m sorry.”
It’s over. Two words. Embarrassing, but that’s all it takes. All the oxygen in my lungs leaves me in a rush taking with it my will to fight, and then I am leaning into his embrace.
His hot hands glide down my arms and when they find mine, he threads our fingers together. I’ve missed this. The intimacy. It feels like I’ve gone forever without it.
Until him, maybe even until I met Rebel, I never craved this. I never craved a connection with another human being. I thrived on being alone, on being my own person, making my own rules. It was a very selfish existence, and I liked it. The only time I hooked up with anyone was when it felt good and was convenient for me.
Then Rebel came along.
It started out as a mutual understanding. We scratched an itch for each other, and we had fun doing it. Knowing nothing about each other made that arrangement easy. Then I met Ransom, thinking he was Rebel, and the boundaries we’d set began to fade. The more I learned about Ransom, the more time I spent with him, the more I grew attached. I didn’t know then that the time I was spending with Rebel in the hotel room was separate from the time I was spending with Ransom alone in my apartment.
Turns out, while I was fucking Rebel, I was forging a bond with his brother, Ransom. Without intending to, I had spread that connection to both men. Not knowing they were twins was what caused this problem. I can’t divide my feelings when I don’t know who they belong to.
Right now, I am torn between being distraught and angry. Logically, I know it’s no one’s fault. None of us could have known the extent of our involvement together. It’s not something anyone considers. I never thought to ask myself, hey, what if he has an identical twin? Although, if I had, I could have avoided this entire situation.
Now, as I stand here in Ransom’s arms, I feel more confused than ever. It’s like I’m cheating on Rebel by being here with Ransom, but that’s ludicrous. I’m not with either one of them.
Ransom’s words say otherwise. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop to think about how this was affecting you, Joe. None of it is your fault. Of course, it’s not. I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around my girlfriend dating my brother.”
“I wasn’t aware that I was.” The comment is meant to address both being his girlfriend and dating his brother. The moment I walked out of their apartment, those relationships were severed. Or so I thought. I heave a defeated sigh.
“I know that,” he says. Hands still holding mine, he wraps our arms around me and gives me a little squeeze. “I think what bothers me most is how long you two were seeing each other.”
Months. I’d been meeting Rebel for months before I got together with Ransom. The timeline is sketchy in my head, all things considered, but Ransom and I only started seeing each other after I became his student. At the time, I’d been sleeping with Rebel since somewhere around the start of summer break. If time were the only factor to consider here, it’s Rebel I should be having this conversation with. Hence the reason I feel like I am somehow betraying him right now.
However, the way Ransom holds me and talks to me like he really cares, reminds me that he’s the one I’ve spent quality time with. There’s no denying the depth of our connection.
“I can’t go back and change what happened,” I tell him. “I just hope that it doesn’t come between you two. I’d hate to be the reason for that happening.”
Releasing me, Ransom walks to the fridge and takes out a beer for himself. His mood has shifted. He doesn’t look at me as he cracks the bottle open, but I can tell by the rigid set of his shoulders that he’s bothered by what I said. “Don’t worry about it,” he says tightly. “There’s not much that Rebel and I haven’t dealt with that we can’t work past.”
I don’t know what that means, but I don’t ask him to elaborate. There’s enough shit on our plate now to deal with, without adding more. “Why did you come over tonight?” I ask instead. Now that he’s here, drinking my beer, we might as well get this over with.
I’m half expecting him to throw down an ultimatum, or break it off clean and save us both the headache of dragging this out further than it has to go, but I should know by now that Ransom isn’t that predictable. Every time I expect him to react one way, he does the complete opposite.
Leaning back against the counter, holding his beer to his chest, Ransom’s dark eyes concentrate on mine. “I want you to come with me to dinner at my parents’ house tomorrow evening.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“Dinner at my parents’. You said you’d go with me.”
“Yeah, before I found out I was screwing your brother!” I can’t believe this guy. Is he for real?
His features scrunch in distaste. “I’ll admit there’s a lot to work out.”
“Ya think?”
“But,” he continues. “We can’t keep avoiding each other like this. I assume you’re just as confused as me and Rebel. Which is why we think it would be a good idea for you to join us for dinner.”
My eyes widen. “Rebel? You two are discussing me now? And you think we should have dinner with your parents together?” My head is shaking furiously. He’s absolutely insane. “I’m sure finding out that their sons are having sex with the same woman will make a great first impression.”
Ransom scowls at me, but I don’t care. I need another beer if I’m going to deal with this shit tonight. Drinking deeply, I choose to ignore that dark, disapproving look Ransom is sending me. Screw him
anyway. If he seriously thinks I’m dumb enough to parade around on the arms of two men, then he’s got another thing coming.
“I wasn’t suggesting that at all,” Ransom counters. “I’d escort you to dinner. You’d ‘meet’ Rebel and my parents. It doesn’t have to be anything more complicated than that.”
I give a derisive snort and take another swig from the bottle. He’s delusional. “Complicated is the very definition of what’s going on here, and I fail to see how having dinner with all of you is going to simplify any of it.”
“That’s just it, Joe,” Ransom says as he pushes away from the counter and rises to his full height. My head tilts back and I glare openly as he comes to stand in front of me. “This is exactly what we need. All of us. I was giving it some thought, and I realized that none of us really knows each other. You and Rebel,” he says, his voice roughening at the mention of his brother, “just fucked. You and me? We might have talked a little, but we weren’t much more than that either.
“You’re having just as hard a time sorting this out as we are and this is the perfect opportunity for us to learn more about each other.” His lips twitch. “You once said you wanted things to change between us. Well, this is our chance to do that.”
This isn’t just some casual dinner. Of course, it’s not. I’d have to have been born yesterday to believe that. So what’s his angle? I stare up at him, hard, wondering, when it suddenly occurs to me. The answer is so obvious. “You want me to choose.”
A light goes off behind those dark eyes and I know I’m right. Rebel and Ransom have talked it over and together have decided that I should choose which one of them I want to be with.
“That’s the idea,” Ransom confirms with a dark smile.
My first instinct is to lay into him, tell him how dumb their idea is, when it dawns on me. They just might be onto something here. I’ve been agonizing over this situation for days, unsure of how to handle it, and this dinner just might be the solution I’ve been searching for. If I can learn more about these two, in a controlled, protected environment where they’re sure to be on their best behavior, then I might actually find some answers.
Narrowing my eyes, I regard him skeptically. “And you really think this could work.”
“What have we got to lose?”
“What if I don’t choose you?”
He doesn’t appear phased by the question. “Then you don’t choose me,” he says with a lift of one shoulder, but his answer is too confident. He doesn’t think I’ll pick Rebel, which makes me wonder what I’m missing.
I guess there’s only one way to find out.
THREE
I brush my hands down the dress I borrowed from Annie as I step out of the car. It’s a gorgeous baby doll style, black and white floral that hugs my upper torso and floats away, starting from the waist down. On Annie, the dress would graze her shins. On me, however, the length is daring, falling just shy of my knees. It’s the curse of being tall. Well, taller than her. But thankfully, the scoop neck keeps it modest enough to meet the parents.
My nerves are shot, and as I stare up at the sizeable Tudor-style mansion, I’m questioning why I agreed to do this. It’s something I’ve been agonizing over since Ransom conned me into being his date last night. I almost backed out numerous times. He still hasn’t provided me with his number, but I have Rebel’s. Unfortunately, every time I took out the business card that he left me and picked up the phone to call, I chickened out. So, here I am.
The Scott estate is stunning. Two stories with a large peaked roof, deep front porch decorated with colorful hanging baskets, and white wooden rocking chairs. Rich hunter green shutters surround every window on this stately house that appears warm and inviting.
It sits on River Road, a location known for its historic—and pricey—homes. The neighborhood is comprised primarily of lawyers, doctors, business owners, and the like. In other words, this is where the wealthy dwell.
I came alone, unwilling to get trapped here if I find a need to make a speedy exit. It’s the best decision I’ve made yet. As I walk up the flagstone path, Ransom steps out onto the porch. His smile is wide as he takes me in, and I paste on a friendly smile of my own, though barely.
I’ve never met anyone’s parents before. Keeping my relationships superficial has afforded me the ability to maintain a certain level of distance from people. Annie is different, though. Like me, she’s alone in the world, though hers is a self-imposed solidarity.
This situation is entirely new to me, and highly uncomfortable. I’ve gone through great pains putting myself together today in order to look the part of a nice, wholesome woman instead of a girl who takes her clothes off for a living. Thankfully, with school being nearly over, I won’t have to worry about that much longer.
I realize that Ransom knows none of this as I climb the two steps onto the porch and lean in to allow him to graze his lips over mine.
“You look fantastic.” Ransom beams as he takes hold of my hand and guides me to turn in a full circle. “If dinner wasn’t moments from being done, I’d give you a tour of my old bedroom growing up.”
There’s that sly smile again. I bite my lip, holding back a laugh. Ransom certainly knows how to make me smile. “What’s for dinner?”
“My favorite.” He doesn’t elaborate.
Keeping hold of my hand, he leads me inside. My gaze flits around, trying to take in my surroundings as we cut a quick path from the entry straight through to the kitchen located at the back of the house.
From what I glimpsed, the home boasts an open floor plan with a receiving and dining room at the head of the house, and a large staircase separating the rooms. The décor is rich, done up in mostly creams and gold, but it’s not overdone. It’s to the style of the house, which I can appreciate. I’m sure everything here is valuable, but I didn’t see any Renoir or Rembrandts hanging on the walls.
My overall assessment: It feels livable.
A woman with blue-black hair, a few shades darker than my own and pulled back in a severe knot, moves around the kitchen, her back to us as she checks the stove and stirs pots. She’s on the short side, is slim and is dressed in a pristine white cocktail dress beneath her pink ruffled apron.
This must be Mrs. Scott.
As Ransom tugs me over to the substantial island to make introductions, my gaze is drawn to the large bank of windows that line the entire rear wall and allow in copious amounts of natural light. Beyond a sprawling red cedar deck lays a short track of green lawn that spills into the calm waves of the Maumee River. Sailboats coast along in the distance and a little ways down, along the rocky shore, stands a couple of men in wading boots fishing.
I am transfixed by the serenity of the moment. In all my life, I’ve never experienced such a thing and I find myself fantasizing about a life where I wake up to scenes like this. I’d spend the weekends sipping hot tea in one of the Adirondack chairs, wrapped in a cozy blanket, with a book to keep me company.
I’m so lost in my fantasy that I miss Ransom’s attempt to gain my attention. When his face enters my line of vision, I blink out of my daze. Looking up, I find that he and the woman are both staring at me in amusement. She is stunning. Her dark hair paired with those sharp, midnight eyes are an exact match for Ransom’s and I can see plainly where he and Rebel got their looks from.
I realize I still haven’t said anything.
“Excuse me,” I say, laughing nervously as I hurry to get my brain up to speed. “This place is amazing. You have a lovely home.”
Holding out her hand, Mrs. Scott shakes mine. “Thank you. My husband, Vincent, had it built for me. I love it.”
“With a view like that, how can you not?” We both laugh at this. Hers is a tinkling, musical laugh lacking any pretense or falsehoods. I wasn’t expecting that.
“Josephine, this is my mother, Seraphim. Mom, this is my girlfriend, Joe.” Ransom’s chest expands. He looks proud.
I like that. It’s a good feeling, having someone b
e proud to be with me. I find myself beaming back at him. “It’s very nice to meet you, Seraphim.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” she replies. “My son failed to tell me he found himself such a catch though.” Her dark eyes scan my form, though not maliciously. The way she does it is appreciative. It reminds me of my tendency to people watch, studying others and judging how well all their parts match up. There’s nothing but abject curiosity burning behind those eyes.
“Mom,” Ransom complains, though he’s still smiling, which tells me he’s enjoying this. “Don’t run this one off. She’s skittish.” I give him a sharp look and he winks at me.
The oven timer goes off, saving me from a potentially uncomfortable exchange and Seraphim whirls back into motion. When she opens the oven door, the smell of cinnamon fills the room and I inhale deeply.
“Mmm, what smells so wonderful?” I ask.
Turning, Seraphim’s mitted hands set down a bubbling dish. Inside, I see slivers of fruit that have been caramelized in their own juices, and a crumbled topping.
“I made Summer Cobbler for dessert,” she declares. “It contains a medley of peaches, nectarines, and plums I found at the farmer’s market down the road.”
“Mom makes the best dessert,” Ransom states as he draws her into a one-armed hug and kisses the top of her head.
“I can’t wait to taste it.”
After assuring that the dessert will go perfectly with what she’s planned for dinner, Seraphim directs me and Ransom to set the dinner table.
We get to work laying out the fine China. The herringbone pattern is yet another thing that catches my eye and I admire the dishes as I place them just right around the oblong table.
“You never told me what we’re having for dinner,” I say to break the silence.
“Braised pork chops. They’re Mom’s specialty.” Ransom says this with a soft smile that reveals the depth of his love for his mother.
“You said it’s your favorite?”
Lie to You Page 2
