Bad Twins

by Rebecca Chance

  ‘It’s a shame that Samantha isn’t here,’ Bella had observed to Bart as they drank their spritzes, the classic Venetian cocktail of white wine, Aperol aperitif and soda water, garnished with a large green olive. ‘I didn’t realize how much I liked her until she wasn’t around any more.’

  ‘Oh, I did,’ Bart said gloomily. ‘She was the best thing that ever happened to Conway. I can’t believe he pissed it away like that.’

  ‘He’s scarcely looking unhappy about it, is he?’ Bella commented ironically, looking over at their brother, who was flanked by two of the most beautiful women in that entire glamorous gathering, Adrianna’s younger sisters Liilia and Sirje. There was a marked family resemblance. Both women had Adrianna’s statuesque figure, square shoulders and narrow hips, perfect for wearing clothes. Sirje, the blonde, was the tallest and most toned of the three; Liilia smaller and darker, but their manes of hair were just as lush and voluminous as Adrianna’s and the Countess’s, and their strong, photogenic features were so like those of their older sister that it was immediately obvious they were related.

  Like Adrianna, too, their breasts were so high and round that they owed more to art than to nature. Despite the jutting bosoms, however, Liilia and Sirje were dressed in the most ladylike of fashions, having been strictly supervised by Adrianna to ensure that her family made the best possible impression in these elevated circles. Their cleavage was not on show, their nails were comparatively short, their shoes were the wedges which upper-class women wore for walking on grass. Their belted silk dresses floated delicately around their curves; no overly fitted, inappropriately sexy clothes which the columnist who wrote about ‘Natashas’ would have considered typical of the breed.

  ‘They’re so stunning,’ Bella said wistfully. ‘I could look at them all day.’

  ‘Right,’ Bart said. ‘They’re like walking art objects.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’re not over there with Conway, chatting them up!’ his sister said.

  ‘Ah, well,’ Bart said, smiling at her. ‘They’re a little young for me. Recently I found myself realizing I need a woman, not a girl.’

  His eyes drifted over to Adrianna, who was standing with her arm looped through Jeffrey’s, her hair pulled back from her face, pinned in a seemingly casual arrangement which showed off the rich highlights in her chestnut hair and the huge emeralds dangling from her earlobes. She might be wearing jeans, but her jewellery made it quite clear that she was marrying a billionaire.

  Bella did not notice the direction of Bart’s glance, however, as she was reaching up, playfully touching his forehead.

  ‘It’s normal temperature! I could have sworn you had a fever!’ she said. ‘What’s come over you?’

  ‘Oh, who knows? Maybe I’m in love with the one woman I can’t have,’ Bart said, with a smile even sweeter than the first.

  ‘Bart, you do talk a lot of nonsense,’ Bella said tolerantly. ‘As if there was anyone you couldn’t have! You could stroll over there right now and cut Con out with both of those girls!’

  ‘And yet I’m not,’ Bart said. He fished the olive out of his glass and took a bite of it. ‘Bizarre, isn’t it? Maybe I really am coming down with something.’

  ‘Daddy looks very happy,’ Bella said, looking in the same direction as Bart was, but mistaking the reason for his stare. ‘Pumped up on love. It’s amazing, really, that he’s so keen to get married over and over again. I mean, he doesn’t need to marry her. She’d put up with being his mistress for the right salary, surely.’

  ‘Some guys like being married so much they do it again and again,’ Bart observed. ‘But you’re wrong about Adrianna. She rules the roost. He bloody well does need to marry her, if that’s what she wants.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Bella said, vividly flashing back to that encounter in Adrianna’s private gym during which she had so thoroughly intimidated Bella and Charlotte. Bella still had no idea why there had been a tyre propped against the wall. ‘She has a will of iron, doesn’t she?’

  Bart nodded.

  ‘Oh, look at Pa’s new mama-in-law!’ he observed, as Adrianna’s stunning mother, also dressed to the nines, perfectly groomed, and looking not a day over forty, appeared from around a hedge, chatting amiably to the Earl of Rutland. ‘No secret where the girls get their looks from, eh?’

  ‘No father in the picture?’ Bella asked.

  ‘Long gone, apparently,’ Bart said. ‘But he wouldn’t have contributed to the aesthetics. Estonia’s a typical Eastern European country – the men are as ugly as the women are beautiful.’

  Bella giggled at the authority with which Bart had pronounced on this.

  ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ she said. ‘You’re the expert on the ladies. God, she looks as if she had Adrianna when she was fifteen!’

  ‘Probably did,’ Bart said wryly. ‘Not an easy life over there, by all accounts.’

  ‘She should really be marrying Daddy, not Adrianna,’ Bella observed. ‘That’d look a lot more appropriate.’

  Bart burst out into a laugh raucous enough to draw stares, but the brother and sister were not foolish enough to be having this conversation where anyone could overhear, but were standing safely in the centre of an expanse of lawn.

  ‘Excellent idea!’ he said, taking another bite of olive, his perfect white teeth making short work of it. ‘If this were a film, or one of those big sexy novels the ladies love to read, that’s exactly what would happen at the wedding. Pa would announce that he’s realized that Mrs Rootare is the true love of his life, Adrianna would cry and say she’s been in love with the best man all this time and fall into the latter’s arms. Happy ending all round.’

  ‘Except Daddy doesn’t have a best man,’ Bella pointed out. ‘Just you and Con standing up with him.’

  ‘Oh yes. Well, that puts the kybosh on that scenario,’ Bart said, shrugging.

  ‘Bart, talking about the wedding . . .’

  ‘I know.’

  Their high spirits dropped like a stone, as did their gazes; both of them stared at the grass in front of them. Jeffrey, with his flair for drama and suspense, had told his adult children that he would be making the announcement about the CEO job during the post-wedding-ceremony formal dinner. It was hanging over their heads like the sword of Damocles, metaphorically ready to behead three of them, leaving only the lucky winner alive.

  None of them had an idea about who that would be. Bella had definitely edged ahead now that her rewards scheme upgrade was under way, but had the terrible publicity caused Jeffrey to have doubts about her? Conway was in Jeffrey’s very bad books because of the divorce, but what if Jeffrey decided that his elder son and heir presumptive’s personal life had nothing to do with his professional one? Charlotte’s Sash chain had won another award in the last fortnight, and Bart was wondering whether Adrianna had listened to him and put his case forward to his father, who seemingly could refuse her nothing . . .

  ‘I hate this,’ Bella said unexpectedly. ‘I really do. Setting us against each other is so horrible. Look at everything that’s happened already! And what if it gets even worse when Daddy’s made his decision?’

  ‘How are you and Charlotte?’ Bart asked, not meeting her eyes.

  ‘Awful,’ Bella said flatly. ‘How could we not be? I mean, she apologized, but when your sister does something like that to you, you can never see her the same way. And sorry’s supposed to mean that you’re never going to do it again, while . . .’

  She tailed off, not wanting to complete the sentence, but they both knew what Bella was saying. Of course Charlotte would still resort to underhand tactics if she thought she could get away with them. Much as Bart would have loved to be able to defend her, the words would not come.

  Bella was surprised to find Bart’s hand reaching out for hers.

  ‘It’s a shitty, shitty time,’ he said, sounding genuinely melancholy. ‘Whatever happens tomorrow evening will take a hell of a lot of getting over. Can we promise to have each other’s
back? Not in a “let’s team up against those two bastards” way, but just in solidarity for not – well, not doing stuff we’d be ashamed of in the battle against Charlotte and Con?’

  Bella swallowed hard. She was very glad that Bart was not looking at her but straight ahead, towards the main mass of wedding guests, a group clustered around their father and Adrianna, who, in her four-inch wedges, was tall enough to be clearly visible above the crowd.

  ‘Okay,’ she muttered, feeling horribly guilty.

  Because just that morning, she had received information that would utterly discredit one of her siblings in her father’s eyes, and she was planning to use it at the earliest opportunity.

  Chapter Thirty

  In truly aristocratic circles, a bride does not have adult bridesmaids. They are little girls, ideally no older than twelve, and even if they are strewing petals up and down the aisle, they are never known as flower girls, which is considered a vulgar Americanism. If the bride wants her grown-up sister, for instance, to carry her train, she does not count as a bridesmaid: the correct title is ‘maid of honour’, or ‘matron of honour’ if the sister is married, and there can only be one of them.

  Adrianna, who wanted to do everything in the best possible style, who would have loved to have been married on the island where Princess Alexandra of Greece had celebrated her nuptials, had been genuinely torn when the wedding planner informed her of this etiquette rule. Her wedding procession started in perfect aristocratic style, with Posy and Emily in frilled dresses and the four little boys making adorable pageboys in equally frilly shirts.

  Posy and Quant, by now veterans of Instagram photo and video shoots, were the stars, the first to appear, as they could be relied on to set an example to the other children. Their backs were straight, their expressions appropriately solemn as they carried their silver baskets of white rose petals, scattering handfuls as they went, trailed not only by sighs of appreciation but also glances of veiled envy from parents whose children were neither so beautiful nor had so much composure at such a young age.

  Charlotte and Paul looked extremely smug at Posy and Quant’s perfect demeanour, and their self-satisfied smiles only deepened when George and Emily, who were not dealing well with their parents’ separation, visibly squabbled their way down the aisle, Emily actually kicking her brother at one stage over a dispute about who should throw their petals where. Brutus and Roman, who were being supervised by nannies during the weekend, as naturally their mother was not invited, were no better behaved. Brutus looked understandably angry, Roman bored and sulky. Both dragged their feet in their shiny polished shoes and made only the most cursory efforts to scatter petals while staring pointedly at their father, who seemed barely aware of their presence.

  After the children, however, contrary to posh protocol, came Adrianna’s sisters. Adrianna had simply been unable to tell Liilia and Sirje that they could not walk down the aisle carrying bouquets: not only would it have broken their hearts, her mother would never have stood for it. Besides, they were so absurdly beautiful, such excellent clothes horses, that it would have been a waste not to include the two of them on aesthetic grounds alone. Their dresses were in a shade of palest blush pink which would have been challenging to most women, but which threw into relief their green eyes and matt white skin; as they processed down the aisle, every man in the ballroom of the palazzo sat up straighter and unconsciously fumbled with his tie. Bearing bouquets of lily of the valley festooned with trailing greenery, Liilia and Sirje looked like Grecian goddesses in their asymmetric, ankle-length dresses, a perfect pair.

  And then the bride appeared. There was no train for her sisters to carry. Adrianna had indulged herself with the wedding dress she had dreamed of since watching Cinderella films when she was a little girl: her two models had been the Disney version and the musical The Slipper and the Rose, which costumed the heroine for the ball scene in full eighteenth-century style, with a square neckline, beaded stomacher, puffed sleeves and hoop skirt.

  The very distinguished designer whom Adrianna had chosen to make her dress had swallowed hard on being informed of her concept, looked at the bride’s extreme beauty and perfect figure, considered her unlimited budget, and decided to go ahead with the commission. It was very old-fashioned but, in its way, quite magnificent. Adrianna had sensibly eschewed the over-the-elbow gloves from the Disney version and the glittering silver wig from The Slipper and the Rose, as the dress itself was theatrical enough.

  The aisle between the two sets of delicate gilt chairs had been made unusually wide to ensure it could accommodate the hoop skirt, which was so huge that only a woman of Adrianna’s height and majestic bearing could have carried it off. The dress was made of white silk, the delicate fabric rippling under the soft lighting, the stomacher so heavily decorated with hand-sewn embroidery and pearls that it looked encrusted. More pearls framed the neckline, a triple band of them, as lustrous and gleaming as Adrianna’s smooth, pale skin. Woven into her hair, instead of the Disney Cinderella’s over-girlish ribbon, was a pearl and diamond tiara, part of a parure with the matching earrings and wide choker, a style suitable only for a woman with her stature and swan-like neck.

  Her sisters had caused every male guest to sit up and blink in appreciation of their beauty, but Adrianna was beyond mere sexual appreciation today; she was like a reigning queen, to be revered rather than desired. There was no veil to hide her beautiful face or make her seem demure. It would not have suited the dress in any case, but it was definitely not Adrianna’s style. Her expression was wonderfully serene as she processed slowly towards her fiancé. Jeffrey, wearing full morning dress, as were all the male guests, was beaming proudly, a smile that seemed to reach from ear to ear. It was echoed by Adrianna’s mother, following her in a pale-blue dress, who looked as blissful as if she herself were about to marry an ageing billionaire; she was proudly wearing a superb set of blue topaz earrings and necklace that had been the groom’s gift to his mother-in-law.

  The ballroom was exquisitely decorated with flower arrangements which twined around the classical columns reaching up to the double-height ceiling, and huge candelabras were placed around the expanse of marble inlaid floor, the orange-blossom scented candles subtly perfuming the air. The velvet curtains at the high windows which ran along one long side of the ballroom were looped back to show the stunning view of the Grand Canal bathed in late-afternoon sunlight, but the windows were closed to keep out the inevitable noises of vaporetto buses, water taxis and private boats buzzing back and forth on the water. Up in the gilded musicians’ gallery, a small chamber orchestra played a tranquil selection of unchallenging classical music.

  The ceremony was large yet intimate, sophisticated but family-friendly. Jeffrey’s four adult children were present to demonstrate that they approved of their father’s new bride, that there was no scandal attached to the swift divorce and remarriage; Adrianna’s insistence that his two young sons should also be at the wedding had cost Jeffrey a significant extra outlay to Jade, but it had been worth every penny to Adrianna. Her goal had been to demonstrate respectability and stability. This ceremony made it clear that she was not a homewrecker like Conway’s mistress, but a wife who fully intended to take her marriage seriously.

  The road to this moment had been a rocky one. The stress of keeping Jeffrey sexually satisfied, while simultaneously making sure he did not drop dead of a heart attack before the wedding, had been very wearing on his fiancée. One would never have seen the exhaustion on Adrianna’s face, however, as she executed the slow-motion glide down the aisle which she had been practising for weeks, giving her guests plenty of time to take in her radiant beauty and her extraordinary eighteenth-century-inspired wedding dress. Halting by her husband-to-be, she turned to hand the pearl-and-ribbon-wrapped bouquet she had been carrying to her mother, and reached out to clasp Jeffrey’s wizened fingers as the officiator, the Mayor of Venice himself, began the civil ceremony.

  Bart, standing by his father’s side,
never took his eyes off the bride. He was by now utterly infatuated with Adrianna, and not just sexually, though that was of course a considerable factor. The mere thought of her hand on his waistband that day at Vanbrugh, her lips on his, made him swallow hard and swiftly summon up the image of the TV presenter Anneka Rice: while having a happy morning fiddle with himself, years ago, he had idly switched on the television, only to see her holding forth on a cookery show. He had immediately lost his erection. Ever since, the mere thought of her face was his fail-safe strategy for making sure he didn’t get a hard-on.

  Conway, beside him, was fully occupied in leering at Liilia and Sirje, both of whom were smiling coyly at their sister’s newly single, highly eligible stepson as their mother looked on in approval. Then, however, Mrs Rootare’s all-seeing gaze moved over to Bart’s face, and her lips pinched together in concern and disapproval. Bart’s feelings for her unavailable daughter were all too obvious to her mother.

  She watched him like a hawk, but Bart behaved impeccably; there was no outcry from him, no attempt to step forward and beg Adrianna to reconsider. He simply stood there and watched her marry his father, her low contralto voice moving smoothly through the responses, his father sounding higher-pitched than her as he piped up excitedly. The Mayor was smiling at him tolerantly, since Jeffrey’s delight in snagging his prize was so blatantly obvious. When the ceremony concluded, Adrianna bending towards her husband so that he was able to kiss her over the breadth of the huge, slightly swaying hoop skirt, Bart’s heart physically hurt him for the first time in his entire life.

  It was as if she had reached into his chest cavity with one of those beautiful, long-fingered hands and squeezed it hard, stopping the blood flow. He pictured her smiling as she did so, compressing his heart, the same calm, clear smile of absolute triumph and achievement she wore now as she pulled back from Jeffrey. She nodded in thanks at the Mayor. Then her gaze flickered for a moment to Bart, and his heart expanded, flooded with blood once more, because with great shock and excitement he realized that in that second she looked truly, genuinely wistful.