by May Sage
She looked a little stunned but obeyed enthusiastically. Quinn found himself waiting for her to take the first mouthful, close her eyes, and groan in pleasure, before he laughed and attacked his own plate.
“This is so good! I’d sell my soul for food like that.”
And thereby, she won over Hugo, too. With each dish, more sincere compliments spilled out of her mouth—the blueberry and champagne sauce practically brought tears to her eyes.
“You’re gonna have to come back for Christmas,” Hugo declared. “I’m making goose or venison. Haven’t decided yet.”
Quinn was lost in his own mind for a few instants. Christmas. That was in a month and he’d only known Leila for a week—yet the invitation felt right. Like he knew she’d be there then.
And by then, he would be single, legally.
Quinn had been looking forward to that. He’d joked around with Vincent, saying that he was going to go out every single day and enjoy his new marital status.
Could he—should he—really jump right back in the dating pool? He knew most shrinks would tell him to take some time to find himself. Well, they hadn’t met Leila. He’d never met a cute geek like her in his thirty-one years and he wasn’t willing to let her pass him by because the timing didn’t seem right.
Making good use of Vincent’s overpaid driver, who apparently was on duty even during the holidays, Quinn dropped her off home after lunch.
“My parents like you,” he told her, and she snorted in response to that.
“Your mother thinks I’m a gold digger.”
He laughed, pulling his phone up and seeing a few texts flash. Exactly what he’d expected. He handed it to her.
Bring her back for dinner anytime, said Hugo. I’ll cook.
Well, it appears your taste has dramatically improved, Quinn, had come from his mother.
She lifted a brow. “Wow. How does she act when she doesn’t like someone?”
He had to laugh. “Good thing you’ll never need to find out.”
They’d spent a good week and a half on a nice little cloud.
The next day, reality hit.
Chapter 6
Waking up, Leila reached out for her phone like she always did, and was stunned into oblivion, reading the thousands of messages on her social media accounts, feeling quite stunned.
Whore. Homewrecker. You’re a disgrace.
And as well as these colorful insults, there were the threats. She felt sick to her stomach, reading some of them.
What the…
A name flashed on her incoming calls and Leila answered.
Amelia.
“Well, you’ve been busy!” said her friend.
“I don’t… I don’t understand, Mia.”
Her voice sounded faint, even to her own ears.
“I just woke up. I really don’t get why I’ve become public enemy number one overnight…”
“Because people, at the core of things, simply love to gang up on women. The wife of that guy you told me about? She roasted you online. Tagged you and everything. She has a big following and it went viral.”
Her mind raced.
“Are you freaking serious?”
“Hang on, let me find you a link. I’m on my way. With wine.”
“It’s morning,” she replied, but Mia had already hung up.
Clicking on the link her friend had sent, she read the absolute bullshit story Quinn’s wife had written—invention from A to Z, imagining a relationship between her and Quinn from months ago, before they’d ever met. Stella Wolf had a knack at making herself appear like a saint. She’d added pictures of them taken from a distance—none of which suggested intimacy, because, well they’d never touched each other. But no one cared, all too ready to jump on the hate wagon.
When she was done reading, Leila texted Mia.
Bring at least two bottles of wine. And chocolate.
I’m on it.
* * *
Quinn tried to call, and text. She didn’t answer that day. It took hours, but then, the knocking started on her door in the evening. Leila stayed bundled up on the sofa, knees on her chest, eyes closed.
“Want me to get rid of him?” Mia asked softly. But she shook her head. What would that achieve? He’d just come see her at work the next day if he wanted to talk to her.
Leila got up and opened the door. She opened her mouth, stunned.
“Vincent.”
The second twin was recognizable, at least to her. When he didn’t wear his glasses, or style his hair, he was almost identical to Quinn, but their eyes were distinctive; and so were their expressions. But the main reason why she recognized them was because only one of them made her heart beat at a thousand miles an hour.
“Yep. And before you ask, finding you was easy. I just got my driver to bring me where Quinn dropped you off yesterday.”
He walked past her without waiting for an invitation. After a few steps, he stopped dead. Leila didn’t have to ask why. Most men had that reaction when they first saw Mia. The gorgeous Black lady could have been a model—she was just as stunning as Stella Wolf, at least, and her body had been sculpted by the god of temptation. In sweats, with a glass of red wine in hand at midday, she was still a vision.
“Amelia,” he said.
Oh. He knew her, then.
Mia raised her glass in greeting. “Bad blind date number thirty-seven! Hey.”
Amelia dated once a week; no one in the last couple of years had earned a second date. Rather than attempting to remember all their names, she assigned them a number—the first of the year was number one and so on until number fift- two. Then back to one the following year.
Thirty-seven made him a September guy. Leila tried to remember what had happened with that particular date to see how awkward things could get, but there was just too many for her to be sure.
“Bad date?” he repeated, utterly confused. “We had fun.”
“You had fun,” she retorted with a shrug.
“You said you’d call.”
“I lied.” She was unapologetic and Vincent, stunned.
“Okay.” He slowly turned to Leila. “Let’s ignore this and concentrate on the matter at hand. The post is offline now—but a lot of Stella’s followers had screenshot and reposted it. Quinn is flying down to NC with his lawyer. She’s going to bleed for what she’s done. She’s kissed her five billion goodbye. It’s going to go right to you for the inconvenience caused and she’ll retract her story with an apology if she knows what’s good for her.”
Leila nodded. “I don’t want money. But yeah, an apology would be nice.”
Not that it would erase the last few hours.
“She’s going to have to pay—to make it clear that she was talking out of her ass, we’ll have to crush her in court. Honestly, we’ll enjoy it. Mom called the Alden lawyer. Trust me, she’s toast.”
He’d wordlessly made his way to the coffee table and grabbed one of the still-full bottles of wine. “Where do I get a glass?”
“Kitchen. First cupboard, top, left of the sink.”
And without asking whether he was welcome to, Vincent interrupted their wine session, sitting on her banged-up sofa on her right, while Amelia was on her left. He didn’t even complain about the Nicholas Sparks movie they picked.
When everyone eventually died miserably, he wordlessly handed them the box of tissues on her table.
“People watch this for their entertainment?” he mused. “That’s a let’s cut my wrists movie.”
“That’s a at least my life isn’t that bad movie,” Amelia retorted.
He nodded like he understood.
“What’s next?”
Leila decided that whatever drama was attached to their name, the Wolf brothers were worth it, right then.
Quinn might not have thought the same thing about her, because one day passed, and another one, then a third one after that, without any news from him.
Chapter 7
“For the record, I
think it’s a terrible idea.”
He shrugged off his brother’s opinion.
“She’s pissed you haven’t called since that day, you know.”
Quinn winced. Yeah, he imagined she would be, but he had reasons for his two and a half weeks of radio silence.
One of which—the most important one—was his desire to protect Leila from the mob. He knew that despite Stella’s apology, despite the interview he’d given—his first in-person interview that didn’t focus on his games, but on him, the face behind it all—some people remained set against Leila, simply because she’d formed a friendship with a man who was technically taken.
They were judgmental because they refused to believe that nothing had happened behind closed doors. Leila and he knew better, but saying that he didn’t care what the world thought of him was selfish. None of this reflected on him. Society always saw the woman as the temptress, the guilty party. He blamed Adam and Eve’s story, and the million of variations of it produced since then, for that stigma.
And he did care about her too much to want her to feel ashamed.
He’d evened things out by releasing the pictures and information he’d kept about Stella in case he might have need of them during his divorce. Let the world know what sort of woman they were outraged on behalf of. They saw her for what she was and stopped caring about a nobody called Leila. It was so much more fun to fume about a B-list celebrity instead.
He could have told Leila all that. He could have called her and told her they needed to wait out the storm, bide their time. But he had another reason—that one, not so noble.
He needed to know. To know for real, whether it was just his rebound, a woman who looked so fresh and appealing because she was Stella’s opposite—or something more. That clarity could only be achieved through time and distance.
So he stayed away, as much as it killed him. Every day, despite his desire to just grab the phone, or catch a taxi, and get to her door.
Now, finally, here they were. He had a piece of paper duly signed, confirming that his marriage had been dissolved.
He hadn’t seen or talked to Leila in nineteen days. Not a long time, but long enough to know she was under his skin, her claws firmly planted in his heart.
So he did what he had to do. Reluctantly, frankly reiterating just how dumb he thought Quinn was, Vincent helped. He made sure Leila was at home, and dressed up, under the pretense of going to watch the newest Star Wars. Instead of Vincent, it was Quinn in front of her when she opened the door. He was down on one knee, his hand holding a little black box and a ring.
Leila looked at him. Seconds passed, ever so slowly. He felt his heart beat at a million miles per hour.
Then she laughed and shut the door in his face.
Chapter 8
As soon as she closed the door in front of the idiot, Leila trotted to her phone and called his equally idiotic double.
Vincent replied on the first ring.
“I’m sorry, he made me do it,” he pleaded. “I swear I told him he was being ridiculous. And I’m still picking you up for the movie—right after he leaves.” Knowing he was in deep trouble, the man added, “I may have bought a bribe. A Star Wars plush toy.”
Damn him for knowing her weakness.
“You still owe me. Big.”
She could almost feel him nod on the other end of the phone. “I do. Whatever favor—you call, I’m your guy. I just couldn’t say no. I mean, Quinn has pictures of my disco phase.”
Her jaw hit the floor. “Disco?”
“Elephant pants. Purple ones. Let’s not talk about the hair—ever.”
With a sigh, she conceded, “Okay. I understand. Tell him to leave me alone, and we’re calling it quits.”
Vincent hesitated on the other side of the phone. “He won’t leave you alone, Leila, whatever I say. He’ll grovel, big. Apologize, explain himself, and then you’ll call him an idiot and decide if you want to send him away for good. Trying to stop this would be pointless. At the very least, you need and deserve answers.”
She clenched her teeth. What she needed was to forget that she’d ever met Quinn Wolf—a hard feat when his twin brother had become such a good friend. There was zero chemistry and attraction between them. Vincent didn’t get her and like to get under her skin, like Quinn, but all the same, they’d clicked. And looking at him was a constant reminder of Quinn.
The problem wasn’t his ex-wife’s actions, as much as the fact that his answer to things getting hard. He’d run and shut her out to do god knew what. Obviously, he’d fixed the mess, somehow, because the messages disappeared, followed by a formal, stiff, and insincere apology that convinced exactly no one. Then Leila had received a very, very large check that she’d ripped into tiny little pieces, along with a pile of lawyerly paperwork that all went in the trash. So, he’d done something. But he hadn’t turned up with wine, or sat down with her to drink it, or given her tissues when she’d needed them. Vincent and Mia had done that. They were her friends. He was some pond scum that had played with her heart and casually dropped it shortly after.
What had truly scared her was how deeply she’d felt his absence day after day; she hadn’t known him for long enough to feel that way, dammit.
“You know Romeo and Juliet met, married, and died in three days?” Amelia retorted when she pointed that out.
“Which officially makes it the stupidest story ever.”
“Fine. Boromir and Eowin hooked up pretty quick, too.”
She grumbled a reluctant, “Low blow,” because who could say anything against that, really?
Okay, so maybe, just maybe, Vincent had had a point. Looking back, the decisions and reasoning in his own mind seemed less valid every day now that he realized one crucial fact. As much as she seemed to understand him, well, Leila wasn’t psychic; she didn’t know the reasons he’d chosen to take a step back.
Maybe he should have called after that first day. Okay, he definitely should have called.
Eager to take his mind off his self-made mess, he grabbed his phone and answered when he heard it ring, assuming someone at work wanted to get in touch. Stupid move.
“That was too stupid for words, son.”
Cynthia.
Quinn sighed.
Damn Vincent. He’d obviously run his mouth behind his back.
“Mother dearest. Delighted to speak to you, as always.”
“At least, if you had any doubt, now you know she isn’t a gold digger. That’s the only kind of woman who would have taken you after being treated like trash.”
Quinn groaned. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Did you or did you not stop talking to her for a month after she was cyber-bullied to the point of tears?” Quinn winced.
“She cried?”
Cynthia didn’t grace him with a direct answer. “Well, you might know this if you had, I don’t know, talked to her. My god, I thought I’d raised you better than this. Now you’d better fix it. It’s not often that fate drops a Leila Thomas at your door. Don’t you expect to ever find another one.”
He considered those words carefully. His mom was right, of course. Being a twin, he had a bond with his brother that couldn’t be broken; something instant and irrefutable, irrevocable. They knew each other from the bottom of their souls.
He’d never found that in a woman—never even thought it could be possible, but at the end of that very first dinner, he wasn’t so sure. Every day he’d spent with her since had made it even clearer.
He’d used their time apart to see if it would fade; no time away from Vincent changed their link. And now he knew it hadn’t—it probably never would.
But he’d messed it up.
Quite purposefully, Quinn had prevented himself from reading the insults on Leila’s profile, knowing just how angry it would make him. No one ever managed to get shit done in anger. Now, he looked. A lot of them had been deleted, and apologies had followed, but there were a few left. They were enough to make him want to p
unch something, anything. Mostly, himself.
Quinn had gone down to NC and met with Stella, remaining silent and glaring while the family lawyer explained in detail what was going to happen to her if she didn’t fix this.
She’d sobbed and apologized, explaining that it wasn’t her fault—she had gotten a private investigator on his tail, at her own lawyer’s advice, and when she’d seen pictures of him with Leila, she’d made logical assumptions. A cleverly worded defense that might have been valid if it hadn’t been total bullshit. She’d hoped to spin the story in order to get a bigger settlement, that was it.
Quinn hadn’t told Stella he’d hired his own PI, and put together plenty of proof before even mentioning divorce the previous year. She blanched when his lawyer silently revealed the trail of pictures, realizing how screwed she was.
Then, on his way back, he reflected on the fact that none of this would have happened if he’d just waited a few weeks to date Leila; so he resolved to do just that.
By the first week of December, he’d bought a ring. The week after, he made a fool of himself.
Chapter 9
Quinn buried his head in work, hoping to escape reality. Today, it wasn’t working; work was a mess, too. He read, and reread, the script in his hands, a frown on his forehead. It was a good story, maybe even a great one, but he couldn’t help thinking that something was missing. He sighed, frustrated, because he knew just what he needed and he couldn’t do a thing about it.
Leila. Today, tomorrow—always—he needed Leila. If she gave the project her thumbs up, he’d know they hadn’t messed it up. And if there indeed was an issue, she’d point it out with the same ease and frankness as when she’d fixed his game. Everyone was raving about the new update; their sales soared across the world thanks to the PR.
