Page 46 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Enzo

Bath, England

"Here goes nothing."

I said as I lifted my hand to knock on Gemma Bancroft's apartment door. To call her building luxurious would be an understatement. It was historic, perhaps some rich aristocrat's mansion at one point in time, and she seemed to have the entire upper level, as all I could see was an elevator landing and her door.

We wouldn't have gotten past security, but Brian had spun some story about wedding arrangements, and a kindly neighbor had given us access to her floor.

"We need a plan. We can't just blurt it out."

Brian grabbed my hand and yanked it away from the door.

"She's going to be devastated. He did this two days before the wedding, Enzo. Two fucking days."

He went back to pacing like a caged animal, his broad shoulders straining against his button-down shirt as he raked a hand through his hair.

He looked better with his hair all messy, and I caught myself wondering what he'd look like if someone managed to mess him up properly. Which was a weird thought to have about your best friend's boring older brother. He was an accountant, for fuck's sake.

I backed away from the door and leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed, trying to ignore the knot in my chest that had been growing tighter since we'd found Jake's empty hotel room. He'd bailed, and the note on his pillow hadn't explained much. And Jake had always been flaky, something that had tested the limits of our friendship through the years. But leaving his bride two days before his wedding was inexcusable.

"Look, man, there's no good way to tell someone their fiancé is a selfish piece of shit."

I pushed off the wall, stepping closer to Brian.

"We tell her straight, we apologize, and we hope she doesn't fall apart in front of us."

Brian's blue eyes flashed behind those tortoiseshell frames.

"He's your best friend. Didn't you know?"

"I mean, he's your brother. Did you?"

The words came out sharper than I'd intended, but the guilt was eating me alive. Brian was right. I should have seen this coming. Should have known Jake would run when things got real. Should have warned her. I huffed out a breath.

"He said he loved her, and I believed him."

Brian stopped pacing and eyed me for a moment. Then, with a resigned sigh, he faced the door like he was preparing for execution. His knock was soft and tentative at first, then firmer when no one answered.

Footsteps approached from inside, and when the door swung open, it wasn't Jake's fiancé at the door. Instead, her friend Imogen greeted us. I'd met Imogen at the engagement party, but didn't know much about her. She and her upper-crust husband lived on a countryside estate somewhere in Dorset, and she looked like the sort of person who went to polo matches and owned boxes and boxes of fancy hats.

"Oh, hello! Brian, right?"

Her crisp accent cut through my wandering thoughts.

"What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

"Is Gemma home?"

Brian's voice cracked.

"We need to... we have to tell her something."

Imogen's expression shifted from confusion to concern as she stepped back, gesturing us inside.

"Of course, come in. She's finishing a work call."

The apartment hit me like a punch to the gut. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Bath's historic center, letting in streams of afternoon light that highlighted furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum, making one thing all too clear. Gemma was way out of Jake's league.

But it was the wedding stuff that made my stomach churn. There were sample centerpieces on the dining table, a dress bag hanging from a doorframe, and white shoes sitting on top of a box on the kitchen table.

None of it made sense for Jake, who lived off credit cards and charm, writing luxury travel articles while couch surfing and living in hostels, and occasionally scoring a free room from a gullible resort owner. Jake's world was built on debt and lies, while Gemma's was steady and real. She had old money, a family business, and a vibrant, successful career.

Jake had made it sound like she wanted to support him, but maybe she didn't know. If something had threatened Jake's pretend play game, it could have caused him to run.

"Gemma,"

Imogen called.

"Brian and Enzo are here."

After a moment, Gemma appeared in the doorway, beautiful and polished like she'd stepped out of a magazine. Her ash-blonde hair fell in a clean bob, and she was wearing a loose pants and a flowing blouse that somehow managed to look both casual and intimidatingly expensive. She carried herself with the kind of confidence that told me she was used to being taken seriously.

My chest tightened as I really looked at her for the first time. High cheekbones, minimal makeup that somehow made her lips look fuller, the way she moved with ballet-dancer grace even in comfortable clothes. Jake had been punching way above his weight class, and we all knew it. He called her his ice queen, and she was certainly regal.

"This is unexpected."

Her voice was warm but professional, and I could imagine it was the voice she might use to greet hotel guests, at once making them feel welcome, like she had everything under control.

"Is everything all right?"

Brian cleared his throat, and I watched his Adam's apple bob.

"Gemma, I... we need to talk to you about Jake."

She went very still, those green eyes sharpening as they flicked between us.

"What do you mean?"

"He's..."

Brian's voice failed him. He looked at me in panic, like he was drowning.

I stepped forward, hating every word I was about to say.

"He took off. He left for Bali yesterday, according to the note we found. There weren't a lot of details, but we know he's not... he's not coming back, Gemma."

The silence stretched between us like a taut wire. I braced for tears, screaming, maybe something thrown at our heads. Instead, Gemma's eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch, and she let out a small exhale through her nose.

"I see."

She smoothed down her already-smooth hair.

"Well. That's rather inconvenient timing."

Maybe Jake was right, and her blood did run cold. Or maybe she was in shock.

"Gemma, I'm so sorry. I can't believe he would do this to you. Two days before the wedding, it's unconscionable. I know this must be devastating, and I want you to know that I'll do whatever I can to make this right, help with cancellations, deal with vendors, whatever you need—"

"Brian."

Her voice cut through his rambling with surgical precision. "Breathe."

We all stood there for a moment, and I awkwardly shifted my weight as I wondered what the next steps were. Did we hug her? Leave her to mourn in privacy? Buy her ice cream? Imogen cleared her throat delicately.

"Perhaps I should put the kettle on? Tea always helps in situations like these."

The absurd suggestion broke something in Gemma's composure, and she laughed. It was a short, sharp sound that was more surprise than humor. She turned away from us, walking to an elegant side table where she picked up a thick folder.

"Thank you both for coming to tell me in person. I appreciate the effort to make sure I got the news in a personal way."

"Of course. We wouldn't do it any other way,"

Brian said.

"You know what?"

She faced us again, and there was something almost calculating in her expression.

"You two are rather sweet together. Perhaps you'd enjoy my honeymoon cruise instead? No point in me taking all this time off work now."

Brian's face went red.

"We're not… That's ridiculous. We're not a couple. He's Jake's friend. The sexy himbo, perfect sidekick to my freewheeling brother."

The word 'hot' sent heat rising in my cheeks… and other places. Uptight, buttoned-up Brian, who probably never even masturbated, thought of me as hot?

"Oh please," I said.

"I’m not a sidekick, and Brian doesn't date. He's too busy being a boring accountant nerd to get laid."

Gemma blinked.

"Well, either way, the tickets are yours. I certainly won't use them."

I tilted my head.

"Can you change the cruise tickets?"

"Enzo!"

Brian scolded.

"We are not taking the tickets."

She ignored him, handing me the folder.

"The Bancroft name goes a long way in the tourism industry. It won't be a problem."

Imogen looked from us to Gemma, and back, her hand fluttering up to touch her friend's shoulder, then dropping.

"Gem, are you feeling quite all right? Your response is rather… odd, don’t you think?"

Gemma shrugged.

"Not much point in sobbing into a pillow. What's done is done. Isn't it better he showed his true colors now?"

With that, she turned and stalked back towards her office, leaving us all standing there, gaping.

The sound of Gemma's keyboard clacking in the office spurred Imogen into motion, and she bustled us out of the apartment, chatting with the manic cheerfulness that only came from sheer panic.

"The cruise really is lovely. Mediterranean, five-star everything. Such a shame to waste it. Perhaps you should take her up on the offer."

"What about Gemma?"

Brian asked.

“Is she okay?”

Imogen glanced back towards the apartment, then huffed out a breath.

"Perhaps she simply didn’t want to break down in front of strangers! I’ll feed her ice cream and cry with her later. Nothing to be concerned about.”

I frowned.

"Do you need help with anything? Cancelling the wedding?"

Imogen shrugged.

"It'll be fine. You two have some packing to do! Go, enjoy the cruise."

“But…”

“The woman clearly wanted to be rid of you two so much that she’s shipping you off to the Mediterranean! Go!”

Imogen said, a little more firmly this time. The heavy door clicked shut behind us, leaving Brian and me standing in the hallway like two kids who'd been sent to the principal's office. Brian immediately started pacing again, running his hands through his hair until it stuck up at odd angles.

"We can't take her honeymoon cruise. It's wrong on so many levels I don't even know where to start."

I tucked the folder under my arm and headed toward the elevator, Brian trailing behind me like a particularly anxious shadow.

"Come on, man. She offered. It's not like we're stealing it."

"We're not seriously considering this."

Brian jabbed the elevator button with more force than necessary.

"I need to get back to work, and you need to get back to… whatever it is you do now.”

“I’m a drone pilot.”

He blinked at me.

“It’s a real job!”

“Whatever. We should be helping her cancel everything, dealing with vendors, figuring out how to minimize the damage Jake caused."

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, and we stepped inside. The mirrored walls reflected Brian's agitation and my growing excitement back at us in an endless loop. As soon as the doors closed, I cracked open the folder and started reading.

"Holy shit. Brian, look at this place. The Amalthea by Elyssion, a boutique luxury cruise line. It has a maximum of 600 passengers and a three-to-one guest-to-staff ratio."

I flipped through the glossy brochure, featuring photos of infinity pools and marble bathrooms.

"She reserved something called the owner's suite. It's massive, with wrap-around balconies and glass-enclosed showers overlooking the ocean."

"Put that away."

Brian's voice was sharp with irritation.

"This is what I'm talking about. You're already planning some hedonistic vacation while Gemma's life is falling apart upstairs."

I kept reading, my excitement building as I took in the itinerary.

"Twenty-one days, Enzo. Southampton to the Mediterranean and back. Spain, France, Italy, Greece, Turkey, Egypt, Morocco. When are we ever going to see places like this? Neither of us has the money for this kind of trip."

"If that's the case, we're not ever going to see them."

Brian snatched the folder from my hands, his blue eyes flashing behind his glasses.

"Because we're not going. This is the kind of irresponsible, selfish bullshit I'd expect from Jake. You’re better than him."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stopping my enthusiasm cold. The elevator suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. I didn’t want to be like Jake. The comparison burned through my chest, leaving behind a familiar ache that I'd been carrying since childhood. The knowledge that people saw me as nothing more than a pretty face attached to poor impulse control.

"That's not fair,"

I said quietly, but Brian was on a roll now.

"Isn't it? Your best friend destroyed a woman's life two days before her wedding, and your first thought is how you can profit from it. How you can turn someone else's heartbreak into your next adventure."

The accusation stung. There was enough truth in it to hurt. I had gotten excited about the cruise, had started planning the fun we could have. But Brian didn't understand that sometimes you had to grab happiness where you found it. Life had a way of taking it away when you weren't looking.

"She didn’t really seem all that destroyed.”

“Maybe she was hiding it. We don’t know.”

“You know what your problem is?"

I stepped closer to him, close enough to see the gold flecks in his blue eyes, close enough to smell his cologne — something expensive and understated that probably came in a bottle Jake couldn't afford.

"You're so busy being the responsible one, the one who fixes everything, that you wouldn't know fun if it bit you on your perfectly ironed khakis."

Brian's jaw tightened.

"At least I don't leave a trail of chaos wherever I go."

"And at least I actually live my life instead of hiding behind spreadsheets and safety nets."

The words came out harder than I intended, but I was tired of being dismissed, tired of being seen as nothing more than Jake's shallow sidekick.

"Someone should enjoy that cruise, Brian. Gemma sure as hell isn't going to use it now. And when are either of us going to get another chance to travel like that? You think your accounting firm is going to send you on a luxury Mediterranean cruise?"

The elevator dinged softly as we reached the ground floor, but neither of us moved to get out. Brian stared at me, something shifting in his expression.

"I don't want to travel with you,"

he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"I want to figure out how to make this right with Gemma. How to fix what Jake broke."

There it was; Brian's constant need to fix things, to make everything perfect and orderly and safe. It was probably why he'd never gotten married himself, why he lived alone in his perfectly organized condo, why he approached every problem like it was a puzzle that needed the right solution.

But as I watched him standing there, shoulders tense with the weight of responsibility he'd never asked for, an idea started forming in my head. A slow grin spread across my face as the pieces clicked into place.

"What?"

Brian asked.

"Nothing."

I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through my contacts.

"Just thinking."

"That's never good."

But I found what I was looking for. Imogen's number, which she'd shared with the whole wedding party at the engagement party, so we coul.

"stay in touch properly." Perfect.