Page 32

JENNA

Two identical heart-shaped faces swivel towards me. Two pairs of blue eyes meet mine—his soft greyish, hers bold like a summer sky—and I swallow down a cautious lump in my throat.

In the shower, I talked myself through all the reasons I’d kept this secret from my friend, and found every one of them lacking. So, as I would advise one of my clients caught out in a lie—or perhaps, more accurately in this case, a sin of omission—I’ve resolved to front foot this, use the truth as a weapon, control the narrative.

I’m sure Rachel has met this tactic in her line of work, but I’m hoping she’ll be more receptive, given she loves the other people in this scenario. I can’t swear I’ll tell her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, though. Not with Geordie there. That would require me to admit I’m terrified because I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen for him, and he can’t hear that. When the day comes, and he needs to end this, he’ll feel even worse about walking away. I won’t do that to him.

In one of my perfect little romance books, this would be the time I’d spill all, reveal I’m in love with him and he’d say he loves me too. We’d stand strong together against Rachel’s criticism. She would eventually capitulate, understanding love must win on the day.

This isn’t a novel, and so I walk towards him, my bare feet strangely loud in the silence between Geordie and his sister. Even more unusual is the way the atmosphere lacks the cutting tension I expected. He leans back, relaxed, and she softens too—not the formidable warrior queen I’ve seen her become. Once, when a guy hurled obscenities at us in a Soho club, she turned downright terrifying. But not today. The knot in my stomach begins to ease.

“C’mere sweetheart,” Geordie says, stretching out a hand from the huge armchair we call the Captain’s Chair—Nathan’s tribute to the Star Trek reruns that flicker endlessly on his massive telly. He pulls me onto his lap, looping one arm around me and drawing my head to his bare chest with the other. I feel small and vulnerable, but safe inside the protection of his arms. His lips brush my hair.

“You OK?” he murmurs.

“Yeah, good.” I whisper against his golden skin, still warm, although the room isn’t exactly tropical.

“Then I’m going to go grab a shower. Leave you two girls to talk. OK?”

I slide off his lap, holding his hand till the last possible moment, as if it’s a lifeline. He stands and gives Rachel a quizzical look. She responds with a tilt of her head towards the stairs, as if giving him permission to go.

I fold into the warm armchair, the lingering heat a message: Geordie’s got my back on this, offering me an encouraging hug as I prepare to submit to Rachel’s cross-examination.

However, she doesn’t speak, simply looks at me with those piercing blue eyes and raises one brow in question .

I hadn’t expected it to be just Rachel and me. In a complete reversal, I’ve gone from defendant on the stand, about to face curly questions in front of the victim, to a client sequestered in a private room with my trusted lawyer, a privileged conversation. Maybe, out of Geordie’s hearing, I can tell Rachel the truth. Not only will she judge me less harshly, it would be a relief to share the secret that’s screwing up my brain with the one person who will understand how I’ve ended up in this place.

However, that would require me to relinquish control. If Rachel knows how I truly feel about Geordie, no matter how much she swears not to tell him before I do, it’s still risky. Like the PR professional I am, I take charge from the start, deciding only to share the bits I can safely let her know.

“You’ve come to tell me this is all a bad idea, I suppose,” I croak out, my voice tentative despite my resolve.

“No. I actually came to remind my brother to keep checking in on Mum. He may have moved out—and now I think I know why.” A flicker of amusement crosses her feline stare. It’s there even with those she loves—this predatory grace that makes Rachel intimidating, even to us who know her best. “But he’s still the man on the spot. Mum’s making noises about going back to work. We both need to discourage that for a while. And he can do that better in person than I can on the phone—if he bothers to go around there.”

I leap to Geordie’s defence. “That’s not fair, Rache” I protest. “He calls in for lunch nearly every day. He was there when I stopped in on Thursday.”

“I heard you’d been. Thanks for going to see her.” The small smile that tips up the corners of her mouth is encouraging, then it falls away. She bites at her lip. “He only goes when Dad’s not there, I suppose.”

“Yeah. It’s best that way.”

“True,” she sighs. “Yeah, Dad was going on about him. Using the place as a doss house when he came home. Moving out without a moment’s notice. Whinging about Geordie never calling in. Still, him whinging about Geordie is nothing new.” She rolls her eyes and gives a dismissive shake of her head before returning to the elephant in the room.

“So, anyway, no, I didn’t come here expecting to find my brother and you cosied up in his bed, with the intention of talking you out of it. However, I’ll admit, when I saw your car, and the two of you in the window, I did think you’d done something…impulsive? Unwise perhaps?”

“And now?”

“I still do. But for different reasons.”

“And those are?”

“He’s smitten by you, Jenna.” I know this, but hearing it from her mouth is confronting. “And Jesus, the way you look at him, I could tell in a heartbeat, you’re gone for him too, even though he tells me you insist this is just casual.”

“It is,” I protest. “He understands I’m not ready for anything serious yet.”

“I don’t think he does,” she says, shaking her head. “And when will you be ready? If you keep this up, probably never. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you should give it a chance, try a proper relationship again.”

“Is that fair to Geordie? Messing him around while I sort myself out. ”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now? Just giving it another name.”

I suck in a breath. It’s harsh, but deserved. I have no answer.

“I don’t think you realise, Jenna. You’re end-game for him.”

The statement floors me, not only the magnitude of it, but the person it’s coming from. Rachel is no starry-eyed romantic. For her to see this in her brother, to say this—it’s massive. I’m swamped by a dizzy sensation, as if I’m falling even though I’m sitting down. Euphoria and fear wrestle in my stomach.

“He’s not sure you think that way about him yet. But he believes you will. I think he’s wrong.”

My breath hitches. Is this the moment where my best friend agrees with Adam: I’m not capable of caring for a man like he needs or deserves? Hard, unloving, heartless Jenna. I clutch at my chest, the air in my lungs jagged and painful.

Rachel continues, oblivious to my growing distress.

“Jenna, I think you already care for Geordie way more than you’re letting on to him. Or me.” I blink at her, unsure if I’ve heard her correctly. “And why do you say ‘when it ends’ not ‘if it ends’? What’s up Jenna? You can tell me, you know. He might be my brother, but come on, you’re my sister—”

“From another mister,” I finish. As tears prickle threateningly, a tiny giggle rises in my throat. Memories flood in. We’re suddenly chortling together, like the two little girls we once were. When our laughter finally trickles away, and we’re left facing each other, a smile still playing around Rachel’s mouth, I’m struck by a heavy wave of regret.

Chasing my career—and running away from my past—has taken me away from this woman. The one who’s been there for me through so much. The student years in London, sharing dodgy flats sometimes with even dodgier flatmates. The time beyond uni when we snared dream jobs, money began to flow, and we spent hours shopping in proper shops, able to buy the nice things we’d only ever salivated over in the window displays. Living in apartments free of mould and suspect plumbing. Winter evenings in raucous pubs; all-nighters in London clubs. We’ve been each other’s ride-or-die forever, Rachel and me. When I fled from Adam, moving to Glasgow to join the Highlanders, I also left Rachel behind and it’s another thing I hate him for.

Just like I hate him for the power he still has over me. All the self-doubt that’s eating at me has its root in what Adam did. The doubt when I dare to think of Geordie as anything more than a fun distraction. The doubt that causes me to question Rachel’s assertion that Geordie and I could be something more.

Strangely, I trust her instincts more than I do my own right now. So I choose honesty and start from the beginning.

Tears find me when I tell her of the bride in the hotel, with her dark hair twisted in a loose braid and soft tendrils framing her face the same way the hairdresser planned to do mine. I describe the dress, almost identical to the one Rachel helped me choose, the one I can’t part with no matter how much seeing it in the wardrobe pierces my heart.

“Oh, Jen,” she says. She stands, grabbing me by both hands and dragging me up into her arms. “Promise me you’re going to burn that fucking dress,” she insists. “And that you’re going to end this stupid bloody deal with Geordie. Talk to him.”

“I will. Soon. ”

I’m glad I’m not looking Rachel in the eye. I’ve just made two promises I know I can’t keep, because I’m not brave enough to do either. Yet.