Page 12 of Sigma
Duke has always seemed the most ageless, of all of Uncle Harry’s inner circle. He’s the youngest, granted, but he’s still in his fifties—you wouldn’t know it, though, looking at him. His hair is every bit as thick and red as it was in the photos I’ve seen of him in his prime, with only hints of silver at the temples. He used to have it shaved on the sides and long on top, but abandoned the style at some point; now, it’s simply long all over, tied back in a low ponytail. If he hasn’t shaved in a few days, you can see some gray in his stubble, and there are deep crow’s feet around his eyes. But other than that? He could pass for thirty-five. He’s not lost a single pound of muscle mass since his prime, either, I’d guess, standing six-six in his socks and weighing at least two-eighty. In other words, Duke is simply massive. And, for an old guy, fine as hell.
Temple, his wife, is similarly ageless-seeming, five-seven and still a blonde bombshell to rule all bombshells, with very few hints of her true age. Together, they’re a couple with star power—Temple because after meeting and marrying Duke, she transitioned from reality star to business executive and touring speaker, and Duke simply by virtue of his looks and charm and constant presence wherever Temple went; Temple had been famous when she met Duke, and her fame never lessened, even though she had stopped filming her reality series to focus on running her businesses, and then to raise their children.
Duke is hysterical, which is why Cal and I both love it so much when he comes over. He has no filter over his words whatsoever, saying things that are outrageous, wildly inappropriate, and ridiculous.
We have a wild evening over wine and a smorgasbord of food, the conviviality lasting well into the night. The drinking age in the islands is eighteen, so even though I’m legally allowed to drink, Mom still monitors my consumption rate. By the time Mom, Layla, Duke, and Temple are ready to call it a night, I’m tipsy and giggly, and Bryn and I decide to walk our buzzes off on the beach…with the last of a bottle of wine.
The stars are high and bright and innumerable, and Bryn and I are arm in arm, keeping each other balanced and upright, mostly.
“Rin?” She leans her head on my shoulder. “You’re not mad about Cal, are you? About earlier?”
I blow a raspberry. “Nah. He did look really handsome in that suit. But he’s my brother. And we’re like sisters, you know? So, our brothers are off-limits…right?”
She lifts her head from my shoulders. “You say that like you’ve had thoughts about Killy.”
“He’s good-looking. There’s no denying that. But…he’s your little brother.”
“Right.” A pause. “And Cal is your little brother.”
“Right.”
A long silence, in which we turn and walk back toward the house. “It’s just…I don’t really think about Cal like a brother, or a cousin, or anything. He’s your little brother, yeah, but…”
“Bryn, what are you saying?”
She shrugs. “I like him. That’s all.” A sigh. “He’s funny and cool, and fun.”
“I don’t know what to do with what you’re implying, Bryn.”
“I’m not implying anything. Chicks before dicks, and all that, right?”
“Bryn, ew.”
“What?”
“Chicks before dicks? Really?”
She laughs. “It’s what they say. Bros before hoes and chicks before dicks.”
“Yeah, but you’re saying it in reference to my brother.”
“No, just in general. You come before anyone I like. Especially your brother.”
I huff. “Can we just…not talk about this?”
We’ve woven an uneven path back along the beach toward the house, which is a spread of low blocky shapes in the shadows, moonlight reflecting off glass, shimmering on the surface of the ocean on our right. I stop, blinking against the blurriness of my vision. There’s something out in the water, a darker shadow against the waves—there’s a buoy way out there, a green light blinking steadily in the distance, marking the channel; a shadow moves across it, but if it’s a boat, it’s unlit and unmarked, which is weird.
I dismiss it—we have Duke here, for one thing, plus the regular guards. It’s always seemed like overkill to have four to six armed guards on the island at all times, considering nothing has ever even remotely happened. I know the stories and legends of what happened, before any of us were born, but that was twenty years ago and everyone involved that could threaten my parents or Bryn and Killian’s is dead.
Bryn stumbles a little, and I go with her, and we topple to the sand, laughing. Make our way to feet, and I leave Bryn at the door to her room.
My own suite of rooms is huge, a small kitchenette open to the expansive living room, which, like all the rooms of this house, opens on all four walls to the elements. The only rooms that don’t open that way are bathrooms, but even those feature skylights of one-way tinted glass, with outdoor showers cleverly concealed behind concentric walls. I tend to leave the doors all open, for the most part, since each set of personal quarters is out of sight of the others, hidden behind copses of trees, with the only approaches angled so that you arrive at the kitchen or living room and not in view of the bedrooms. I like having the walls open so the breeze wafts over me, so the sun wakes me.
I collapse into bed, half drunk and exhausted from a day on my feet that began just past dawn.
* * *
I don’t knowwhat wakes me, but I sit up, suddenly totally awake. It’s still before dawn, the darkness just beginning to be leavened by gray. I look around—stars, my dresser, nightstand with my alarm clock reading 4:24 a.m., trees standing in the stillness. Nothing.