Page 125 of Van Cort

The doorman stares at me as I approach, a puzzled look in his eye. He doesn’t comment, though. He simply nods his head at Everett Van Cort, opens the glass door and waves me through.

Of all the things I have thought about, my future as a Van Cort hasn’t really been one of them. I’m not a businessman, nor do I care for the bullshit that comes along with that, other than the partying and socialising he probably hates. But Rhett does, despite his probable need for home. It’s he who’s built on ourfamily’s fortune. He took on that mantle while I ran away to mask the feelings I should have confronted him about.

Still, I look at my signet ring, I am as much Van Cort as he is. One of two. Same blood. Same kind of thoughts. Same love for a woman who knows nothing of us.

It makes me stare at my reflecting image in the elevator, tilting my head. In a few minutes, she’ll know, and then where will we be? I should be happy about the prospect – fucking delirious – because this is all we ever wanted. We’re bonded like this, on the same wavelength again, as if a missing part has lodged back in to complete a separated heart, but a choice might be made and then what? My unhinged brother comes back out to play? Another woman dies? Maybe he’ll kill me this time, despite his assurance he’s not like that anymore. This penthouse is a long way up.

What if she chooses him and doesn’t want me?

My eyes drop to the text he sent, as I wonder what death by falling feels like.

Come now. It’s time.

The doors slide open quietly before I’ve fully figured out what I’m going to say, and the first thing I hear is her snapping at him about truth. I want to smile, to be amused at her confusion and our behaviour, but I’m not amused anymore. It was easier with Lara, not so fucking insidious as the game we’ve played this time. We were children and she always knew there were two of us. Andie doesn’t know that. She was part of the play without ever knowing she was.

“This is stupid,” she snaps from the lounge. “You say you want to marry me, Everett, and yet you deny those scratches on your back.” I edge through the dimly lit kitchen, listening.

“I’m not denying them, River. They’re there. Put there by you. I enjoy that they’re there. I enjoyed making you put them there.”

“Those scratches were not on your back the other night. They are now. That’s the only truth I can see. It’s another woman, yes? That’s why all the hot and cold and odd behaviour.”

Ah, we’ve been caught out. Terrible planning.

“I’ve told you; there’s no other woman. You’re the only one,” he says, quietly.

“What other truth is there then, Everett? What am I not seeing? What aren’t you telling me?” she shouts. He pauses, as if letting the air, and her temper, settle before he answers. He probably knows I’m here, too. I would if roles were reversed.

“I’ve given you everything I’ve got, River. Every inch I have to give is yours.”

“Really? Because it only ever feels like you give half and-”

“You’ll understand soon enough. Sit down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” I hear her pacing, heels lightly tapping on polished floors. “I’m too angry and confused and irritated to sit down.”

“Did you like the ring?” he asks.

The feet stop.

“What?”

“The ring, River. My mother’s ring.” My brow arches. He found it? “I understand your confusion, and your irritation, but I need you to know that I meant every word I said. I love you, and I do want to marry you. There is only one other thing that means as much to me as that ring does. I want you to have them both with me.”

A smile lifts my lips.

That was for me as much as it was for her.

“What? What does that even mean?” She’s holding back the tears. I can hear it in the stretched tone of her voice. “Is thissome riddle? For a straight talker, you seem to be finding it damn hard to say what you’re saying.”

I walk a few steps forward until I’m visible in the doorway.

To him, at least.

He stares through her at me, his chest rising and falling with the tension he’s keeping at bay. I know it well from years ago, and maybe it was only the alcohol that exacerbated it past sense and into madness. Maybe now, without that interference, he controls it better.

“Everett?” she asks. “What do you mean? What other thing?”

“He’s trying to tell you about me, Andie.”She swings round at the sound of my voice, startled. “And I expect this is going to be hard for you to process, so perhaps sitting would be a good idea.” Her head flies back to looking at him, and then back to me again, as I move into the room. Shock takes hold then, and she begins floundering on backwards steps. “Take a minute. Breathe, Andie.” Rhett stands up behind her, ready to be a hero, no doubt, and catch her should she faint.