Page 18 of Twins for the Enemy

The engagement party. The engagement party that is going to be here. In my house. Where Farah is.

What a fucker of a brother I am.

“You just need to make sure Henry doesn’t go up there.” She bounces on the balls of her feet. “He’s coming by tomorrow with those big, oversized prints for the party—which includes that photo of the two of us at that club, where you were with that redhead, but we cut her out, we were certain you wouldn’t mind—”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about, so I don’t mind.”

“But you know, he and I think the same, so he might try to store the prints in the same place. Don’t let him. Tell him a group of wild cats peed up there or something.”

She crinkles her nose at her own joke. It’s a mystery to me how she remains so lighthearted when the world has been so cruel to her.

“Helena,” I say. “I don’t—”

“Oh. My. God.” She huffs. “Do not call me that. You can tell my parents hated me because the second I was born, they gave me the name of a ninety-year-old woman. Not even a fun ninety-year-old woman, but the kind who yells at her husband who died twenty years ago.”

I shake my head. “Fine. Ellie. What about having the engagement party at The Calson? With a large enough donation, they’d shut their doors for us.”

“No.” She fixes the strap on her shoulder. “We’re having it here.”

“What about that place on Lake Michigan that you liked? The one with the translucent floor.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Kieran, why are you trying to change the venue? Are you trying to hide something? Is there… a guest here? Is that why you don’t have a shirt on?”

Elliespins around like she might find someone lurking behind her. Evidently, there is only a marble floor.

She spins back around, grinning.

“I don’t hear a denial. This is amazing,” she gushes. “After what happened, you were so depressed. I thought—”

“I wasn’t depressed.”

“Kieran, you're forty-one and I feel like I still have to worry about you. You went from screwing any woman within your line of sight to never sleeping with anyone.” She keeps looking around me, desperate to spot my mysterious guest. “You stopped going to clubs. You spent even more time working than usual. You were very, very depressed.”

“While you carried on like you always do.” I rub my jaw. “If I managed to finally find Farah Todd, what would you want to happen to her?”

“I wouldn’t want to be involved.” She fiddles with the button of her shirt, pretending to befascinated by its stitching. “I’ve been working on forgetting and I plan to keep doing that. Capiche?”

“She hurt you. She deserves some—”

“You’re the one obsessed with that, Kee-kee, not me.” She looks back up at me. “It’s because of Olivia.”

“This has nothing to do with Olivia,” I say tersely. “The replicas are in the library?” Changing the subject from the past.

“On the shelf. Try to not let any cats in.” She takes my hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Kieran. Try to not think about that woman. Breathe in, breathe out, tell our enemies to go fuck themselves. That’s the mantra.”

She spins around, half-dancing to the entryway and out the door.

It’s what reminds me about why nobody would be able to tell we’re related. We’re not blood-related. My foster sister and I are polar opposites. She is light and air, where I’m darkness and misery.

I turn around.

The smallest movement near the entrance to the lounge catches my eye. It resembles some blonde hair I know—that’s the color of sunrise.

I briskly walk over to the room. As I’m about to round the corner, I hear her trying to scurry, but I move too fast. I grab onto the edge of her sleeve, yanking her back toward me. Her feet slide, and she scrambles to get them back underneath her.

“What were you doing?” I hiss. She could have heard so much. She could have seen so much. If she figures out that my sister is the one she burned, she will know that as soon as I have my children, I’m casting her out to the wolves. “What did you hear?”

“Nothing,” she says, trying to pry my fingers off her sleeve.

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