Page 54 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

Amalia scans me from head to toe. Her arms are crossed, her red nails digging into her elbows, as she hisses, “Do you have any idea the mess you’ve created?” She looks at the man and addresses him for the first time. “Lachlan. Why didn’t you send her to France?”

“Watch your tone when you speak to me, Amalia.”

Clearly, no one orders him around or so much as raises their voice in his presence.

Wait.

Send me to France? Mess?

The buzzing in my ears starts as a horrible realization dances around the edges of my mind, but I refuse to see it, because the amount of pain might be catastrophic to me.

“You know about me.” The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them, and Amalia’s attention shifts back to me. “All these years… you knew about me?”

In the times of despair from not being able to locate my twin, I wondered if maybe she searched for me too. Although this idea rarely crossed my mind, because Dad and I were so easy to find.

One online search would have provided results, so I just assumed our aunt kept the secret and took it to the grave. She died a couple of years ago in a boating accident.

Unfortunately, the truth was much simpler than I could have predicted.

She knew and had no desire to contact me.

“Beatrice told me when I was five. Compared to you, I didn’t live in a castle with a father who adored me.” I blink several times at the hurt and distaste lacing her tone. The strings of my soul and the familiar ache in my chest start to throb. “I repeat—what the hell are you doing here?”

I freeze on the spot as identical blue eyes gaze at me with so much hatred it burns me from the inside out and fills me with confusion and hopelessness. I take a step back, her anger somehow physically hurting me in this moment. “I wanted to see you.” I hook some errant strands of my hair behind my ear and shiver a little at the sudden coldness settling on my skin. “Since I turned fifteen and found out about you, that’s all I’ve ever wanted,” I whisper as silence falls on the room, almost defeated and heavy in nature, as our gazes clash.

A single tear slides down my cheek, and I wipe it away, refusing to cry right now when my twin has made it abundantly clear she despises me.

A reunion I’ve dreamed of for so long, which was supposed to heal an old, festering wound, instead sprinkled salt on it and intensified the pain.

Have you ever thought that maybe Amalia lives a peaceful life and doesn’t need you to disturb it with the truth or old memories?

Maybe I should have trusted my father more when it came to judging people’s character.

Because he predicted our reunion to a T, and compared to me, he never lived in an illusion of Amalia welcoming me with open arms.

For a second, an emotion I cannot name flashes on her face, letting me see under the harsh exterior she presents, but it’s so quickly gone I think my filled-with-hope heart imagined it.

She waves her hand up and down her form. “Well, you’ve seen me. Now you can go back to France and stop sending private investigators after me.” My eyes widen at this; she must have known about them all and hid from me. My God, how naïve have I been? “You’ve already brought enough attention to me by going to the Four Dark Horsemen’s club.”

“I’m afraid it’s impossible for her to leave now,” Lachlan says, rubbing his hand over his chin. “Remi claimed her in the club, and he covets her. Even if she goes to the ends of the earth, he will follow her.” He winks at Amalia. “It puts your wedding at risk as well.”

Wedding.

I barely restrain the hysterical laughter ready to erupt from me at this and squeeze my fists hard, allowing the nails to dig into my palms and nearly draw blood. The pain glues me to the present.

My twin is about to get married, and she didn’t want me with her. And worse… I slept with a man totally obsessed with her who now thinks he has a chance with her.

I’m like a bad-luck charm who fucked up all their lives and plans with my presence alone, and they want me to disappear.

While I can deal with all that, my twin’s rejection cuts so deep I’m not sure there is a way to heal the bruise forming on my soul.

Amalia’s mouth drops open, and then she huffs in exasperation, running her fingers through her hair as her eyes send daggers my way. I think if she had a real knife right now, she’d stab me to death. “Claimed her at the club?” she hisses. “As in fucked you?”

I jerk at the crude words, stepping back even farther until the back of my knees bump into the couch. I avoid her gaze as humiliation fills me by discussing such things with this Lachlan man in the room. “Yes.”

Amalia, though, has no mercy for me and throws another question my way, this time with cynicism and mockery coating it as if she almost gets pleasure from it. “Did he fuck you, though, or did he think it was me?”

“You.”

---