It's all smoke and mirrors. I’m a master at distracting the eye with a competent air and a winning smile. A smile I don’t wear for long as Van beats me to an answer.
Not that I have to defend myself against Holland’s undeserved praise when Van is around.
“That’s Isla. Always in the background doing what’s right.” My eyes cut to him, finding his inscrutable gaze on me again. Everything right except where I’m concerned, it seems to suggest. “She’s like a swan gliding through life. No one knows what’s going on below the waterline.”
I pause, unsure if he’s obliquely referring to our relationship… if you can call it that. We’re not a thing. We just happen to have reconnected recently. Carnally.
But I don’t think that’s what he’s talking about. And he can’t know the mess of my life. Can he? No, because then he’d know I’m more like a duck than a swan, my legs working like pistons to stay afloat.
“Maybe Holly can return the favor when you two tie the knot,” Kennedy suggests mischievously.
I bark out a laugh that sounds like gunfire. “Holland, you didn’t mention that your sister was a comedienne.”
“Pay her no mind.” My new sister-in-law smirks. “She’s recently decided arguing is the best kind of foreplay.”
“Because it is,” Kennedy replies. But if she’s looking for confirmation from me, she shouldn’t hold her breath. “What can I say? I’m a fan of fire and sparks.”
“That does sound like us.” Van shields the amused twist to his lips behind his glass. “How does the saying go? We get along like a house on fire.”
“Sticking to the fire analogy”—given we are old flames—“a marriage between us would be forged in the fiery pits of hell.”
Van’s expression firms, and a pinprick of panic pokes me between the ribs. For a second, I think he’s about to contradict me, or worse, agree, outing us in front of my new family. While it’s true we aren’t the best of friends, we were—are—the most incendiary of lovers. But that’s a secret. Both what happened between us years ago and what began again more recently.
A woman is allowed her divorce rebound, and mine just happens to be him.
I’d told myself it was settling old accounts; the perfect kind of payback for the way things ended between us. Lately, I’ve begun to think the idea was as practical as taking tea with a tiger. Like a tiger, Van is mesmerizing and not even a little civilized. Yet despite the obvious dangers, I still find myself drawn to him.
“I’ll have to bow to your greater experience of the state.” And he does. He actually bows, giving a mocking dip that’s not in the least subservient.
I ignore him and this sudden pinprick of unease. A long time ago, Van hurt me, and while he’ll never get the opportunity to do so again, the way he’s looking at me is strange. Like he’s the one who was wronged.
“Sorry.” Kennedy gives a tight shrug as she slips her hands into the pockets of her bright-blue rockabilly dress. “I guess I read the signals wrong.”
Good one, Van. Full points for making everyone feel awkward. If Holly and Kennedy weren’t here, I’d tell him so. Maybe even thump him as I point out how ungentlemanly he’s being. But that’s what I’ve come to expect from him. Niko Vanyin is Oxford educated, suave and sophisticated, but don’t let the cut of his suit fool you. He’s just a little too savage to be called a gentleman. And God help me, I think that’s why I’ve wanted him since the first time I set eyes on him …
2
Isla
THE BEGINNING - FIFTEEN YEARS BEFORE
A quarter of a century—I’m practically a third of my way through my life and no closer to making any sense of it. With a murmur of thanks, I place my soaking wet jacket in the care of my brother’s new and very unimpressed-looking butler.
“Milady.” The man inclines his head, moving to take the coats of the rest of my party as I press my hand to my mouth to mask a hiccup. A burp really, but ladies don’t burp, or so I’ve been told on countless occasions. Not even the ones that have been throwing back champagne since lunchtime. But you only turn a quarter of a century once. Which is just as well, considering how the day has gone.
“Wow! Your brother’s place is amazing!” Tamsin’s grip tightens on my arm as she takes in the grandeur of the Georgian reception hall.
“It technically belongs to Sandy,” I say with a slight bristle, “but it’s been the family home of the Dalforths for centuries.” I wave carelessly at the neoclassical hallway, the pillars, the ridiculously high ceilings, and glittering chandeliers. “Well, the London home.”
“God, I always forget you’re, like, almost royalty.”
We’re more like impoverished aristocracy. Asset rich but pocket poor. Although in my case, I’m both asset and pocket poor, despite being the first twin expelled from our mother’s womb, thanks to good old-fashioned male primogeniture. I’m not even the heir’s spare, given my lack of penis. Not that I would swap places with Sandy for all the tea in China. Or all the champagne in France. I would, however, switch the venue of my birthday party. Though I suppose I already have.