‘That isn’t what you walked in on.’ I don’t like where this conversation is going as I tighten my fingers, and with a grunt, I push the barbell above my chest, beginning the next set. ‘Salaud,’ I grunt. Arms straight, my chest immediately stretching and burning from the effort, feeding the nature of the beast. The more it hurts, the more I want it.
‘Touchy,’ Rhett taunts in return. ‘And also not true. I know who my father was.’ I roll my gaze upwards to where he’s spotting me with the addition of an annoying smirk. ‘He was a right bastard, though. So you’re not far wrong. Anyway, it’s not the willing mouth that’s a worry. It’s her backstory.’
‘And what exactly is her backstory?’
‘You know what I think.’
‘And you’re wrong. Two years ago, she was working in the kind of hotel Emile wouldn’t have subjected his luggage to, let alone his person.’ It was a mid-range place, not exactly the kind that rents rooms by the hour, but the man was an elitist snob. ‘Besides, she isn’t—wasn’t—at all to his taste.’
‘It’s all relative.’
‘Meaning what, exactly?
‘Sometimes, you crave fillet mignon, and other times, you fancy a cheap burger.’
‘I suggest you refrain from telling me which you think Rose is.’
‘Before you stick that barbell where the sun doesn’t shine, you mean? Seriously though, I wouldn’t have thought she was to your tastes, either. But you know what they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Stands to reason you both had the hots for the same type.’
‘And I thought I was an equal opportunity lover.’ I am not my father’s son in that respect. Also, I have never paid a woman for the pleasure of her company, neither in cash or kind.
‘And I thought you’d put those days behind. You know, since you took over the company.’
I suddenly want to wipe the smirk from his face. ‘Meaning?’ I grunt, lowering, then raising the bar again.
‘Remy, mate. You know who I’m talking about. Come to think of it, she also happens to fit the other end of the spectrum of your old man’s preferences. Blonde. Refined. Knows the difference between a Picasso and a pisshead.’
‘You forgot gold-digging, demanding, and a bitch.’ I’m not sure if my head or my biceps are most likely to explode as it strikes me that there is more than one way to pay for sex. Something I’ve somehow chosen to ignore. ‘But we aren’t talking about either of those women right now.’
‘Even if my steak and burger analogy stands. Don’t fucking glare at me—I’m not saying your girl is cheap.’
‘Then what exactly are you saying?’ My question is expelled through gritted teeth and a strained breath.
‘Just that good girls don’t work in strip clubs. Good girls don’t have lips like hers.’
‘Say another thing about her, and I’ll rip off your balls and feed them to you.’
‘It’s what had you shitting bricks,’ he insists. ‘But tell me, was it the thought of losing half of your wealth to your long-lost sister, or the fact that you might’ve fucked said long-lost sister that had you looking the colour of oatmeal yesterday?’
‘I’m not going to answer that,’ I retort through another grunt.
Rise and repeat. Again and again until my muscles scream.
When I saw her yesterday, I’ll admit I was terrified I’d had carnal knowledge of my sister, no matter how unwittingly. And now that I know I haven’t, that knowledge is like a weight lifted from my very being. Only a degenerate would lust after their sister, unwittingly or not. And God knows, I’ve hungered for her. Many a night since March, I’ve woken from dreaming of her, my cock rock hard and pounding, the phantom wisps of her hair dragging across my chest.
And then she came to life, and in that hallway, my world fell away.
I thank God and all the saints that a lesson of high school biology had come back to me as I’d looked at her paperwork on my desk. Her application for medical care. Mention of her height, her weight, pre-existing conditions, nil, and there in one column in neat, black penmanship, her blood type.
AB+
I don’t know about be positive, but my heart had suddenly jolted in my chest cavity. I saw my younger self in the biology lab at boarding school in Switzerland, jotting down blood type charts, learning about alleles.
Without even realising it, I found myself flipping over the sheet and plotting my father’s blood type against hers. You can determine the chances of a child’s blood type by examining those of the parents. And while you can’t guarantee parentage by this method, you can, in some cases, eliminate it.
And Rose’s blood type was one such case.
‘I take that back. Emile would never have let anyone know what he was thinking.’
‘You have no fucking idea what I’m thinking.’