Chapter 12
THEO
‘Right… how do I look?’
I’m mid-negotiation with Lottie over the finer points of yoghurt placement – namely, that it doesn’t belong in her hair or mine – when Sadie’s voice cuts through, soft and uncertain.
I glance up, still wielding the spoon like a weapon in a dairy-based hostage situation… and completely lose my tongue.
She’s standing on the threshold like something out of a Wild West daydream gone rogue. Floral dress to mid-thigh. Cute little cowboy boots. Hair curled. Eyes done. Cheeks flushed. And her lips?—
God. Don’t look at her lips.
Too full. Too glossy. Too…
Shit. Too late.
‘That bad, hey?’
Bad?!
I want to cross the room and tell her she looks sexy as hell. Pull her in, press her tight against me, and tell her how much I want her.
Instead, I blink. Swallow. And say?—
‘ Yoghurt !’
Her lips twitch. Her eyes dance. ‘Pardon?’
‘Uncle Feo’s a frog!’
Cheers, Lottie.
‘I mean, nice.’ I fumble to my feet like I’ve forgotten the meaning of legs as well as words. ‘You look nice.’
Nice . Jesus.
She arches a brow.
Even Lottie groans.
But there are no words… or none I can admit to her, anyway.
Over the past two weeks, I’ve seen her flushed from morning runs. I’ve seen her burst out of the elevator, giggling with Lottie after park trips and soft play sessions. I’ve seen her buzzing, sharing updates about new friends – hers and Lottie’s – and plans for future meetups.
Every one of those moments has been a gift, and I’m grateful to have been a part of it. To see her finally living her life and basking in it.
But this Sadie?
The one who’s had time to get ready without a toddler attached to one limb.
All dressed up for a night out…
She’s something else entirely.
I try to play it cool, run a hand through my hair – and grimace when I feel the yoghurt still clinging there. ‘You look a damn sight better than me, that’s for sure.’
She laughs softly and steps closer, bending to grab a baby wipe from the crumpled pack by the sofa. Then she’s in my space – warm, perfumed, dangerously close. She reaches up, fingers threading through my hair, and I curl mine into fists to keep them tame. I can’t breathe. Can’t think…
She’s focused on cleaning me up, but all I can think about is making a mess of her, of me, of us.
Her perfume’s dizzying. Her breath, warm against my jaw. And when she bites her lip – that soft, absent nip she does when she’s nervous or concentrating – it’s no longer sweet. It’s lethal.
And she has no idea how hot she is. How can that be possible?
It’s wrong. Fucked up. And I…
I don’t care any more. She has to know.
‘You look good, Sades,’ I rasp out. ‘ Really good.’
She stills, her eyes meeting mine, and I swear she sees it all.
The hunger. The torment. The fucking desperation.
Her blue depths widen, breath catching. ‘ Theo ?’
I take the wipe from her hand, but instead of pulling away, I lace my fingers through hers and pull her in. She comes easy, brushing up against me, and my body spasms. Every muscle coiling tight. Every nerve catching fire. Every thought narrowing down to one…
I wet my bottom lip and bow my head, catching her trembling breath as her glossy mouth parts, and?—
‘I did a trump!’
A triumphant raspberry explodes from hip height and we spring apart like guilty teens. Lottie!
Sadie blushes red and bites her lip, shoulders shaking with flustered laughter while I press the wipe to my face and die.
I’m not sure what’s greater, the relief or the regret.
Either way, Lottie – the Queen of Timing – nails it.
And I tell myself to run with relief. Drown in the gratitude.
‘It was a big one!’ she crows proudly, and even I can’t stop the laughter now.
‘Okay, that’s definitely your cue to leave.’
Sadie gives me a smile that lingers – eyes questioning, burning, wanting – even as her words shift back to business. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay with the trump monster here?’
‘Absolutely,’ I say, ruffling Lottie’s hair – and ugh , more yoghurt. ‘Reckon I’ve got a gas mask about here somewhere.’
She laughs, then tilts her head. ‘And the whole bath and bed routine?’
‘You mean the routine you’ve outlined in forensic detail?’ I smirk, though my lower body’s feeling anything but smug. ‘Yeah, I’ve got this. Or don’t you trust me?’
‘Of course I trust you. More than trust you.’ She softens. ‘I’m so grateful to you, Theo. These past two weeks… they’ve been the best. And having your company too.’
Yeah. My company.
Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. I’ve been there.
Every spare minute around work, I’ve made sure of it.
My theory? If getting Sadie out more has made her stronger, maybe the same could be said for me.
More exposure. Better resistance. Vaccine, anyone?
Says the guy still rocking a semi after almost kissing her – with Lottie in the room, too.
Real resilient, that.
‘Maybe you should come with me tonight…’
I refocus on her, catch the way her smile fades as she says it, her hands wringing together, and it slaps the heat right out of me.
‘…You and Lottie would make a good buffer.’
‘Hey.’ I reach for her hands, stilling them with a gentle squeeze. ‘You’ve got this, okay? Just like you’ve had everything else. You’ll feel better once you and Taylor have cleared the air. I promise.’
She lifts her shoulders, takes a deep breath through her nose, and nods.
‘Now go.’ I release her hands before my body can recharge. ‘Have a good time.’
She offers a weak smile. ‘I’ll try.’ Then she sweeps past me to kiss Lottie on the head. ‘Be a good girl for Uncle Theo, kiddo. And you…’ she turns to me, her smile widening into a tease ‘…remember who’s in charge?’
I chuckle. ‘That is me, right?’
She leaves on a cloud of perfume and laughter – a spellbinding mix that leaves me staring helplessly after her…
…until a plush cow smacks me in the face.
‘Right, you.’ I pluck the little missile-launcher off her chair and prop her on my hip, tickling as I go. Her giggles fill the room. ‘Yoghurt war’s over. Let’s get you cleaned up and?—’
Ping. The elevator announces its arrival. The doors slide open.
‘You forget something?’ I call, turning towards the hall.
‘Theo, darling, I really wish you would learn to answer your phone when?—’
‘Mum!’
She freezes, her mouth falling open. If she wasn’t already platinum grey, she would be now. Not even her bright summer dress or natural tan saves her pallor.
‘I can explain.’
She shakes her head, like that’ll somehow erase Lottie – and everything else about my pad that screams, Small child lives here now.
When that doesn’t work, she folds her arms, purses her lips, and gives me that look .
The patented, world-class Mother look that sees her green eyes narrowing into a laser beam worthy of Superman.
‘I’m waiting.’
* * *
Sadie
Want to know how to supercharge your anxiety?
Almost kiss the man you’ve wanted since forever. Then walk straight into a meeting with your estranged sister.
No pause. No real breath. Just an ache that won’t quit, a belly full of nerves, and a head so loud, it feels like it could split in two as I push open the door to Taylor’s Soho wine bar and?—
Oh my God.
My boots hit marble – too blunt, all wrong. It’s like I’ve stumbled off the set of Yellowstone and landed smack in the middle of Suits , and any second now, someone’s going to spot my mistake and politely show me the door.
Why didn’t I think to channel Taylor when I picked my outfit?
The place is so her – rich, curated, unapologetically exclusive. Deep charcoals, inky blues, warm-gold accents. Jazz floats through the air, low voices humming beneath it. Every detail, every guest, whispers money, class… legacy.
But our legacy is a council flat in Hackney with peeling walls, a pull-out bed to share, and heating by the meter. That’s how far my sister’s come. And I should’ve known better than to turn up like this.
My only saving grace? No one’s looking at me except the bartender. He clocks me, disappears, and returns seconds later with…
Taylor .
My heart lifts. My stomach drops.
She walks towards me, stilettos clicking like a metronome – precise, purposeful, poised to the bone. As ever, the total opposite of me.
She looks like her mum. Dark, effortless waves. Luminous skin. Hazel eyes that see too much and give little away.
Me? I’m all mine, or so they say. Fair hair, blue eyes, a little too rough, a little too open. Dad once said I looked like a grief-stricken fuck. I guess that was his poetic way of remembering both our mothers.
Why my anxiety brain chose now to serve up that little gem, I’ve no idea. But as Taylor approaches, I’m reminded of everything she is, and everything she was to me.
Not just a half-sister.
But a mother.
An anchor.
My idol.
What I would’ve given for even a sliver of her grace and poise back then… or now.
She never needed money to look the part. But with it? She owns it. Louboutin heels. A black dress that moves like it was made for her. Salon-finish waves. Flawless make-up.
And a face I’ve missed more than words can say.
Yet as she nears, her pace slows. There’s a quiet tension in her jaw, a flicker of hesitation in her smile.
And just like that, I see it – the nerves beneath the surface, the crack in her veneer.
Maybe we’re not so different after all…
‘Hi,’ she says softly, stopping just a few feet away.
‘Hi.’
A beat passes. Two. And then something cracks. Suddenly, her arms are around me, pulling me into a hug so fierce and fast, I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or hold on tighter. So I do all three.
‘It’s really good to see you,’ I murmur.
‘I’m so glad you asked to meet,’ she says at the same time.
I pull back just enough to look up at her, and?—
‘Wait… are you crying?’ I blink. ‘You never cry.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She waves a manicured hand in front of her face. ‘I’ve got something in my eye.’
‘In both eyes?’
Her mouth quivers into a smile. ‘I’m allowed to be emotional.’