The Other Brother (London Hearts #1)
1. April
Chapter 1
April
I glance down, admiring my ring as it glimmers under the soft amber glow of my bedroom light. A simple, classic two-carat round solitaire set in a yellow gold band, timeless and elegant. The exact ring I would have picked for myself. Four months have passed since Lucas asked me to be his wife, and since then, I’ve lived in a bubble of pure bliss. Every aspect of my life finally feels like it’s falling into place.
Releasing a breath, a flutter of butterflies erupts in my stomach as I reach to pull the zipper of my dress. Turning to face the mirror, I study my reflection. Auburn curls cascade over one shoulder, skimming down to my ribs. For tonight, large gold hoop earrings are the only jewellery I opted for, aside from my ring, of course. Completing my ensemble, I matched my earrings with a pair of stunning gold strapped heels, which cost far more than I’m willing to admit. It’s my engagement party, so I decided there was no harm in splashing out on some niceties.
My fitted silken midnight dress stops mid-calf, hugging my curves like a second skin. I feel sultry and feminine. The gentle material falls off the shoulder to reveal a golden-champagne highlight dusted across my collarbones, shimmering softly when it catches under the light. My make-up is natural, just the way I like it. A swipe of deep berry lipstick adds colour to my lips, while a few layers of black mascara make the lighter shades of my blue eyes stand out.
I finish with a spritz of my favourite Chanel perfume—delicious notes of vanilla and musk. I know black isn’t exactly the most cheerful choice for my own engagement party, but it’s the colour that always makes me feel the most confident and sexy. Plus, there’s the practical side to it: Black hides spills, and given my track record, wearing white is a disaster waiting to happen.
I hear the bedroom door creak open, and my smile widens. I turn to find Lucas standing at the threshold, and my breath stalls. Standing at six five, he commands attention. His chestnut hair is perfectly styled, a little shorter on the sides and slightly longer on top. He’s clad in a black suit and white shirt, pressed and tailored flawlessly, which accentuates his muscular torso. A pair of patent dress shoes add a finishing touch to his clean and polished appearance. I try to gauge his reaction as he drinks me in.
His gaze lingers on me as I attempt to read the emotion behind his dark eyes—wondering what he’s thinking. I clasp my hands together in front of me to keep from fidgeting. Silent, his eyes slowly travel from my red-tipped toes up to my nervous smile. Blowing out a long exhale, he palms the back of his neck and shakes his head in response. “Fuck, April. You look … You’re so beautiful.”
My cheeks heat, and I duck my chin, feeling exposed and shy. I adore getting dressed up, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being the centre of attention. I would much rather bleed into the background.
He steps forward, closing the distance between us. Towering over me, he tenderly cups my face in his large hands, lowering himself until our foreheads and the tips of our noses meet in a gentle press. The gesture feels so safe and intimate. I close my eyes and breathe in his familiar Ted Baker cologne—citrus and pepper—my favourite scent in the world.
“I can’t believe my luck,” he murmurs, softly sealing our lips together. My breath catches and I fist the lapels of his jacket, deepening the kiss. He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, biting it gently before pulling back. Releasing my face, he traces his hands over my bare shoulders and down my sides, barely touching, and my flesh erupts in goose bumps as he reaches my ass. Squeezing, he pulls us together so my hips meet his. A soft moan escapes my lips as I arch into him, desire surging through me, rushing to my core and dampening the thin fabric between my thighs. Wary of my dark lipstick making a mess, I pull back and giggle.
“Berry is a great colour on you,” I say, using my thumb to wipe away the stain left on his mouth. He smiles softly in response. With lips swollen and adoration in his eyes, I melt at the sight of him.
Heavy footsteps echo down the hall, breaking our spell. “Okay, lovers, if you could stop making out and tell me where the champagne bucket is, that would be great.”
Anna marches in, snapping her fingers as if she could conjure a bucket from thin air, her phone gripped firmly in her other hand.
I can’t help but beam back at her. She is a few inches shorter than me, even in her nude two-inch heels. Her natural, sun-kissed complexion pays homage to her Italian heritage. We may be chalk and cheese, but somehow, we couldn’t be a more perfect match. Her dark hair, streaked with blond highlights, is fashioned into an effortlessly messy updo. Her eyes are lined with black kohl, accentuating their golden hazel, and her lips are painted peony pink. She wears a blush pink floral A-line dress with a sweetheart neckline, which suits her perfectly, a fun and playful vibe to match her bubbly personality.
Anna has been one of my best friends for over twenty-five years. We met in Year 1 when we were both the new kids at school. Her family had returned home to London from living in Fiji, and I had recently switched schools after moving to West London. Being the two new kids at school, we were seated next to each other, and we’ve been inseparable since. Now, at thirty-one, it’s incredibly special to share this moment with her.
“It’s under the staircase. I’ll get it,” Lucas says, shooting me a wink before disappearing through the door.
Anna waits until he’s left before letting out a low whistle. “Girl, if he hadn’t already put a ring on it, I’d lock that shit down myself. Look at you! You look amazing!”
“Thank you,” I murmur, lowering my eyes to the carpet.
“Don’t be shy. Turn around,” Anna instructs, waving her finger in a circular motion.
I turn slowly, offering her a complete 360-degree view.
“Ass looks great, good for you,” she says, giving a chef’s-kiss gesture.
“And what about you? That dress is gorgeous! You look so beautiful.”
“I know,” she states, punctuating her words with a curtsy.
I roll my eyes, chuckling.
“Picture time! We need to get a few snaps in before everyone starts arriving.”
“Oh, good idea. I’m so bad at remembering to take photos.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.” Stepping beside me, Anna unlocks her phone, switches it to selfie mode, and holds it in front of us to snap a few photos. After studying and selecting the best, Anna sashays out of the room and heads downstairs to assist with the final touches for the party.
We opted to have our engagement fête at home. It’s where we love to be, enjoying time with friends and family. We cook, drink wine, play board games, watch movies, and talk endlessly until the early-morning hours. Our home isn’t big, but it’s inviting. Hosting the party here felt right; anything lavish or fancy just wouldn’t be us . I prepared most of the food myself with help from my other dearest friend, Gemma.
My heels click along the hardwood floors as I walk down the stairs and through the lounge. The scent of warm pastry and desserts envelops me, and I take a deep breath.
Champagne buckets, hors d’oeuvres, cheese platters, and charcuterie boards are neatly arranged across the island bench and coffee table, while the oven fills the space with the delicious aroma of hot food. Two large glass doors reveal a deck and fenced-in courtyard beyond, with an outdoor heater, chairs and neatly arranged potted plants adding vivid pops of colour. Fairy lights are strung from the deck, weaving along the fences like twinkling fireflies. It’s late winter here in London, so we leave the doors closed to ward off the biting cold.
I spot Anna in the kitchen fiddling with a champagne cork until the distinctive pop sounds. “Cheers!” Anna yells, extending her hand and offering me a filled flute. I accept and clink it against hers before bringing it to my lips. A hint of liquid courage to calm my nerves. Anna pours another glass.
“Where’s Lucas?” She peers over my shoulder just as Lucas sidles up beside me.
He playfully bumps my shoulder with his, smirking down at me before reaching for his glass and tipping it towards mine in silent cheers. “To us,” he says, lifting it to his lips.
“To us,” I say, smiling.
The front door bursts open, hitting the wall with a loud bang, causing Gemma to wince as she makes her grand entrance.
“Crap! Sorry about your wall! Am I late? What can I do to help?” she asks as she sheds her coat and unwinds her scarf, revealing a short, black leather skirt and laced bodysuit. She’s paired the outfit with black pumps and cherry-red lips. Her blond hair is slicked back into a low bun, and her usual quirky glasses are perched on her nose. She looks sleek and sophisticated. I all but skip towards her with excitement, wrapping her in my arms for a tight hug.
“You aren’t late. You’re just in time for a drink! Anna opened the champagne.”
“Oh my God, April … wow. Luc, you better watch yourself because I’m Mrs. Gonna Steal Yo’ Girl!” Gemma exclaims as she holds my hands, taking me in.
“I know. I’m going to have to watch her this evening,” Lucas says with a smile.
“You clean up pretty good yourself,” I say to Gemma. She beams at me as we approach Anna, who offers her a glass of bubbly.
“Gemma, are you wearing a lingerie bodysuit to our best friend’s engagement party?” Anna questions.
“Anna, come on. Do I wear anything else?” she asks, as if the answer is obvious.
“She’s in her ho era,” I reply, taking another sip.
“Ah yes, the best era. I remember it well.” Anna nods.
Gemma turns her attention to Lucas. “Speaking of ho, is James coming?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows.
“That’s way too close to home, Gemma,” I say, my voice laced with disapproval.
I quickly avert my gaze, scrunching my nose in confusion. Why do I feel so protective of James? The thought of him with Gemma doesn’t sit right.
I take a long pull of my champagne. I don’t want to explore why it bothers me.
James is Lucas’s younger brother, but the two are cut from different cloths. Lucas is romantic and light-hearted—the kind of man who favours crisp shirts, listens to ’80s hits, and fills notebooks with poetry. James, however, is broody and dark, wears ripped jeans and band T-shirts, listens to metal and rock, and plays the bass guitar. Even though the brothers aren’t the closest of friends, due to their differing tastes and five-year age gap, I’ve always got along reasonably well with James, despite his reserved nature.
Admittedly, there’s something alluring about his mysterious vibe, and I know I’m not the only one drawn to his dark charm.
Lucas strolls over to the sound system, fiddling with buttons and his phone until the first few notes of a song start to play. As the familiar tune fills the room, Anna, Gemma, and I exchange excited glances—we all love this song. Giggling, we finish our champagne and bustle around, belting out lyrics while setting up food and drinks before the guests arrive.