2. April
Chapter 2
April
A s our nearest and dearest pour in, the room comes to life with laughter and celebration. Lucas and me circle the space, ensuring we spend time with every guest. Now and then, we’re separated to make sure drinks are refilled, food is stocked, and everyone is having a good time.
With relief, Lucas’s parents, Caroline and Peter, arrive and take over the role of hosts, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the reprieve. Caroline has been incredibly kind to me since her son and I have been together, treating me as if I were her own daughter. She’s nurturing and sweet, and I feel privileged to have such a wonderful female role model in my life, after my own mother.
Caroline approaches me as I pluck a packet of dried apricots out of the pantry and tear it open to refill the charcuterie board.
“You shouldn’t be working at your engagement party, honey. Let me worry about the food. Here,” she says, extending her hand for the packet, “you go and enjoy yourself.”
“It’s no trouble, I’m happy to,” I reply.
“My dear, I promise you no one is worrying about the apricots,” she says as she grabs the packet. She makes a gentle shooing motion with her hands. “Go on.”
I smile, shooting her a grateful look before rounding the kitchen island.
As I slip away to the upstairs bathroom, I huff a sigh as I catch a lonely reflection of myself in the mirror. Even though my own parents passed away ten years ago, I still carry the weight of their loss with me; the burden is hard to bear in times of celebration. Lucas and I have been together for three years. I was twenty-eight when we met, so they never got the chance to meet him. It’s so bittersweet.
My father is supposed to be the man walking me down the aisle.
My mother is supposed to shop with me for my wedding dress.
My parents were killed in a car accident when I was twenty-one. The money I inherited from their estate, along with the sale of their flat in Notting Hill, helped me buy our townhouse in Fulham, securing a future I never thought I’d have so soon. I think about them often, wondering if they’d be proud of the life I’m building and the choices I’ve made. I know they’d love Lucas; they’d recognise in him the qualities they always valued—kindness, loyalty, and a quiet appreciation for life’s simple pleasures.
I’ve always wanted what my parents had—the kind of love that knows no bounds, free of expectations, where joy is found in the little things. My father adored my mother in every way that mattered, and growing up surrounded by that kind of love made me long for a happily ever after of my own.
I’m fortunate to carry those memories with me—precious morsels I’ll treasure forever. And I know how lucky I am to have grown up the way I did, in a way not everyone gets to experience. I’m incredibly grateful for that. We never left the house without saying, “I love you.” It wasn’t just a habit—it was a promise, a way of ensuring no moment passed without reminding one another how much we mattered. Christmas Eve was always spent huddled together in their king-size bed, watching Christmas films on the old telly we refused to upgrade. Our joined laughter filling the room felt like the best gift of all.
Even though I grew up without siblings, I never felt like I was missing out, because they were more than just my parents—they were my best friends. The kind of friends who made even the simplest things feel extraordinary.
My mother was an art teacher, so we spent hours every weekend painting in watercolours and making ceramics. Throwing clay was always my favourite. I still hold onto a pair of mugs we sculpted and decorated with vibrant tulips. Since they passed, I haven’t been able to touch my pottery wheel, but I keep it with me, just in case. I know she would be devastated if I ever got rid of it.
And now, when the house is quiet and the lights are low, I can almost feel them here with me, tucked away in the corners, watching over the life I’m building and reminding me that love like theirs never truly leaves.
The inheritance gave us more than a roof over our heads; it gave us freedom. We don’t live extravagantly—no designer clothes and furniture or exotic holidays—but we live comfortably, and that’s enough for me. I’ve never needed much to be happy, just the little things: the smell of freshly brewed coffee, the warmth of Lucas’s hand resting on my leg during a lazy Sunday afternoon, the way sunlight filters through the bedroom window on a quiet morning. Those small, fleeting moments mean more to me than any grand gesture or luxury ever could.
And though Lucas doesn’t earn as much as he’d like working in administration at the local university, that’s never mattered to me. It’s never been about the money. He has his love for helping students and his hobby of writing on the odd occasion too. What we have is simple but good—bills split evenly, a home we made together, with enough left over to indulge now and then. It’s solid, the kind of life I used to dream about when everything felt uncertain. I treasure that stability. It’s not perfect, but it’s ours.
Celebrating this pivotal moment in the house their loss provided feels surreal.
Opening the top drawer of the bathroom counter, I pluck out my lipstick, snapping it open to swipe a fresh layer across my lips. I’m tousling my hair, running my fingers through the waved strands as Lucas steps in. I turn to face him as he places a large hand on my hip.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I was just freshening up.”
“Are you sure?”
I sigh. “It’s times like these when I can’t help but think about my parents. I’m so happy, really, I am … But I wish they were here to share my happiness. I wish they could have met you.”
“I’m so sorry, baby. How can I make you feel better?” he asks, pulling me in closer.
I pause, contemplating momentarily. “I can think of something,” I reply, a hint of mischief in my tone.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” he asks, pressing his index finger underneath my chin to tip my head up.
“We have guests downstairs …,” I say softly.
“They won’t even notice we’re gone.” He pulls up his trouser legs before dropping to his knees before me. A surge of excitement and heat courses through my body, pooling at my centre. Lucas delicately presses the fingertips of both hands to my ankles, the touch sending shivers up my spine as he slowly trails along my calf, gathering the silk of my dress. His palms flatten against the back of my thighs, drawing me closer to him as he continues to push the material of my dress towards my hips.
I part my legs slightly to grant him better access, my heart thundering. He grunts his approval when he sees the wet fabric of my thong before spreading me wider. He hooks his thumb underneath the lace, pushing the flimsy fabric aside and exposing me.
“Fuck, April,” he breathes, running his fingers through my arousal, collecting my wetness. “Look at you.”
Leaning in, he swipes his tongue along me in a single, firm stroke. I arch my back. “Luc.”
His gaze shifts from my core, rising to meet mine. “What do you need?”
A desperate whimper escapes me.
“Have I rendered you speechless?”
Meeting his hungry look, I straighten my posture and say, “I need more, Luc.”
That’s all it takes before his restraint snaps and he turns feral. He dips his head, gripping my thighs possessively as he indulges. His tongue flicks across my clit before he releases my thigh to circle my entrance with his fingers. He slides two thick digits knuckle-deep, eliciting a heady moan from me. Curling his fingers in a beckoning gesture, he expertly rubs the precise spot I crave, over and over as I mewl above him.
He increases his pace, and his mouth latches onto my clit, sucking as he continues to stroke me. I rock my hips back and forth, riding his face. I throw one hand behind me, gripping the counter tightly to support myself; the other instinctively tangles in his hair. He inserts a third finger, stretching and filling me more, and I can’t hold off any longer. Throwing my head back, I squeeze my eyes closed, releasing a muffled cry of ecstasy as my release courses through me.
Groaning, Lucas slows his pace, softly moving his fingers inside me as I ride out the wave. Releasing me, we lock eyes, cheeks flushed, our chests rising up and falling with breathless pants.
Lucas delicately presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh before readjusting my soaked thong and smoothing my dress. I run my hands down the soft fabric, ensuring no creases.
“I love seeing you come undone for me, baby,” he says, rising to his full height.
A sudden knock on the door startles us.
“Luc? Mum sent me to check on you. Is everything okay? Have you seen April?”
Oh God. I recognise the gruff voice immediately—James.
Lucas and I exchange a glance, panic flickering in my widened eyes. He shrugs his shoulders, adjusting his jacket, and I mouth, “Shit.”
Swiping the back of his hand over his wet mouth to remove the glistening evidence of my orgasm, he turns towards the door.
“James? Is that you? Give me a second.”
Lucas shoots me a nod before he clears his throat and reaches for the knob, pulling the door open. James pauses in surprise, leaning one arm into the frame as he eyes me, standing sheepishly beside his brother. He’s wearing a band T-shirt under his distressed leather jacket; his sandy blond waves fall perfectly out of place, shorter on the sides and longer on top, giving him a rugged look. He’s donning his usual scuffed, black combat boots. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a black guitar pick, and brings it to his mouth to nibble on as he considers us with an arrogant, knowing smirk.
Was he always this handsome?
I cast my eyes downwards, feeling sheepish under his scrutinizing gaze.
Where Lucas is soft and clean-shaven, James has sharp edges and prominent cheekbones, his jaw dusted with stubble and a dimple in his left cheek. Seeing the two of them standing side by side is striking. Lucas has an imposing presence, but James, just an inch shorter at six four, matches him in intensity.
Yes, Caroline birthed two monsters.
Her poor, poor vagina.
“You couldn’t wait until the party ended?” James asks, his tone dry.
“You couldn’t put on a suit?”
James blows out a breath. “Give me a break, Luc. I came straight from practice. This is what I’m comfortable in. We have that audition coming up and I lost track of time, so I came straight here. Suits are your thing, not mine.”
“Whatever, the Golden Child does what he wants. Always has.”
Lucas has always referred to James as the Golden Child, and I’ve never understood why. Despite their lack of closeness, they’ve managed to remain relatively amicable, given their differences.
I give him a small, awkward wave. “Hey, James.”
His brows crease slightly. “Hey, April.”
As if drawn to each other, our eyes lock. My breath catches as I take in the vibrant green. His eyes are captivating, almost unreal—flecks of gold encircle his pupils, making them even more mesmerising.
There’s curiosity in his stare, a flicker of amusement too, and just the barest hint of a smile. The air between us crackles, and my pulse quickens.
There’s no denying what just happened between Lucas and me—no pretending we’re innocent. The realisation makes my cheeks burn hotter with the shame of being caught by my fiancé’s younger brother.
After a beat, James awkwardly looks away, his eyes skimming everything but me.
What was that?
Removing the pick from his mouth, he simply says, “Your mascara’s smudged,” before stepping away from the door-frame, turning, and disappearing down the hallway. His words hang in the air, and my mouth pops open, mortified, as I swivel to face the mirror. I do, in fact, look like a panda. I begin swiping madly underneath my eyes, desperate to fix the smudged mascara before rejoining the party.
“Don’t worry, he’s just being a dick,” Lucas says, stepping closer. He places a hand on my shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of my head before turning towards the door. His phone pings, and he pulls it from his back pocket, typing furiously as he walks down the hall.
I wait a few minutes to allow the flush of my face to settle before rejoining the party.