6. Cherise
Chapter six
Cherise
Leo’s living room looked like an audition tape for What Not to Wear: Twin Brother Edition.
Moose sat at my feet, tail thumping lazily as I scratched behind his ear. “You’re the only one in this house with style, baby,” I whispered, as another fashion disaster rounded the corner.
Leo stepped out of the hallway wearing cargo shorts, a faded blue-collared shirt, and flip-flops with socks.
Socks?!
“You look like someone who peaked during a Best Buy Black Friday sale.”
He scowled and pivoted on the heel of his socked flip-flop. “This is my casual vacation look.”
“Casual homicide of all things attractive, maybe.”
He disappeared back into the hallway. Moose groaned in solidarity.
Round two: a stiff white button-down, khakis that somehow made his butt disappear, and…was that a braided belt?
“Leo.” I blinked. “Are you going to a wine tasting or volunteering at the DMV?”
He sighed dramatically. “I told you, none of this screams Derrick because I’m not Derrick.”
I folded my arms. “Oh, but you’re about to be. We’re going to the mall now!”
He looked at me through hooded eyes. “This is coming out of the surgery fund, isn’t it?”
I scoffed. “Please. I make a pretty penny managing a restaurant full of over-tipping finance bros and mom brunch mobs. I can afford a wardrobe and Moose’s knee.”
Moose barked once in agreement, then immediately rolled onto his side for more belly rubs.
***
We hit the mall with a mission and a vengeance.
Leo trudged behind me, shoulders tense, dragging his feet with the enthusiasm of a kid headed to detention.
I didn’t slow down. Shirts, suits, sunglasses, and shoes flew into my arms. I knew Derrick’s brand—preppy arrogance with a whisper of “my dad owns the yacht club.”
Leo? He was giving “refuses to upgrade his Amazon cart.”
“This one’s too tight,” he muttered, stepping out in a navy shirt that hugged his arms in ways that made me forget my next insult.
I smiled. “That’s so Derrick.”
He frowned. “It’s cutting off my circulation.”
“Fashion is pain.” I handed him a pair of designer sunglasses. “Put these on. Now smirk like you’re better than everyone here.”
He smirked.
“…Okay. That was… unsettling. We will work on that. Now walk like you own stock in the building.”
He stared at me. “No, I feel like I need a restraining order from my own reflection,” he muttered, tugging at the collar.
“Ugh. Next.” I commanded.
Next came the white linen button-down. Too sheer. Too Miami Vice. He looked two seconds from offering someone a cigar and insider trading advice.
“No,” I said flatly.
Then a beige suit jacket that made him look like a glorified valet.
“Leo,” I said, deadpan. “Are you about to ask if I’ve ever considered switching car insurance providers?”
He rolled his eyes and headed back into the dressing room.
He stepped out in a short-sleeved collared shirt covered in tiny pineapples. Wiggling his brows and looking way too proud of himself. “This one’s fun.”
“Fun for who? A toddler’s luau?”
“Fine,” he groaned, heading back in. “What am I even aiming for here? Derrick is basically a walking thirst trap in loafers.”
“Exactly,” I said, holding up a silk shirt with just enough sheen. “Less dad at Home Depot, more man on a yacht that ghosts you after three magical nights in Capri.”
He gave me a blank look.
“You’ll understand once I’m done with you.”
He sighed and headed back into the dressing room. “I don’t understand how Derrick does this.”
“He doesn’t try. That’s the point. He’s genetically engineered to radiate smug entitlement.”
“And I’m genetically engineered to unclog toilets.”
[A pause.]
“Don’t admit that out loud.”
He then emerged in yet another outfit—black T-shirt, dark trousers, chain at the wrist—and paused in front of the mirror.
I tilted my head. “Hold up.”
I stood slowly, circling him once. His posture. The way he pushed his jaw forward. The quiet confidence that settled over him without force.
“There it is.”
He glanced over. “This one?”
I nodded. “This one.”
For a second, I couldn’t even see Leo. I saw Derrick. Cool. Controlled. Untouchable.
And then he made a dumb face in the mirror.
There he was.
“Let’s go,” I said, grabbing his wrist and dragging him toward the register before he did something else to ruin it.
We finally collapsed into plastic chairs at the food court; trays piled high with burgers, fries, and one massive cinnamon pretzel that I absolutely did not need but refused to leave without.
Leo took one look at the mess and raised a brow. “Planning to carb-load before battle?”
“Please,” I said, snatching a fry. “After five dressing room tantrums and three near-death experiences with that cologne sprayer at Nordstrom, I’ve earned this.”
He held up his hands. “I only had two tantrums. Tops.”
“You cried actual tears when I made you try on the floral shirt.”
“Those weren’t tears. It was sweat from emotional stress.”
I snorted, biting into the pretzel. “Well, we survived, and you finally found a look that doesn’t make me want to fake my own death.”
He sipped his drink and gave a sarcastic bow. “Glad I can meet the high standards of Derrick the Great.”
“You joke, but that last smolder in the fitting room? That was alarmingly convincing.”
His smirk returned, all casual confidence. “Maybe I’m more Derrick than I thought.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Easy, Rico Suave. You’re not winning Oscars yet.”
He laughed, the sound low and warm.
For a second, we just sat there, letting the chaos of the mall hum around us. Kids screamed, someone dropped a tray, and the unmistakable smell of pizza grease clung to the air.
I glanced at him, chewing slowly. “This feels like high school again.”
“Yeah?” He took a bite of his burger, then pointed at his glasses. “Except this time my glasses aren’t taped together with a Scooby Doo Band-Aid.”
I burst out laughing, nearly choking on my drink. “Oh my God, I forgot about those.”
He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “You’re welcome for that core memory.”
“I was such a brat back then,” I admitted.
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But at least you were a nice brat. One of the only ones who didn’t make my life miserable.”
I arched a brow, surprised. “Yeah? Well, your taped-up bifocals were kind of adorable.”
He groaned. “Please. Spare me the trauma.”
I raised my pretzel in salute. “To trauma and extra training tomorrow.”
He groaned. “There’s more?”
“Oh, sweetie.” I patted his hand. “We haven’t even gotten to eyebrow grooming yet.”
His face drained of all color. “What’s wrong with my eyebrows?”
I didn’t answer. Just took a smug bite of my pretzel and winked.
He glanced at the pretzel, then back at me, and let out a long exhale. “So what’s the plan?”
“Plan?”
“Yeah. Am I the hand-holding, kiss your cheek boyfriend, or the I’m too important to be bothered, always on my phone type of boyfriend?”
I snorted. “You’re the obsessed-with-me kind of boyfriend.” I pointed my fry at him. “And no breaking character. Even if Savannah catches on fire.”
He quirked a brow. “That is oddly specific.”
“Well, you never know what to expect when you’re dealing with the spawn of Satan.”
“Is she really that bad?”
I shot him a look.
“I take that as a yes.”
“Let’s just say if she wasn’t, I wouldn’t be losing a grand and dragging you on this trip with me.”
“What did she do?”
“That is not important. Just know that it was bad enough to earn a spot on my hit list right next to Derrick.”
“You have a hit list?”
“Yep, and if you don’t want to find yourself on it, you need to make sure you don’t break character.”
“Worship the ground you walk on…check.”
I laughed and took another bite of my pretzel. “You learn fast.”
He shook his head. “It’s amazing what I can do when my life is on the line. I do have one more question, though.”
“Shoot.”
“You said I didn’t have to do anything inappropriate,” he said, shifting slightly. “But a couple going a whole week without any signs of affection doesn’t sound…realistic.”
My eyes met his. “What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything.”
A grin spread across my face. “Do you want to kiss me, Leo?”
His entire body went rigid.
“I—um—no! I mean—yes. I mean, it’s not that I wouldn’t want to—” He dragged a hand down his face. “I just want to be prepared. Set clear boundaries. Know what’s on the table and what’s not.”
“Ohhhh.” I nodded slowly. “So, I’m so impulsive that you need time to prepare yourself before kissing me?”
His eyes widened. “No…that’s not what I meant.”
“Wow,” I added, dramatically clutching my chest. “I didn’t realize I signed up for emotional damage on this trip.”
“Cherise—”
I burst out laughing.
“Relax,” I said, nudging his arm. “I’m joking.”
He stared at me, completely unamused. A bead of sweat slid down his temple. “This is going to be a long week, isn’t it?”
“You know you are going to have the time of your life. It will be like old times. Look, we don’t have to have our tongues down each other's throats to prove we are a couple. So, no kissing on the lips. Maybe some handholding. A peck on the hand or cheek here and there is fine with me if it’s fine with you. ”
“I’m fine with that.”
“Also, the villa is huge, and I remember Grace saying that one of the rooms had a pull-out couch, which means we don’t even have to worry about sharing the same bed.”
“Sounds like we have everything we need.”
“Yep. I got everything handled. Now all we have to do is seal the deal.” I held out my fist. “It’s not official until you fist bump.”
He chuckled. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said as he bumped his fist against mine.
We finished our meal, and when we stood to leave, he held his tray while I stuffed my trash into the overflowing bin. “So…same time tomorrow?”
His brow twitched as I arched mine. He was clearly still haunted by the eyebrow comment.
Then with a resigned sigh, he plucked the last fry from his tray and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. “Same time tomorrow.”