1. Cassian
Cassian
Now
She walks through the door while we’re watching the soccer game, and the second I see her, I forget what the hell I’m doing on the couch.
She’s wearing a Givenchy sweater I could’ve sworn was in my closet just last week and a plaid skirt that stops far north of her knees, leaving those tanned and toned legs running on forever and ever.
Her mane of loose curls looks windswept, as if she just walked the five blocks from her flat to get here. I swallow to get rid of my dry mouth, but it’s too late. I’ve already stared too long.
Beside me, Bash tears his eyes away from the TV long enough to toss his twin sister a glance. They share the same dark waves and strong Italian features, but where Vivienne is grace itself, he’s more like a puppy set loose in a toy store.
“Finally,” he mutters. “We were starting to think you’d joined a cult.”
Viv tosses a plastic container into his lap, causing him to jerk forward. “I brought sushi. The least you could do is break me out of the commune.”
I know for a fact that if Bash thought his sister was in any kind of danger, he’d rush into the fray himself, consequences be damned. She’d do the same for him in a heartbeat. I’ve spent my entire life longing for something like that.
“Give me that,” Sutton says from the floor in front of us, and grabs the carton. She stuffs an entire piece of sushi into her mouth, then licks her fingers. “Oh my god, Viv. I love you.”
Bash nudges her shoulder with his leg. “If you start moaning, I swear to god, I’ll duct tape your mouth shut.”
Lying sprawled in a leather chair, her heeled feet dangling over the side, Marlowe flips another glossy page in her fashion magazine. “I thought female moaning was your favorite sound, Bash.” She’s resting her head on the armrest, her blonde hair creating a halo around her face.
“Not if it’s coming from Sutton,” Bash says. “Or you.”
Sutton jabs her elbow into his calf and continues inhaling the spicy tuna roll in her hands. Tiny grains of rice litter the front of her tennis skirt. Her thick brown hair is pulled tightly back in a ponytail that swings over her shoulder every time she turns her head.
“Guess that leaves Viv,” Shep says, running his fingers through his jet-black hair as he leans toward the container of sushi. Sutton holds it out to him, and Bash gags dramatically.
“Don’t talk about my sister that way,” he says, still pressing his fist to his mouth. “God, the images now burned into my brain.”
“I’m right here, asshole.” Viv clips him on the back of the head and settles on the arm of Shep’s chair. He gives her a hug, then leaves his arm casually draped around her waist. I swallow thickly.
Bash shudders before getting to his feet. “I’m going to need more alcohol if we’re going to talk about your love life.”
I’ve known Bash and Viv since we were little.
The others came as a package deal our first year at Cambridge.
Both of the Wilson kids attract people like moths to a flame, and when we got to university, it was no different.
Bash and I roomed together, although I regretted that choice a few days into the semester, when I realized there would be a constant stream of women using up all the hot water in our flat.
Bash met Shepard in a business class he was taking for the sole purpose of getting the number of a girl he’d seen on campus who hadn’t given him the time of day.
By the end of the week, he’d not only slept with her and dropped out of the class, but he’d invited Shep to hang out with us.
By then, Viv, Sutton, and Marlowe were already on their way to becoming best friends. The rest is history.
I keep my eyes glued to the TV so they don’t travel the length of Viv’s legs or linger on the tiny little skirt she’s wearing.
Gripping the armrest of the couch, I tell myself it’s better that she’s sitting beside Shep.
If she were over here, it would only be that much harder to keep my attention where it should be, which is anywhere but on her.
While spinning the remote on my leg, I can see her reaching for a piece of nigiri from the corner of my eye. Sutton gasps loudly and grabs her hand. “What the hell is this? That’s a fucking ring, Vivienne Wilson.”
My heart stutters to a halt, and I glance over reflexively. Sure enough, a diamond the size of a car tire rests on Viv’s delicate hand. It looks like it weighs several pounds. It definitely cost several hundred thousand.
Suddenly, my shoulders feel as if they’re holding up mountains.
I push off the sofa and head to the kitchen. If I don’t get some alcohol into my system soon, I’m going to explode from tension. Shoving all images of that bloody ring from my mind, I open the fridge and grab a cold ale.
I jolt at the sound of Marlowe’s magazine hitting the floor. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re engaged?”
Engaged.
The bottle cap falls from my hand and bounces across the tile.
No one looks in my direction, fortunately, because I’ve forgotten how to move.
My limbs feel as if they’re made of lead, holding me in place.
I might die right here in this kitchen, unable to feel anything but the crazy thumping of my heart.
“I cannot believe you got engaged and didn’t tell me,” Marlowe says with disgust.
Viv looks at her apologetically. “I wanted to tell everyone at the same time.”
I turn back to face the living room, because not looking at her hurts. Her eyes flit to mine for a second before she looks away, but that second is all it takes to drive a knife straight through my heart.
She’s getting married.
She’s going to be someone’s wife.
I’m going to throw up.
“But I’m your best friend,” Marlowe says. “You should’ve told me before everyone else.”
“Excuse me,” Sutton cuts in. “I’m her best friend.”
“I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise.” Viv cocks a brow at them. “And because I knew neither of you would be able to keep your mouth shut.”
While Marlowe and Sutton argue over which of them is a better secret keeper and who should be the maid of honor, Shep offers Vivienne a fist bump. “Congratulations, babe,” he says. “I had no idea you and Landon were that serious.”
That makes two of us.
She gives him a strained smile. “It happened kind of suddenly.”
Lifting my bottle to my lips, I take a long drag.
My brain is refusing to process what’s happening.
Vivienne is getting married to a guy I’ve met exactly once.
How can I know he treats her the way she deserves?
How am I supposed to be able to sleep, thinking about her being his for the rest of her life?
“Well, I’m happy for you,” Shep says, propping his elbows on his knees. “Does this mean he’ll be joining us tomorrow night?”
We’ll probably go to Rao’s or The Hendrix for dinner as usual, but if her fiancé is coming, I’ll find an excuse to bail. The last thing I want to do is watch him touch her or see her gaze at him with adoration in those green eyes. Just the thought of it makes bile rise in my throat.
“I don’t know.” Viv hesitates, tucking her lip between her teeth. “His evenings are pretty full. I’m not sure he’ll be able to make it.”
Relief courses through me, but it’s short-lived. Even if he doesn’t come tomorrow night, he will eventually. After that, everything changes. It’ll no longer be just the six of us.
Bash walks into the kitchen and grabs another beer, then settles against the counter next to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me she was engaged?” I ask, taking another sip.
He shoots me a sidelong glance. “She swore me to secrecy. Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” I shake my head. “Just didn’t think you could keep a secret.”
He shrugs. “She told the family last night, so it’s not like I had to keep it to myself for long.”
“Is he good to her?”
“I don’t know him that well, but he seems like a decent guy.”
“You haven’t checked him out?” I hiss. “Viv is getting married to this bloke, and all you have to say is that you think he ‘seems decent’? They just started dating. How do we know he isn’t a narcissistic prick?”
“Dude, chill. Obviously, I’m not going to let her end up with someone who doesn’t treat her right.” He narrows his eyes at me over his bottle. “I didn’t realize you were so worried about her.”
“She’s one of my best friends.” I turn my focus to the game, but I can’t even name the sport. “Of course I’m worried.”
Bash leans his hip against the counter and studies me. “You’re telling me that if Marlowe got engaged to some random guy, you’d respond exactly like this?” he asks quietly.
I scoff and shake my head, eyes still on the TV. “Probably worse. You know Mar’s taste in men.”
After a few seconds, I feel his gaze shift away from me. I release the breath I’ve been holding and chug my ale. I got lucky this time, but I need to be more careful from now on.
As the game ends, Bash hands an ale to Shep, then the two of them settle on the couch to play Grand Theft Auto.
Viv walks into the kitchen, avoiding my eyes. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” She reaches into the fridge for her own drink.
Without looking at her, I take it and pop the top before handing it back. “Congratulations, Viv.”
“Thanks.” From my peripheral vision, I see her throat bob as she takes a long swallow, then her tongue flicks out to lick the moisture from her lips.
“Landon Davenport, huh?” I say, my mouth dry.
“Yep.”
“He doesn’t really seem your type.”
She tilts her bottle back again, and I keep my eyes locked on the floor rather than on the long column of her neck. “I didn’t realize you knew my type,” she says.
“Come on, Viv. You never go out with anyone, then out of nowhere you start dating this guy. Now, four months later, you’re engaged?” I tuck a thumb in my belt loop. “Forgive me for being confused.”
She shrugs, then joins me at the counter. “Like I said, things happened quickly.”
“What does that mean?” I keep my voice lowered. The last thing I need is for Bash to get suspicious again.
“It means he asked me to marry him, and I said yes. What more do you want me to say?”
I want you to explain how a guy like that ends up with a girl like you.
“I just think you’re moving a little fast.”
Setting her drink down, she turns to look at me. “Funny. I wasn’t aware you were an expert on relationships. How long did you and Savannah last?” She snaps her fingers. “Oh, that’s right. Two weeks, was it?”
I shake my head. “Never said I was a relationship expert.”
Viv’s gaze feels hot on my face, and I long to look at her, but I fake interest in Bash and Shep’s game instead.
“Then please keep your opinions on mine to yourself.”
We both pretend to watch the TV, the tension between us growing as thick as my dad’s pozole. I hate that I’ve irritated her, but I won’t deny I’m thrilled she’s still standing next to me.
“Is this mine?” I pluck at her oversized navy sweater, needing to touch something that’s touching her.
She sniffs. “I’m pretty sure we just have the same one.”
It’s a load of bullshit, but I’ll let her think I believe it, because I wouldn’t stop Vivienne Wilson from raiding my closet if you paid me a million bucks.