29. Vivienne #2
I snort into my cocktail. I haven’t seen the gesture in so long, I’d practically forgotten about it.
Bash, Cassian, and I created it when we were young and forced to endure excruciatingly long dinner parties.
We had an entire language of these little physical signs.
Scratching the side of your nose meant They’re lying.
Lightly tugging on your earlobe meant You’re being watched.
Running a finger along your brow meant You’ve got to be kidding me.
I hide my smile with my glass as I take a drink. Cass drops his hand and looks away, but his lips dance with humor. Warmth spreads through my whole body, and it’s not entirely from the alcohol.
When I glance toward the other end of the table, Bash is frowning at me. I give him a questioning look in response, but he just shakes his head and chugs his beer.
Once dinner is over, we gather near the entrance as we wait for our drivers to pull up.
“Did you get some good shots?” I ask Briar, hugging myself to ward off the chill coming through the door, which keeps opening.
“They’re incredible,” she says. “I’ll send you the best ones.”
“That’d be amazing.” I’m going to need as many mementos from this time of my life as possible.
“Viv.” I turn to see Bash behind me. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Of course.” I follow him down the dark corridor outside the restrooms. “What’s going on?”
His devilish smile has been replaced by frown lines, and they look as foreign on his face as snow in Bermuda. “Is there something going on between you and Cass?” he asks.
The world tilts on its axis. I play the events of the evening back through my mind, and I can’t figure out what would have given him that idea. “I don’t know what you mean,” I finally say.
“I saw the two of you earlier.” He props one foot against the wall behind him. He’s wearing white Converse high-tops, brown Gucci joggers, a white graphic T-shirt from Loewe, and a Givenchy bomber jacket. He occasionally models for all four companies.
“You also saw Shep and me.”
“Very funny.” Bash’s eyes narrow, and I swallow down the discomfort I feel beneath his assessment. The worst part about having a twin is that you’re never truly alone. They know you better than you know yourself.
The two of us may have grown apart in recent years, but how far can you actually get from your sibling?
They’ll always be a piece of you, no matter how much distance there is between you.
No one else knows what it was like growing up in your family, dealing with your parents, surviving the things you did.
“I saw the little signal between you at the table,” Bash says, then runs a finger over the scar on his eyebrow. “I’m not stupid.”
I laugh, because there’s nothing else to do. It’s not like I can tell him the truth, even if I knew what it was. Don’t worry. There’s nothing between us, not because I don’t want it, but because he values your friendship more than he does me.
“So he used a secret signal. Big deal.”
Bash pushes off the wall and starts pacing. A girl exits the bathroom, and when she sees him, she lets her eyes linger appreciatively and flutters her lashes like a cartoon character. He barely even glances at her. “We haven’t used that signal in years,” he says when she’s gone.
“What’s your point, Bash?”
Spinning on his heel, he lets out a huff of frustration. I haven’t seen him this agitated in years. “You’re both at Belgrave. It’s only natural that he might develop”—he looks around as if he can’t believe he’s about to say this out loud—“feelings for you.”
“I’d be flattered if you didn’t make it sound so disgusting.”
He grimaces. “You’re my sister. It is disgusting.”
I shove his shoulder hard. “Don’t even get me started on your love life. Or Maeve’s.”
“I can’t help it that women throw themselves at me,” he says, palms up.
I’m grateful for the change in topic, because not only does it get the spotlight off me and Cass, but it gives me the opportunity to bring up something that’s been nagging me. “Speaking of, how are things with Briar?”
Bash doesn’t drop his smile. If anything, it grows a little wider. “Good. She’s terrific.” When I don’t enthusiastically congratulate him, he frowns. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m just afraid that she’s going to get hurt.”
“You think I’m going to hurt her?”
I lower my voice in case Briar happens to be within earshot. “I saw you and Marlowe at the party. The next thing I know, you’re talking to Briar.”
His gaze hardens. “So naturally, I have nefarious intentions.”
“Bash, you’ve never dated anyone longer than a week. Forgive me for presuming there’s something going on here.”
Propping his hands on his hips, he studies the floor. “Fine. Marlowe and I made a little bet. But that was months ago. It has nothing to do with why I’m still with Briar.”
I fight the urge to snap at him for being so cruel. He and Marlowe treat hearts like pawns on a chess board. “You can’t make bets like that. She’s a person. A really sweet, kind person,” I say.
“You think I don’t know that?” Bash leans in close, his voice a harsh whisper. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I’m just afraid you’re not taking it as seriously as she is, and I don’t want to see her get hurt.”
“I’m not going to hurt her, Viv,” he says.
“Okay.” A heavy weight settles into my bones as I accept that he isn’t going to listen to me. I squint at him. “You let her wear your sweater?”
He shrugs and plucks at the hair elastic on his wrist. I saw him slip it on earlier after Briar removed it from her ponytail. “She liked it.”
I don’t point out that I’ve often asked to wear his shirts over the years, and every time, I was lucky to walk away with my head still on my shoulders.
Not once has he let a girl wear his clothes.
For both their sakes, I hope he’s serious this time, because if history repeats itself, we will all share the blame.