Chapter 32
Spencer and I step out of the Odericco Investments building with a renewed sense of bewilderment and vigor. Nine-to-fivers
are pacing frantically to pick up a sandwich before heading back to their desks. They weave around us, barely leaving an inch
of space. It’s started to rain, but neither one of us has an umbrella. My body has just begun returning to normal after being
in fight-or-flight mode for the past three hours. Dominic and I spent the last hour in his office discussing what a FemTech
board would look like, how we would build it out, and who else we would bring in. All while Spencer entertained himself on
a sofa in the corner, making the most of the break room’s complimentary snack cupboard.
I slipped into the role quickly and efficiently in the meeting, which almost feels like a sign that I should take this position.
I’ve blown up my only other option. This is the best-case scenario.
It’s marred by being backed into a corner, but in reality .
. . how long would I have been able to play out the lie we built?
How long would Spencer have to turn up and fake-run quarterly report meetings with Odericco Investments?
How complicated would it have been to create a narrative in which Spencer steps down from his role of CEO as a TechRumble third-place finalist and puts his assistant in charge?
Would I have had to change my legal name to Violet to stay on top of the lie?
In a way, Malcolm’s blackmail made me finally face the reality of the situation I had created out of panic, depression, and desperation.
A black cab speeding past pulls me back onto the pavement with Spencer. He’s been staring at me as I’ve been zoning out, trying
to analyze and process everything that has just happened this morning, not even the past few days. For now, I lock all that
up to focus on the major decision. For the first time today, I study Spencer. He looks uncomfortable, more dressed up than
usual, but his shirt and trousers are rumpled like he’s thrown them on, whipping them from the chair known as the Clothes
Horse in his flat at the very last minute.
Finally, he asks, “What are you going to do?”
What I want to do is sleep for one hundred days, being tucked up under full fluffy duvets in nice pajamas and kept alive by other people—namely,
a certain amazing chef I know, who will feed me homemade meals and go down on me on request. Instead of saying that, I throw
my bag over my shoulder, gripping the brown folder of documents I was going to throw at Odericco Investments lawyers when
they were eventually brought forth by Dominic in the meeting. “I’m going to get a drink, and you’re coming with me.”
He nods, probably out of fear of doing anything else after going behind my back to Dominic.
I’m wired, my brain running a thousand miles a minute with ideas.
Possibilities. But I need to absorb what happened before I talk to anyone else.
That’s one benefit of having a twin; they just get you because it would be impossible not to get you.
It would be weirder if they couldn’t predict your next words or how a single twitch is a window to your emotional
state.
Ten minutes later, the smell of alcohol-soaked carpets, roasted nuts, and beer fills our nostrils as we sit down in a dark
corner booth in the nearest pub, the Duke’s Folly. Despite it only being midday, the room is almost full, circles of workers
and people in business casual littering the floor; cheers and bursts of laughter, murmuring groups, and the occasional smashing
glass soundtrack our entrance as Spencer runs to the only empty booth.
We get our drinks: me a Negroni, Spencer a straight glass of rye whiskey. My card bounces when I briefly forget that I’m still
financially at rock bottom, but Spencer quietly taps his card to the machine over my shoulder.
Spencer’s eyes are sorrowful but soft. The rain pounds against the stained glass window, purple, green, and red reflections
trickling across the dark wood table as we people watch in silence and take the first few sips of our drinks. Easing into
the inevitability of this conversation.
“I’m sorry for shouting at you,” he says, running his fingers over the geometric pattern etched on the side of the crystal
glass. He glances up, a sheepish smile appearing across his face. “And for not telling you about . . . him.”
“Clearly, shouting and lying run in the family,” I say, taking a breath. “And I’m sorry too.”
We clink our glasses together, sealing the mutual apology like a contract.
What else are we going to do? We’re too far gone to let the past six weeks dictate the rest of our lives.
We will be in each other’s lives forever—that is the only constant either of us can rely upon; we have each other’s DNA, and as much as we don’t like to share, we shared a womb.
“So Dominic?” I arch a playful eyebrow.
Spencer’s mouth twists into a reluctant smile. “Yeah, about that . . .” I don’t see this kind of smile very often; it warms
my heart to see my confident, no-holds-barred brother blush over someone.
“How long have you been seeing each other?” I ask point-blank.
Spencer blinks, as though I couldn’t have possibly picked up on the ridiculous chemistry between the two of them. At first,
I thought it was Spencer being on his best charming behavior and Dominic being the most watched person at the events, but
some small piece of sunshine got through.
“We haven’t . . .” he says, cheeks blushing the faintest shade of pink. “Today was the first day I asked him out.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Really?” I wince internally over the assumption that he was being as reckless as me. I can’t believe
I’ve been the more daring of the two of us.
“I think we both knew there was something there from the start, but I didn’t want to jeopardize the plan and he didn’t want
to be unprofessional.” He gives me a look. A twitch of the eye that conveys multitudes. Telling me, yes, I should feel bad
about getting involved with Oliver while Spencer was avoiding genuine feelings for Dominic, because I made it clear how bad
it would be if he followed his heart.
“So, nothing happened at all?”
“I think we could both feel it; we’d catch each other looking in ways the others weren’t.
And then in Paris, I think Oliver had organized a private chat between the two of us and things got very close to happening, but we both knew we couldn’t.
Once the winners were announced it felt almost . . . inevitable.” He goes
somewhere for a few moments, smiling as he gazes into a fond memory.
“So you went there today to tell him the truth about your feelings?” I shift in my seat, imagining him going through that
alone.
He takes a final swig. “I was there today to tell him about what happened at TechRumble and my feelings for him.” Spencer huffs a laugh into his empty glass. “He saw right through me about Wyst, though. He knew I
was lying about it being all my idea.”
“Not as good an actor as you thought, hey?” I tease.
He snorts a shy laugh and throws a thin red straw at me. “Fuck off.”
I laugh too. “And what did he think of the other stuff, the feelings?”
He purses his lips. “He was . . . reciprocal.” His cheeks glow pink.
I prop my elbow on the slightly sticky wood table and rest my chin in my hand. “Can I just ask . . . Dominic is scary as fuck,
and you are like a human bouncy ball. What drew you together?”
Spencer clears his throat. “He said he likes seeing the world through my eyes. Taking things seriously doesn’t mean you have
to lose every facet of your personality or that you can’t relax and have a good time. I think somewhere down the line he’d
forgotten that.”
My chest warms; maybe it’s the alcohol, but seeing my brother look so at peace is a new experience. “And what’s there for you?” I ask, taking another sip.
He sighs. “I’m surrounded by people whose goal in life is to be the center of attention. Sometimes it’s to tell a story about
something important, but most of the time it’s to draw in a crowd for themselves. It was nice to talk to someone who had this
ultimate goal, which is so much bigger than them as an individual. And there’s this unbelievable pleasure in breaking a smile
out of someone who is determined to be serious. When you see someone so rigid become elastic because of you.” He looks down
wistfully at the table. “Like when we used to pick stones from the beach and crack them open to find a geode hidden inside.
That’s what Dominic is.”
My eyesight blurs as I blink away the fuzziness. Sure, he’s had boyfriends and casual flings and even one very awkward girlfriend
situation in secondary school, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk about someone like this.
My mind drifts to Oliver and why I was attracted to him in the first place. He at once could relate to the pain and grief
but didn’t hold it so close the poison would seep in. His willingness to adapt and mold into a new version of himself when
the old one was getting to be too much. To ultimately prioritize his happiness because that was the only way he could give
other people happiness. He couldn’t not be his true self but still tried to honor his family any way he could.
We’re lucky that our chemistry came first, then our feelings came second.
The basis of attraction made us able to express ourselves to each other.
If we’d gone the traditional route, or, god forbid, I’d matched with him on a dating app, taken him to a wine bar, and done everything the way it’s “supposed” to be done, we wouldn’t have stood a chance.
We got lucky that we were both having a bad day and threw down our defenses.
Without thinking, I ask, “Do you love him?”
He looks at me with a twinkle of recognition in his eyes. “Do you?”
We curve the edges of our lips in unison, both too sheepish and British to say that sort of thing out loud. Maybe we do, but
it’s too soon to say it.
I roll my eyes cartoonishly, finishing off my glass and leaning back against the burgundy booth. “Imagine how awkward a double
date would be.” Smiling at the idea of us both being happy, the twins and the cousins. I wonder if Dominic and Oliver will
have a conversation about everything soon; I guess if Dominic offered him a promotion when he tried to quit, there must still
be a door that’s open for a relationship outside of work.
Spencer laughs, rubbing his face. “Oh my god or at Christmas?! What a nightmare. The six of us and deaf Granddad Bob saying
“Who’s that?” every few minutes would be torture.”
“Monthly newsletter–worthy for sure.” I sit back in the booth seat, my hands in my lap. “Maybe even the end-of-year highlights.”
I smile, thinking about us two little nobodies bringing home a gigantic American and an aristocratic billionaire. Our smiles
dwindle as, in sync, our minds shift to our parents.
Spencer clears his throat, mulling on the question for a few seconds. “Have you spoken to Mum and Dad?”
Maybe I should respond to my parents; maybe now I’ve let go of the past, it’s time to move forward with them too.
A sigh escapes me. “Not since her birthday. They’ve been calling me after I posted the video, but I’ve been sending them to voicemail. I’m not in the right headspace for a lecture.” My phone also barely works right now with all the notifications blowing it up.
“They’ll come around.” He squeezes my hand.
I look down into my drink, watching the ice melt. “And if they don’t?”
“You’ll have me . . .” He bites his lip, considering something for a few seconds. “. . . And if they don’t talk to you, their
darling son won’t give them any updates about his big new role with BBC America.”
I blink and shake my head, stunned into silence. “I’m sorry, what?”
He laughs, wiggling his eyebrows. “I got the job.”
I slam my hand onto his arm. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I only found out yesterday!” He shrugs, a massive smile plastered across his face. “It felt mean rubbing it in when your
life was falling apart.”
I sigh, the guilt of being so vocal about my struggles over the past few weeks while choosing to ignore his makes me feel
sick. It was a dick move. “You know you didn’t have to do that. I will always be happy for you, even if I’m in the bloody
gutter. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I wouldn’t support you.”
“Thanks,” he says sheepishly as he fiddles with the collar of his shirt.
I lean in, knowing he probably can’t tell many people about the news until it’s officially announced. “What’s the role?”
His mouth turns upward into a sly smile. “It’s a period drama; my character is a plucky inventor trying to get his idea off the ground.”
I scrunch my face and scoff a laugh. “Are you being serious?”
“They said my interpretation of the character felt very natural.” He sucks in his cheeks.
We stare at each other, both in paused amusement, waiting for the other to break first. Of course Spencer would nail the audition;
I didn’t doubt that. I knew he was a talented actor, but having seen his improvisational skills up close and personal has
reinforced my faith in his career choice. I used to think pursuing a career like that was an incredible risk, with the ultimate
odds of success slim to none. But now I realize, the life I’ve chosen to pursue is no different.
“I wonder where you learned that from.” I tap my finger against the table. “When does filming start?”
“In a couple of months, but it’s in New York . . . so I won’t be able to do those extra office hours now . . .” he says. “Do
you think Wyst will survive without me?”
I smile at my brother; the never-ending well of pride just got a little bit deeper. “I think Wyst is going to be okay without
either of us.”