The party’s already in full swing, just like the last time I walked through that door. I glance around, terrified of seeing Mark. I have no idea what to think, what to do, how to act.
I’m here as Brian’s motherfucking girlfriend.
How the fuck is Mark Ashton Brian’s brother? How am I so stupid that I didn’t see this coming?
Now that I know, it’s so clear. Running into Brian that morning when I left Mark’s place makes more sense now that I know he lives here—and just now I realize he still hasn’t asked me what I was doing here that morning.
They have the same eyes. Same shape. Same color. It occurs to me as we step into Mark’s penthouse. They’re the same as Lizzie’s eyes, too—green like a meadow after a long rain, penetrating and deep. And the same hair—Mark’s is a few shades lighter brown than Brian’s, but the same distinct hairline, same thickness. Almost the same build, too. Brian’s an inch or two shorter than Mark, but they both have incredible bodies, the kind that you can only achieve with good genes and hard work.
And they’re both unbelievable in bed.
Should I tell Brian that I slept with his brother? It would be the right thing to do. Wouldn’t it?
Snippets from my conversation with Brian earlier today float through my mind. We’ve always had this extremely competitive relationship.
He has this way of charming women and wanting what’s mine.
He always gets what he wants.
Definitely no. I can’t tell Brian.
What if Mark tells Brian?
Mark probably won’t even remember me. Our one night happened over a month ago. How many women has he taken to bed since that night? One for every night of the week? That thought has my heart sinking into the pit of my aching stomach.
He’s here somewhere. It’s his place, his party—he’s got to be. And I’m terrified of seeing him, terrified of the type of response my body will have, terrified Brian will see something crackling in the air, that he’ll somehow know something happened just from one fleeting glance. Was there more between us that night? I thought I’d never know, but I might get my chance now.
I can’t think like that. I’ll never know because I’ll never ask. I’m with Brian, and that one night marring my otherwise spotless record doesn’t matter anymore.
Does it?
Lizzie’s head bobs up through the crowd as she dashes over to us. “Hey you guys!” she says with a smile as she grabs me into a hug. “It’s so good to see you again!”
“You too,” I manage, trying to hug her back and act like I don’t have a typhoon of emotions tumbling around my chest. Becker introduces Jill to Lizzie as I look around. I try to give my friend a meaningful look, but she misses it completely.
“Beavis is around here somewhere,” Lizzie says to me and Jill. “I assume you haven’t met yet?”
I shake my head, and Jill says, “Beavis?”
“Our brother,” Lizzie clarifies. “Sorry, I’ve always called him Beavis. And Brian is Butt-head,” she says, laughing as she affectionately messes up her younger brother’s hair. Brian rolls his eyes and bats her hand away.
She glances around. “There he is!” They make eye contact and she waves him over.
My eyes follow hers, and when they land on Mark Ashton, everything fades away. The music silences, the people around me disappear, the party is over. Even Brian is gone—the guy I’m here with, the guy I’m dating, the guy I told just this afternoon that I’m falling for him.
All I have left is the buzzing in my head, the pain slicing through my heart, and the ache throbbing between my legs. My blood screams with need. Electricity lights on my skin. My chest hurts, my head pounds, and I feel like I might be sick.
He makes his way through the crowd toward us, and when Jill spots him, her fingers grip my arm in a painfully tight squeeze. The volume comes back on, the people are beside me again, and the party resumes, but it all clashes with the buzz, the pain, the ache.
“Mark, this is Brian’s girlfriend!” Lizzie says, like she’s the keeper of all the information. His eyes meet mine for the first time since I walked through his door tonight, and it knocks the wind out of me. I definitely spot recognition. He remembers me, and he’s surprised to see me in his house on the arm of his brother.
I think I spot something else, something deep and hot mixed with a flash of pain, but it’s so fleeting I might’ve misinterpreted it. He masks whatever else is there quickly, but I swear I caught more.
It has to be wishful thinking. I’m seeing what I want to see.
“Reese,” Brian announces by way of introduction.
Mark holds out his hand for me to shake it. I’m trying to decide whether we’re pretending we’ve never met or whether he doesn’t remember his night with me.
“Mark,” he murmurs, his eyes hot on mine as he grips my hand in his. I have to believe he remembers me from the way his eyes bore into mine. His hand is warm, but it lights an electric shot through my palm, up my wrist, and into my veins, exploding into every cell of my being. Just when I thought I was putting him behind me, I realize how very, very wrong I’ve been. This connection between us is so strong that it’s physically painful, gutting me as my chest aches for him. I gasp for breath, air seemingly thinner up at this high elevation on the top floor of this building.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, entranced by his eyes on mine. They bring me back to that moment he entered my body and stilled as our eyes claimed the other. He must remember it, too, because a searing moment of lust passes between us.
I want to believe he remembers every second of that night just like I do. I want to believe there could be more there for us—that he felt it, too, that it wasn’t just me, that there was a connection.
Immediate, rigid guilt stabs my abdomen. Brian, I remind myself.
Mark’s eyes still blaze into mine, and I’m rooted to my spot.
Fear rushes over me as we face off for the briefest of moments. I don’t want it to end, but I need it to. Brian will know there’s something between us…was something between us…if we spend one more second shaking hands and having some private conversation between our eyes that I don’t know the words to and I don’t understand.
“I’m Jill,” my best friend blurts, reading the situation and thankfully pretending like none of us have ever met. “I’m a huge fan!”
“Nice to meet you, Jill,” Mark says as he tears his eyes from mine and pulls his hand from mine to greet her.
“You too! We saw Vail perform last month at Mandalay. Awesome show!”
“Thanks,” he says, his eyes darting back to me. He seems as though he’s in a bit of a daze. His brows draw together ever so slightly.
“I work for the Sin City Sun, and I’d love to ask you a few questions somewhere quiet if you have some time later,” she says.
“Of course,” he murmurs. A tiny shake of his head seems to bring him back. “Can I get you anything?” he asks the four of us.
“We can help ourselves,” Brian says, giving his brother a strange look.
Mark nods and gives me another agonizing gaze that slices open my heart. I need to get him alone. I need to talk to him. I need to know if he felt more that night, too.
Brian, a tiny voice in my head reminds me again.
“Nice meeting you,” he says, and then he disappears into the crowd.
Lizzie gazes after him for a beat and then turns back to us. “Excuse him,” she says. “He’s moody tonight.”
“It’s the creative in him,” Brian explains, as if creativity gives him license to mood swings.
Lizzie shakes her head. “You always say that, but you’re just as bad.”
Brian rolls his eyes. “I am not.”
“Yes you are. Beavis is just all twisted up over something.” She turns to me. “Reese, are you coming to the wedding?”
“What wedding?” I ask. I glance over at Brian, and he’s glaring at his sister.
“I’m getting married at the end of Octob
er in Chicago. I hope I’ll see you there.” She winks at me.
The end of October is nearly four months away. Brian and I haven’t even been together four months yet. What we have is still new, and I’m certain that’s where the glare came from, but I can’t seem to focus on anything aside from the fact that Mark Ashton is here in this place and he’s Brian’s fucking brother.
“We’re gonna get some booze,” Brian says smoothly. He leads me over to the kitchen. The counter is filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes. Every type of spirit I could ever imagine is there, along with several bottles of wine. He nods to the counter. “What would you like? There’s beer in the fridge, too.”
Alcohol seems like a bad idea right now. I’ve got one brother roaming around in some mood, and I’ve got another brother who knows nothing about the night I shared with Mark. My lips get loose after a few drinks, and I don’t know that tipsy Reese is a smart move tonight. I don’t know what sorts of decisions she’ll make.
But logic and good sense evade me. My eyes meet Mark’s across the room. This time I know I spot something deeper there.
He remembers me, and that knowledge sharpens the pain in my heart, deepens the ache in my core.
“Vodka,” I finally say.
“With what? Orange juice? Soda?”
“With ice.”
I tear my eyes from Mark to look at Brian. Brian, who I’m here with tonight. Brian, who I’m dating. Brian, who I’m falling for.
This is a real issue if I have to keep repeating this to myself.
He shrugs and tips the vodka over my glass. When he hands it to me and our fingers brush, I want to feel the same electricity I felt with Mark. I want to feel the connection like we belong together, like we’re linked on a cellular level, like he’s in the very blood that pumps into my heart. I want it to be there, but it isn’t.
It’s different with Brian. We connected as friends before we connected as lovers. He’s become so important to me in such a short span of time. He’s becoming my best friend and the man I look forward to seeing at the end of every day. He’s secure and solid, a good man with a heart that’s pure.
No wonder he feels like his brother is competitive. His brother is Mark fucking Ashton. Of course Brian feels like he has to prove himself. It makes total sense that he’d be scared his brother might charm me away from him.
If Brian and I are going to be together long term, he should probably know what happened between Mark and me. Just one night filled with passion, with feelings and emotions I’ve never felt before and I fear I’ll never feel again. One night that I’m still not over. One night that’s burned in my memories and etched on my heart. One night that I’ve tried to let go, but I can’t seem to.
I think of Thanksgiving dinners at the Fox house, Brian beside me and Mark across from me. Passionate glances between Mark and me while Brian’s hand rests on my thigh possessively and Mrs. Fox scoops a dollop of mashed potatoes onto my plate.
I shake the image out of my head and decide to take this head on. “So you didn’t think telling me your brother is among the most famous rock stars in the world was important?” I ask Brian. I go for a light tone, but it comes out more accusatory than I mean it to.
Brian laughs. “I tend not to lead with that information.”
“Why?”
“Because ten times out of ten, I’m passed over for my brother.”
My heart squeezes for Brian and the bitter hurt in his voice. This is all so confusing.
“I like to get to know a woman before I drag my brother into it,” he continues.
“But his last name’s Ashton.”
“That’s his middle name, my mom’s maiden name.”
“What’s your middle name?” I ask dumbly. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change things. It’s filler conversation because I’m fucking lost. I have no idea what I’m doing.
It dawns on me just then that the tattoo of the F enclosed in a circle stands for Fox. His last name.
“Joseph.”
“What’s it like being the brother of a rock star?”
“It has its perks, but it also has its downsides.”
“What are the perks?”
He glances around. “All this,” he says, gesturing widely with his arms. It’s only then I realize that surely the whole money is not an object line stems back to this. “Access to all this without the paparazzi following me around everywhere I go because I’m nobody.”
“And the downsides?”
His eyes burn into mine. “Like I told you before. He always seems to want what’s mine, and he always gets what he wants.”
I want to reassure him, want to tell him he doesn’t have to worry about that with me. But right this very second, I’m not sure that’s a promise I can keep.
Chapter Eighteen
I’m having a hard time acting like everything’s normal at this party—mostly because it’s not.
Mark is avoiding me, or at least it feels like it. We caught each other’s gaze across the room that one time, but that’s it. Every time I’ve looked over at him since, he’s been talking to someone else. To my heart’s relief, mostly he’s been talking to men I recognize as members of Vail. He hangs out with Ethan, the drummer, the most. I think back to the reality show they were on together. They did seem like best friends, and I loved watching that show and getting a peek into their real relationship. Though after my conversation with Mark in the car on the way back to his place, I wonder how much of it was a look at their real personalities. I guess it’s possible the producers tweaked their scenes to make them appear a certain way.
I think back to his confession about his overdose. It was Ethan who had given him something that night, and I feel my claws come out a little as my hackles rise. I don’t know if I trust Ethan after finding that out. I don’t believe for a second that he had sinister intentions, but he might not be the best influence on Mark.
I have the urge to go over and talk to him, if nothing else to get him away from Ethan for a few minutes. I don’t know why that urge completely overtakes me in the moment. Mark’s a big boy who can handle himself around his best friend.
The vodka is helping, I think. I’m riding the line between tipsy and drunk, but luckily so far the alcohol hasn’t acted as truth serum. Yet.
We’ve only been here for a half hour, though. The night is young, and who knows what sort of drama lies ahead of me?
I’ve basically been following Brian around like a lost puppy dog because what the fuck else am I supposed to do? “You want me to show you around?” Brian asks after he’s introduced me to people whose names I’ll never remember.
“Sure,” I say, as if I’ve never been here before—though, to be fair, I didn’t exactly get the grand tour the last time.
Am I lying? I’m split on whether omission of facts is still a lie. I’m not physically lying. I haven’t done anything wrong.
So why do I feel guilty?
Brian leads me through the kitchen toward the hallway in the opposite direction of Mark’s bedroom. There are several doors down this hallway, and he leads me into the one in the far corner. He points to doors as we go. “This is where Becker’s staying,” he says, pointing. He points next to the door that has a line forming outside of it. “This is a bathroom. Here’s Jason’s room. This is Mark’s office. And this is my room.”
He opens the door and lets me into a meticulously neat bedroom. I glance around, trying to gain insight into the man I’ve been sleeping with for the last month before I realize that he probably had nothing to do with this room’s décor.
It matches the rest of the penthouse, black and white and gray all over. The only personal effect in the room is a book on the nightstand, Richard III by William Shakespeare. From what I know, that play features a pretty intense sibling rivalry.
Come to think of it, so does East of Eden—the other book Brian mentioned as a favorite.
Aside from the book, the surfaces are void of knickknacks, clothe
s are put away, the bed is made. I see two doors, one a closet and the other a bathroom. I walk over to the window. The view out the window is of the mountains and some other hotels, not the lights of the Strip. The hustle and bustle of movement on the highway catches my eye, but there’s no romantic glow of lights like on the opposite side of this condo.
Brian moves in behind me, his hands on my hips as he traps me between his front side and the glass. “Nice view, isn’t it?” he whispers.
It’s nicer on the other side, I want to answer, but I hold myself back. I haven’t had a lot of time to process this new twist in our relationship, but two emotions that I can clearly define right now are hurt and anger. Barring the fact that I slept with Mark, it feels like a huge betrayal that Brian didn’t tell me who his brother is. I feel like a hypocrite even thinking that since I’m holding onto a secret of my own, but in the moment, I think it’s okay to be a little bit of a hypocrite.
“Yeah,” I finally say. “It’s nice.”
“Are you angry?” he asks.
I nod. “A little.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I told you, it’s because of him. Not because of you.”
“I get that. It just feels like there’s all these secrets between us.”
“That’s it, I swear.” A quiet beat passes between us, and then he says, “Actually, no, that’s a lie. There’s one more secret I’ve sort of been holding onto.”
My heart thumps in my chest and my palms feel suddenly clammy.
This is it, isn’t it? He already knows.
“I love you, Reese. It’s too soon to say it, but I know what I feel.”
My surprised eyes meet his in the reflection of the glass. I’m shocked by his confession, frankly. I’ve been having a lot of fun with Brian, but I’ve also had another man in my heart this whole time. And seeing him in the flesh tonight only confirmed what I already knew deep down. I’m not over Mark Ashton. I’m not over our one night together, and I’m pretty sure I might be in love with him after just one night.
But I also think I’m developing feelings of love for Brian, a love that’s grown over the time we’ve been together, and I have no idea what to say to him, how to reply to his confession. I told him I’m falling for him, but that’s very different from saying those three little words.
Love Triangle: Six Books of Torn Desire Page 56