The Billionaire Brothers

by Victoria Villeneuve

  “You’re a cheat!” Erica shrieked.

  Megan went quiet and her face fell. “At least one person thinks so,” she said sadly, their usual banter abruptly derailed.

  “Oh, honey.” Erica pushed the board away and put two comforting arms around her friend. “Megan, I’m sorry.”

  “Nah,” she said, moving to push Erica away.

  “Stop it. You need a good cuddle every now and again. Recharges your self-confidence.”

  Megan closed her eyes and settled into Erica’s concerned hug. “Thanks.”

  “You deserve it and you need it. Have you heard from either of them?” Erica asked.

  Megan shook her head. “I don’t expect to, either.”

  “Who knows?” Erica countered.

  Megan slipped out of Erica’s arms and stood, heading to the side cabinet for a drink. “If I may give you some advice,” she said, uncorking a bottle of port, “never get involved with two brothers. They all secretly hate each other.”

  Erica nodded sagely. Watching Megan go through this complex, ever-changing, three-cornered soap opera was certainly an education in relationship dynamics, and one which had required as much patience and understanding as any of her friend’s guy troubles ever had. The two brothers, she kept finding, were just such different people; not only was Tom a father, and Jake a playboy, but their varying attitudes to Megan seemed to run the gamut from the predatory to the hopelessly romantic.

  Megan handed Erica a glass brimming with ruby port. “Well, we live and learn.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Erica added. “Even if some of us learn a little more slowly than others.”

  “Who, me?” Megan asked, shocked.

  “No!” She set down her glass. “Remember the guy I went on a few dates with, last week and the week before?”

  “Sure... Michael, wasn’t it?”

  “Mikhail,” Erica corrected. “From Belarus. Or Ukraine. Somewhere over there.”

  “Oh, wow, you’re just a master of geography,” said Megan, teasing her friend.

  “Well, whatever. He was nice, drove a sexy sports car and had a little habit of... Well, he liked to do Viagra and Ecstasy before a night out.”

  “Holy shit, Erica,” Megan breathed.

  “No, he wasn’t an addict or anything, just liked to feel on top of the world,” Erica said grandly.

  “He can’t feel that way by being on top of you?” Megan asked wistfully.

  Erica wore a naughty smile. “However he felt,” Erica winked, “he could screw like an Olympic champion”.

  “Wow. I Hadn’t realized there was screwing at the Olympics. Is that summer or winter?” Megan quipped.

  Erica pressed on. “So, we’re in bed after an Olympic marathon,” she reminisced purringly, “and there’s this sound outside, and all of a sudden he jumps out of bed like he’d been electrocuted.”

  “Don’t tell me...His wife?” said Megan, already two steps ahead.

  “Close, his fiancé.”

  “Shit...”

  “And his fiancé’s massive, weightlifter brother, and two of the brother’s friends.”

  Megan covered her eyes as if cowering from a horror movie. “Did he survive?”

  “No idea. Just glad the apartment had a back stairs. I had to climb over some trash cans but there was no harm done,” Erica said, matter-of-factly.

  “I want you to be more careful,” warned Megan. “At least neither of my two are married.”

  “Yeah, we all make bad choices sometimes.” Her sultry grin spread like a salacious rumor. “Great sex, though.”

  “Oh God, here comes another lurid play-by-play report,” Megan whined.

  “Only if you want it,” Erica offered, teasingly.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, the next chapter in our ongoing saga: The Endless Erections of Erica,” Megan announced.

  Erica wagged a finger at her. “Don’t make me out to be some kind of slut, OK?”

  Megan leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Sorry babe... Do go on...”

  Sailing past any hint of a moral problem, Erica began with, “Well, you know what those little blue pills can do, right?”

  Megan allowed a lustful smirk, to match Erica’s, but then her phone beeped twice. She checked her texts. “Guess who?” she asked.

  Erica glanced over at the incoming number. “Your own, personal Olympic champion?”

  “Champion of jealousy, fury and indignation,” Megan countered. “He wants to have brunch tomorrow.”

  Erica raised her glass of port in a genuine salute. “Go, listen to him, hear him out. A heartfelt apology can be the measure of a man.”

  Megan quickly texted her reply. “Aren’t I the one who should be apologizing?”

  Erica shook her head with conviction. “He’s not going to play it that way. Just let him show you what he’s made of.”

  ***

  Megan checked her watch and glanced around. Most of the other tables were full in this popular, medium-tempo ‘brunch’n’lunch’ place which was, she’d found, almost exactly half way between her Jamaica Plain apartment and Tom’s Brookline mini-mansion.

  She returned once more to her reason for being here. You’re here to listen. And to give a decent man a break.

  For all his faults – and there were certainly many – Jake had rightly predicted that Tom would call to straighten things out. Megan reflected on how hurt Tom had seemed, and reasoned that, were the roles reversed, she’d have felt the same. Not that Megan’s sister was ever likely to date the kind of guys that Megan liked, but...

  OK, ground rules. One: Shut up and listen. Two: no touching until he’s apologized, to your complete satisfaction. And three: try to forgive him. Really. You know it’s the right thing to do. But first, what are you going to have for lunch?

  She was so completely focused on reading the specials board that Megan didn’t notice Tom as he quietly came into the restaurant. Would it be the Spanish omelette, or the asparagus and chorizo frittata?

  “How are you, Megan?” Tom asked.

  She jumped slightly as Tom took his seat. “Hi, Tom,” she cautiously replied with a tentative smile. Megan noticed that neither of them had offered a kiss or a hug. That all depends on what he says next.

  Boston’s spring weather, having threatened snow in late March, had finally brought sunshine and Megan had chosen a light blue dress fit for the warmer temperature.

  Tom’s expression as he sat down would set the tone for brunch. It was conciliatory, his earlier anger gone. There was a question in his eyes: If I forgive you, will you do the same for me?

  “It’s been...” He reached for the right words. “A difficult couple of days.”

  “Yes.” Megan put her menu aside and sipped her water, ceding the floor to Tom.

  “When I first found out, I just...” Tom’s fists tightened, but then released. “I didn’t know what to think, and I was angry. I felt deceived.”

  “But you weren’t,” Megan told him. “We had a few dates, Jake and I, and then he went ‘missing in action’ in the Philippines.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  “Why did you?” she asked. I gave you every reason to trust me. I opened myself to you. Why, Tom?

  Tom pulled his chair closer to the table and leaned in a little. “It really wasn’t you.” Megan read his gestures, his facial expression, and it seemed that Tom was ready to divulge something long kept secret. “I have some experience with Jake’s attitude to women.”

  What did this mean? “Really?”

  “He isn’t some kind of sociopath, or anything,” he began. Hardly a ringing endorsement. “But he just doesn’t respect women, Megan. That was my very first thought when I was dealing with the idea of you two together.” Across the table, Megan’s gaze flickered between Tom’s eyes, his hands, and the tablecloth. “Well, perhaps not the very first,” Tom admitted.

  “Which was?” she asked.

  Tom was sheepish. Megan immediately found
it cute, but tried not to show it. “My first thought was to hope that you had never taken him into your bed.”

  Flushed, Megan replied, “Tom, I mean... We were together for a few weeks, so naturally some things happened...”

  “No, I mean,” Tom said quickly, unprepared to hear detail, “your bed. The place where we had our first time, Megan.”

  She softened at once, debating for a moment whether to break her own rules on physical contact and take his hand. “Oh, Tom.” Part of her found him sentimental, another saw him as petty and jealous, but her dominant reaction was a warm nostalgia for the uncomplicated, open trust they built in those midnight hours when she had let him see, and touch, her whole self. “I didn’t,” she said. “And before you ask any more – which you shouldn’t, by the way – let me tell you something.”

  Women’s magazines were adamant that she would worsen the situation by adding imagery to his visualizations of her tryst with his brother. The less he knew, the less clear a picture he could build, and the quicker those moments would fade away. Tom was already making his excuses, assuming that it was his brother who had all the bedroom skills. “He’s been with a lot more women, you know, and I haven’t even... Since Mary, I haven’t...”

  Megan’s fingertip was on his lips. Kindness and understanding met in her eyes. “Don’t ever tell him this,” she said as her eyes quickly swept the restaurant, “but he could never come close to what we had.”

  Tom’s eyes sank to the table. “’Had’?”

  Megan took his hand. “Have. What we have.”

  Fingers entwined on the white tablecloth. “It feels a little better knowing that. I know it’s stupid.”

  Megan shrugged. “You two have been in competition in a thousand ways for a long time. I guess this is the first time you’ve both been intimate,” she said, choosing the word very carefully, “with the same woman.”

  “Yes,” Tom confirmed. “And, Megan... Let me say that it was your right to spend time with him. You’re a grown woman and a ‘consenting adult’, after all. I had no power – and I still don’t – over who you see or what you do. It was wrong of me to imply anything different.”

  “That’s big of you, Tom. Thanks.”

  “But there’s something else I need to say, and,” he said, glancing around, “it’s very delicate.”

  Her curiosity piqued, Megan offered a quick solution. “Why don’t I finish my frittata, and we can take a walk.”

  It was a midday sunshine which warmed the sidewalks. Megan was certain she could sense an optimism to the town, as if Boston’s beleaguered trees and grass knew that winter would soon be over. They walked, mostly hand-in-hand, slowing as they approached the gate of the Arnold Arboretum, a broad, indispensible, green expanse. Sweeping pathways took tourists, cyclists and families through the parkland which, on this bright week day, was busier than it had been all winter.

  Tom motioned for Megan to take a seat on a bench under a huge oak, just off the path where there was no chance of being overheard. “Can you know something,” he asked, “something dreadful about someone, and resolve that it won’t change your behavior towards them?”

  Leaden fear brought a trembling to Megan’s stomach. “Did he do something...?” She thought back to Detective Wise and her throat tightened so hard she could barely ask it. “Something to Andrea?”

  Tom’s every movement rushed to convey the negative. “Absolutely not,” he said very firmly. “Please, Megan. He’s not a monster.”

  “Well, that’s something.” Her first fears were easing, but a flutter of concern remained. What should I have known, Tom?

  “Jake was in a relationship with a college student at about the time he was taking his SATs,” Tom began. “Our parents didn’t know, and he only told me after they had... Well, you know.”

  “Consummated the relationship?” Megan offered politely.

  “Sure, let’s say that,” Tom said, sensitive to any mention of Jake’s sex life. “And, unfortunately, for whatever reason, they failed to use protection.”

  Megan quickly built an image of the fearless, supremely confident Jake, his bedpost accumulating notches even before beginning college. You were man enough to seek out the pleasures of being an adult. Let’s see if you were man enough to accept the responsibilities. “What happened?” she asked, though a good part of her didn’t want to hear it.

  “He denied everything.” Jake had lied to his parents, and the girl’s parents, and to Tom, insisting that the child could not be his. “This was before DNA testing, and Jake made the claim that his girlfriend had been sleeping around. Which was a lie.”

  Megan bit her lip. “Pretty low.”

  “He would have stuck to his tune, if not for my parents. They absolutely put the hammer down. Dad went ahead and blocked his access to bank accounts and credit cards, took away his car keys, imposed a whole bunch of sanctions. Jake was facing a grounding which might never end, and he knew it.”

  “So, what did Jake do?” Megan asked.

  “He buckled and confessed,” Tom recalled. “Once he was honest, our folks made him promise that he would stand by her, help raise the baby. Maybe even marry her, if her parents wanted that.”

  Megan nearly guffawed out loud at the idea of Jake marrying at the age of eighteen. “So, did he?”

  “No,” Tom reported. “Her folks were furious with him, but they came to an agreement about support and made some rules about how involved Jake would be.”

  Megan was stunned. “So, Jake helped to raise a baby?” she asked, incredulous.

  “No, he didn’t, and... This is very sad, Megan and I’m sorry, but the baby didn’t make it.”

  “Oh, God,” she sighed.

  “Stillborn. Everyone was heartbroken,” Tom recalled.

  “Including Jake?”

  Tom turned to her, his face serious and intent. “I said he isn’t a monster, remember? He was in tears for the first time since he was a little boy. I didn’t see him cry again until Mary’s funeral.”

  In her mind’s eye, the youthful, carefree Jake became a wiser, quieter man, chagrined by his own thoughtlessness and forced to mature, more quickly than any of us would want, by tragedy. “So, the kid became a man, all of a sudden.”

  “He did, and after it all happened, he showed real signs that he had learned a lesson. He worked harder, went to parties a bit less. He even formed what I would call a ‘relationship’ with a girl.”

  “So,” Megan said, trying to tie together Tom’s strands of thought, “you saw him lie openly about being the father of his girlfriend’s baby, and then for you there was... Well, let’s be fair, there was a sin of omission about being with me. You’re seeing a connection?”

  “A pattern,” Tom said, engineer’s fingers already sketching out the relationships on his hand. “A theme, in Tom’s behavior, of selfishness and disrespect. I could handle it, once he’d agreed to support her and make an attempt at being a father, but with you, I couldn’t. I just...”

  Tom became aware that his voice had raised almost enough to bring unwanted attention from passing joggers. He took two deep breaths and pressed Megan’s hand in his.

  “I just couldn’t deal with his having disappeared on you like that. For me, it was another symptom of Jake’s disease: a pathological childishness. He won’t take responsibility. He almost laughs at the idea. You see how blasé he was about jetting off to Asia and then showing up six weeks later, imagining you’d just slide straight back into his life?”

  Megan snorted. “As if he’s the only man I could ever want.”

  “Exactly.”

  They enjoyed the breeze in the trees for a long moment, allowing it to be the only sound. The rolling landscape of the park had at its center a hill, to which most of the paths seemed to lead, but Megan seemed content to stay on their quiet bench.

  “Tom?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Want to put your arm around me?” Megan asked, almost like a teenager on her first date. />
  “I sure do.”

  Megan reveled in the additional warmth, sliding her arms around Tom and joining them in an embrace which both needed. She breathed him in and found herself wanting to kiss him.

  “Is Andrea at your place?” she asked.

  Tom grinned to himself before answering. “No, she’s building a model rocket with some friends.”

  “Really? That sounds like fun,” Megan said.

  “Should take her a few hours.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Plenty of time, then,” Tom said simply.

  “For what?” Megan asked with feigned innocence.

  ***

  Afternoon sunlight streamed into the French windows which looked out onto the small lawn. On the dining room table, two plates had yet to be cleared away, and a bottle of red wine sat, re-corked but almost empty. The open kitchen was unusually messy, with dishes and pans scattering the worktops. The living room, with its views of the front lawn, was also in a bit of a mess, with cushions on the floor and two or three pieces of clothing draped over the arm of the sofa or just left on the carpet.

  Among these was a pair of red, lacy underwear, still slightly warm. And extremely wet.

  The sounds of lovemaking had been echoing through the house for much of the afternoon. Breaking only for much-needed water, and to grab more towels, the couple were exploring heights of pleasure which embraced an almost encyclopaedic variety. Right now, muffled little screams revealed that they had begun yet another sex session, but only a peek around the top of the stairs and into their bedroom – both of them had been calling it ‘their’ room for a few weeks now – would reveal the truth.

  Megan was laying on her back with two pillows under her butt, as bed rocked steadily with the motion of Tom’s thrusts. He set an indulgently slow tempo, unrushed during this, their third session of the afternoon, but Megan raced on ahead, her fingers circling hard on her clit. Below, her entrance was a river of wetness, while yet further below, within the hot, hidden place whose pleasure they had discovered together, Tom’s erection slid snugly back and forth.