by Clare London
“There’s good Internet.” Greg looked a little sly. “You can do all your shopping online. And Lisa’s moving in with Bridie and setting up her own business. So you can get a decent haircut at last. Assuming you like what she did with mine?”
“I like it very much,” Perry said softly, though his eyes weren’t on Greg’s smart haircut. He couldn’t get over the utter joy of having Greg in front of him, in person, in fabulous person, and speaking such astonishing stuff.
“Oh, and while I remember,” Greg said. “Aileen called around with a business proposal for you. She—no, I would like you to consider it.”
“Business proposal? What—?”
“Greg Ventura!” came a sudden cry. Eddy Latham stood at the door of his office, arms wide in an expansive welcome. “Well, the wanderer has returned. And looking astonishingly good!”
“Greg Ventura?” Candace gasped, gazing up at Greg’s full six foot three. “Are you really? You’re so better-looking than the other Venturas. Where have they been hiding you?”
“Let’s talk about this TV option, shall we?” Eddy said, grasping Greg’s elbow and gesturing toward his private office.
“Greg. No!” Perry grabbed his other elbow. He glared at Eddy, who glared right back, but with the smug assurance of a man who knows he has the financial upper hand.
Greg looked confused. He glanced down at Perry. “Your job rests on it, right?”
“I’ve got new ideas,” Eddy crowed. “A rival program to the Howells. The Big Ventura: the ugly duckling of the family becomes the fashionable swan!”
“I don’t give a fuck about my job,” Perry said through gritted teeth. “You won’t do this.” He shut his eyes briefly to tune out the awfulness of it all.
“Well, well” came another new voice, the other side of Greg. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
Perry opened his eyes to see Gerry Ventura face-to-face with his newly returned brother. “Brush up surprisingly well, don’t you?”
“Better than anyone,” Perry said quietly. He didn’t care whether he was heard or not, but Gerry Ventura obviously thought he was being insulting, because he swung around immediately to stare at Perry, his handsome face twisted with scorn.
“What’s it to you?”
“I’m sorry?” Perry drew himself up to his full height, albeit he was still four or five inches less than the shortest of the Venturas.
“Are you the one who tarted him up like this? Is this why he’s so full of himself?” Gerry turned the scorn on Greg as well, then smirked. “You’re fucking each other?”
“What the hell does that have to do with you?” Perry snapped.
“Gerry, back off,” Greg said coldly. His face looked like thunder.
But Gerry didn’t. “It must have taken a hell of a lot of greasepaint to touch up my brother’s significant failings,” he sneered. “You had bugger all to work on. He’s always been an ugly bastard.”
Perry opened his mouth in angry shock, but nothing came out. He stepped forward with a firm intention to thump Gerry somewhere it’d really hurt, but then Greg pushed him gently but firmly to one side, leaned forward, and punched Gerry squarely on the nose.
Chapter Thirty-Four
THE office had finally calmed down, the blood from Gerry’s nose had been mopped up, and Eddy had pestered everyone back to work. It was unlikely to stop the rumors brewing around Reception or the pictures currently being gleefully uploaded to YouTube, but that was the modern media world in action.
To Perry’s startled surprise, Geoff Ventura supervised having his brother thrown out of Latham’s. The twins helped him. They directed Gerry and his throbbing face toward a nearby coffee shop to sit and cool down, and then keep out of the way for a while.
“He’s an arrogant, mean-mouthed tosser,” George said cheerily, as they all ambled back into Eddy’s office. “About time someone other than us smacked him down.” He smiled at Perry. “You’re braver than most, despite your size.”
“Fine right hook, Greg,” said Gareth beside his twin, eyes twinkling. “You always were a good scrapper.”
It was obvious the twins loved every minute of the drama, but Perry could see Eddy almost apoplectic with shock, so he nudged the four remaining brothers into his boss’s room. To his utter relief, there was a jug of fresh iced water and good coffee brewing on the table. When Eddy came blustering into the room on their heels, Perry frowned and nodded toward the refreshments. To his eternal astonishment, Eddy scuttled over to pour drinks for everyone.
Geoff turned to Greg. “What can I say?”
“The guy’s an arse?”
Geoff barked a laugh. “Always was, right? I suppose I gave him too much leeway, as he was always the loudest of us all. But his humor was always too sharp, his aggression too heavy. Mother struggled with him at the best of times, and Dad just gave up in our teenage years.”
“What about the bullying?” Perry said crossly. “You gave plenty of leeway for that too.”
Geoff turned to look at him as if he’d forgotten anyone else was there. But he impressed Perry by recalling his name. “Perry Goodwood, isn’t it? I remember us trying to persuade you in the first place to turn Greg here into a Ventura figurehead.”
“A performing monkey, more like,” Perry answered with spirit.
To Perry’s continuing surprise, Geoff laughed. “That sums us up pretty well. We were directed when we were sportsmen, stage-managed when we won success, and now we’re being manipulated into being TV personalities.”
“You regret all that?” Greg looked confused.
Geoff shrugged his broad, elegant shoulders. “You know I always lived for the sport. And now I’m too old to play, a living’s got to be made.”
“You need this TV gig?”
“Not that badly.”
“But I’m here now,” Greg said.
“Excellent news, isn’t it?” Eddy was hovering around Geoff’s elbow, glancing between the two brothers.
Perry was disgusted. The man’s tongue was almost hanging out.
“Peregrine, call the TV company, see if we can pick up some of the options. After all, who knows how long it’ll be before the Howells self-combust? They’re hardly the most stable of families.”
Perry snorted loudly and everyone turned to look at him. “Eddy, you’re a bloody fool if you don’t realize that’s exactly what the TV schedulers want to happen. And preferably on screen. Besides, you seem to have forgotten I’m not working for you any longer. You fired me.”
“What a pity, Mr. Latham,” Greg said. His voice was almost a growl, and his gaze was fully on Perry. “When the only person I will ever work with is Perry.”
Eddy went pale.
Geoff cleared his throat. “Let’s stop this nonsense, shall we?” He caught Greg’s eye. “You’re not here for any career reasons, are you? You’ve never had any intention of appearing on TV as part of the family, whether it’s a series, a Christmas special, or an advert for men’s knickers.”
Greg grinned back. “Not in a million millennia. At least, not if I can humanly avoid it.”
“What?” Eddy spluttered. “But you just said—! You can’t just come in here—!”
“Eddy, shut up, will you?” Geoff Ventura’s tone was smooth and calm, but Eddy shut up immediately. Geoff turned back to Greg, and a grudging smile crept over his face. “I know that look of yours, you see. You used to look just like that when you wanted to do something we didn’t—and vice versa. You always were a determined little arse.”
“Now look here—” Perry leaped to Greg’s defense again.
“Perry, it’s okay.” Greg slid an arm so firmly around his waist that Perry had to draw an extra gasp of happiness to keep breathing. Greg turned back to his elder brother. “So what will you do instead?”
“Oh, I’ve been offered a football commentating job for a satellite channel. I’ll enjoy that, and it’ll pay my designer’s bills. And the twins are planning to open up a nightclub in Knightsbri
dge. Gareth has a Russian oligarch’s daughter devoted to him, to the extent of investing a couple of million in his pet project. And funnily enough, her cute brother keeps calling George at all hours of the day and night and sending enough flowers to bring on hay fever. I think the pair of them are set to be adopted into the new London upper classes. Oh, they’ll do all right by their partners, no question—they’re decent blokes, especially when they’re out of the limelight—but a TV show would probably have been the worst thing in the world for them and their egos. And of all of us, they always land on their feet.”
Eddy was still spluttering as the Venturas turned to leave, Perry along with them. Geoff smoothly shook Eddy’s hand, took his card, and promised to keep in touch. Then turned to Greg and Perry and gave a big wink. When he walked away from Eddy’s office, it was obvious he didn’t expect Eddy to follow.
“Peregrine?” Eddy called after them. “We can reconsider your contract!”
“Reconsider my arse,” Perry said in his politest tone. “I’ve had a much better offer.” Over by Reception, he could see Candace and Antony laughing. Candace gave him a thumbs-up.
At the exit, Geoff stopped Greg with a hand on his arm. “Whatever Gerry said all those years ago—okay, what we all said—we always loved you, you big fool.”
Greg tensed. He didn’t smile back. “Not really any excuse, though, is it?”
Geoff looked abashed. “No, you’re right. But it looks like you’ve turned out the best-looking of us all.” He pulled Greg into a big, awkward hug, then pushed him away. He was blushing. “Of course I’m noticing this in a brotherly way, not some big gay way.”
Perry smirked, and tightened his own arm in Greg’s. “Damn right you’re not,” he said. “I’m the one to do the big gay way.”
Greg smiled, but he still didn’t look convinced by Geoff’s protestations of brotherly love.
“Greg,” Geoff sighed. “You have every right to hate us forever. I hope I’ve matured over the last few years, and I can see more clearly now what horror we must have caused you. I hope you’ll let us try and mend the breach in some way.”
Greg was silent. Perry peered up at him, trying to read his expression.
“And I mean, have you looked at yourself recently?” Geoff said. “I mean, properly? You stupid bugger… look, come here.” Geoff pointed to a huge TV screen on the office wall. It was meant for the staff to review screenings of advertising campaigns, but everyone knew Eddy wanted it tuned to American crime series in the afternoons. There was nothing on the TV now, but the screen was polished cleanly enough to act as a mirror. Geoff pulled Greg beside him and pointed fiercely at their reflection. “You were always going to be a late bloomer, you old bugger. And look at you now! Bloody perfect. No, even better than that.”
“What the hell?” Greg seemed shell-shocked.
“You don’t have that plastic glow we all have,” Geoff said quietly. “You reek of natural health and a boatload of charisma—maybe a little like me, while I was still playing. But so much more. You know, you look content. Like you’re happy where you are in your life. I’m proud of you, guy.”
Perry held his breath as Greg paused and followed Geoff’s look.
“Perry?” Greg whispered.
“Take a good look,” Perry added softly. “A proper look. An honest look.” Greg had to start seeing himself not colored by his history or by anyone else’s opinion. A fresh start.
Greg shook his head slowly, thoughtfully. Then he reached down and grasped Perry’s free hand. To Geoff, he said, “You’re a stupid bugger too.” But his tone had softened.
“For Christ’s sake. It’s not a contest.” Geoff rolled his eyes. “I thought I was the one who’s meant to be so bloody competitive.”
Then they looked at each other and laughed.
“But we should have done better,” Geoff said, his face suddenly twisted in distress.
“You will,” Greg said, and he clapped Geoff heavily on the shoulder. “You will!”
Chapter Thirty-Five
GREG’S brothers had left the building, Eddy had retired to his office to lick his wounds, and Greg and Perry waited a moment more by Reception. If Perry were being truly honest, he’d admit it was because he wanted to lust a little longer after Executive Greg.
“You look so good.” Perry smiled. “I’m so proud of the man I love.”
“Look, Perry—”
“Oh, shit, I’ve overreached again, haven’t I?”
Greg deliberately put a hand over Perry’s mouth. “Will you shut the hell up for a minute?”
Perry mumbled in shock. It was probably a good thing Greg couldn’t make out the actual words.
“God, Perry, this is difficult enough as it is without you… you… being there!” Greg took a deep breath. He looked almost guilty. “Bridie says I have to tell you. Bridie won’t let me—”
Perry broke free of Greg’s hand. “—get away with anything?”
Greg roared with laughter. “That’s it! You see, when you were out on the bog… I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know if you’d left voluntarily, or were lost, or hurt. That’s when I realized. Just didn’t know what to do about it. How to do it.”
Perry went very still.
“Perry, I’m trying to say something and scrambling it as always.” Greg gave a huge, heavy sigh and ran his hand through his hair, half ruining the careful style. “Perry, I love you too.”
There was a long moment of pregnant silence. Then Amy and Candace—whom Perry had even forgotten were there behind them, shamelessly listening in—gave a combined sigh of happiness that echoed through the whole room. There was even a smattering of applause from some staff over by the photocopier.
Perry held his breath for a few seconds more. “Is there a but?”
“No, there is no fucking but!” Then Greg realized what he’d said and roared with laughter again.
“Then I’d love to.”
“What?”
Perry rolled his eyes. “Come back to the island. Look into this business opportunity you have. Help you nurse Rory back to health. Buy you a new set of matching crockery for when people come to call. Keep Bridie and Dougie in hand.”
“You will?”
Perry reached up and kissed Greg rather chastely on the well-shaven cheek. “I want to come back to the croft with you. For as long as you want me there.”
“That’s a long bloody time,” Greg said. His voice was ragged, but his smile broad. “As I left, the sun was up over the loch. Perry, you’ll love how it looks.”
“You’ll paint it?”
“Aye, I will.” Greg gave a rueful grin. “And talking of my painting, you’ll have to live on my money until your business gets going—but I promise you, it’ll be nothing like your ex’s fuckup, not with Aileen Mackie in charge. And I have enough to get you completely out of debt for the moment.”
“I don’t need much to live on,” Perry whispered. “Not there. Not with you.”
Greg flushed happily. “Oh, and Aileen has all kinds of plans for new fabrics, including—you’ll like this—tartans for kilts.”
“Rainbow ones?”
“Jesus, Perry. You dunderheed, as Dougie would pronounce it.” But Greg laughed again. “If that’s what you want. And I’m taking you out to dinner tomorrow night. Smoked scallops in white wine with green mustard sauce. The Sea Bird sisters are putting on a special event, just for your return.”
“You were so sure I’d return?”
“I realize now it was never in doubt.” Greg was beaming by now. “Despite all Bridie’s plotting, she and Lisa making me over for this trip, Dougie planning my travel, Aileen getting me kitted out in some exclusive Glasgow store—I remember now I’ve always had the trump card. Your selkie skin!”
“My—what?”
Greg smirked. “That old fleece hoodie of mine you wore all the time you were in the peat bog? I reckon that’s like your magical seal skin. So now I have it, and have hidden it, and so you’
re trapped with me forever.”
Perry shook his head, laughing. He and Greg were going to do a lot of that, all the way back to North Uist. “You reckon?”
For a brief moment, Greg’s confidence faltered. “Perry, listen to me, you can’t argue with centuries-old folklore—”
And then Perry leaned in and kissed all the teasing away. At least for the time being.
CLARE LONDON took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fueled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter-three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fueled family home.
Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her here:
Website: www.clarelondon.com
E-mail: [email protected]
Blog: www.clarelondon.com/blog
Facebook: www.facebook.com/clarelondon
Twitter: @clare_london
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By Clare London
Romancing the Wrong Twin
Romancing the Ugly Duckling
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinnerpress.com