His Brother's Fiancée

by Vivian Wood

  “Relationships aren’t just about two people,” her mom said, which made Effie clamp her mouth shut.

  Three years later Thorne proposed to her. Thorne had taken her, her mom, and Yaya out to a posh restaurant where he ordered for everyone. Before the appetizers even arrived, Thorne leaned across the table and took her mom’s hand.

  “I want you to know, Effie and I getting married? It means I’m committed to you, too. And Yaya. You don’t need to worry about a thing anymore. I’ll take care of you.”

  When her mom’s eyes had welled up with tears, Effie knew she was doing the right thing. Besides, Thorne was a nice enough guy. At least she’d thought so.

  “Is this how you’re taking care of me? Of us?” she asked, but the empty car gave no answers. “Motherfucker!”

  The word, rare coming from her lips, made her shiver.

  Don’t you dare cry over him, she scolded herself. Not a single tear!

  Effie sniffed and gazed at the restaurant through the cascade of rainfall. As much as it sounded right, she couldn’t bring herself to drink now. Least of all in a public place surrounded by happy couples.

  Instead, she picked up the phone and scrolled to MOM.

  “Mom?” she asked when her mom slurred a sleepy “Hello?” into the phone. “Where are you?”

  “A debutante ball, where do you think?”

  Effie heard the agitation in her mom’s voice.

  “Mom, I have to go on a work trip for a conference. It’s really sudden, I just found out today. Can you take care of Yaya? We’re… we’re out of thyme. And maybe oregano.”

  “Effie, seriously? Now isn’t a good time. You don’t live with Thorne yet, you know. You live here. With us. Where you have responsibilities.”

  What the hell else are you doing besides locking yourself up in the house all day and watching television?

  “I’m sorry, but this is really important for my career—”

  “You’re a glorified pet groomer, Effie. What kind of emergency could it be?” Effie heard the slam of the phone on the other end. Sometimes she thought her mom kept a landline just for that purpose.

  “Screw it,” she said. She started up her car and tried to decide where to go.

  It was getting dark and the roads back to her place would be at a crawl for rush hour by now. She would need someplace to go that was outside of town. She thought about renting a hotel, but the idea of spending a lot of cash when the future was so uncertain unnerved her. She went through a few ideas and discarded a few places, and then hit on a possible answer.

  The Smith family cabin.

  King had taken her countless times in high school to his family’s little local getaway in the hills. She’d lost her virginity there.

  Effie rustled through the glove box, and hoped against hope that the little spare key box contained the cabin key. She grabbed the keys, and almost sighed with relief when she saw it.

  A big golden key, labeled “Cabin”, hung on a little pine tree keyring.

  She pulled out of the parking lot, her destination set in stone.

  By the time she pulled into the gravel lot, it was dark. But walking into the familiar cabin with its soaring cathedral ceilings, she was instantly comforted by the warmth. Effie lit a fire and dug through the wine reserve for a rich dessert wine. Something that would get her drunk and still nuzzle her with sugar.

  She curled up next to the fire and wrapped herself in a heavy wool Pendleton blanket. Just as she got comfortable though, the image of Thorne fucking some strange woman came into Effie’s brain and wouldn’t leave.

  All right, she told herself begrudgingly. You can cry a little. Just for a few minutes.

  She started to think about how entangled she and Thorne were, about how much she had allowed herself to rely on him for… well, everything. Sorting it out would be next to impossible.

  And that wasn’t even taking into account their upcoming nuptials. Only last week, they’d put a deposit down on a venue for the reception.

  Jesus, what a mess!

  By the time she’d finished half the bottle, she was all cried out. Exhausted, she fell asleep as the light from the flames flicked across her swollen face.

  2

  King

  King groaned and rolled over in bed. The coolness of the silk sheets did nothing to ease the pain. He winced as he felt the bruises blossom, fresh and new, across his ribs. As he pushed himself up, the numbness sleep offered wore off completely.

  King stood in front of the mirror, framed in thick wood to complement the family cabin, and examined his ribs. In some areas, they almost completely covered some of his ink and turned his tattoos into shadowy figures.

  As he ran his hands across the ripples of his stomach, he felt a touch of pleasure blend with the pain.

  “That’s the price you pay,” he told his reflection.

  The gray eyes in the mirror stared back at him. Effie used to tell him, “the skies are angry today,” when she’d gaze up at him. He hated that, how she could read him to easily.

  King looked at himself in the mirror for another minute, then headed to the bathroom. The floor boards creaked under his bare feet like the wail of faraway ghosts.

  He turned on the faucet above the bathtub, intending to give himself a quick shower. As he waited for it to heat up, though, he couldn’t stop thinking of the past.

  When King had left the mob bosses in L.A. he’d worked for the past few years, he knew there would be a tax. He just hadn’t known when to expect payment to come due. But as soon as he’d seen the thugs in the parking deck, he’d known.

  He’d once worn a suit that was just like the ones they wore.

  “King Smith?” one had asked.

  King hadn’t replied. He’d simply turned to take whatever they had for him.

  The first hit was always the hardest. The one who’s asked his name was young, barely eighteen, and inches shorter than King but built like a bull. As soon as he felt the solid knuckles against his jaw, copper filled his mouth.

  “The hell is wrong with him?” he’d heard one of the others ask as his knees hit the pavement.

  He couldn’t tell the difference between fists and kicks, they were all over him. A swarm of furious punches and digs. It had felt like his entire head had filled with blood, and the sound of a rib cracking was like the snap of a twig.

  But King had refused to fight back. It would have only made it worse. Even through the swollen slit of his eyes, he could see that young one pause when they were done.

  King knew that look. The kid was wondering if he should get in one last good kick, like the villains always did in the movies. The money shot that would dislocate King’s jaw or shattered his nose.

  He wasn’t sure if he remembered this quite right or if he just wished he’d done it—but he thought he’d lifted his head just enough to give the kid a good shot. But in the end, the young man walked away with the rest of the crew.

  King shuddered in the bathroom as he stripped his clothes off and slipped into the steaming shower. It was cold as hell outside, as a sort of final fuck you for his return to his hometown. There was supposed to be some serious snow outside tonight.

  Which was why he’d chosen to head to the cabin in the first place. That, and it was the only property he technically owned. Even if Thorne or his parents found out that he was here, there wasn’t shit they could do about it.

  He lathered himself up instead of getting angry about Thorne, and what a thieving, conniving piece of work his little brother was. Getting away from Thorne and their politician father was the best thing King could have done. Even if it had cost him some things.

  Like Effie, he thought.

  He grimaced. He scrambled to think of something else, anything else. He found himself replaying the past again in his head.

  For nearly two years, King had been a fixer for the bosses. It was his dues. He’d been the bad guy long enough, the boogeyman nobody wanted to stumble upon in the dark streets. An
d it had been thrilling at first.

  King could still remember the first time one of the boss men met him in person. It took weeks of meeting with lesser members as they vetted him, tried to get his angle. When King was seated across from the paunchy, middle-aged man in the private dining room in Everest, one he hadn’t even known existed, it was a bit of a let down. The boss had milky blue eyes and skin like crepe paper. Nothing like Marlon Brando’s Godfather.

  “King Smith. What kind of name is that?” the man had asked.

  “It’s what my parents gave me. Sir,” he’d added on quickly.

  “Yes, your parents. Chicago’s modern-day Kennedy’s,” the boss had said with a small laugh that sounded a bit girlish. “I’ve seen my share of rich prep school boys looking to sample the other side. Is that what this is about? You have something to prove to your daddy? You too good for his money?”

  King’s face had burned. He’d hoped in the dimness of the restaurant, a bodyguard at attention on either side of the boss, that nobody noticed.

  “No, Sir,” he’d said. “I just want to make my own money.”

  “Top-rated schooling. Well-read, well-bred. I imagine you’d make a very nice living working for your family business. I hear it’s a bit more on the up and up than mine. Nepotism notwithstanding, but there’s politics in any business. Family or not.”

  The boss nodded as the waiter presented a bottle of scotch. Two fingers worth were poured elegantly into crystal tumblers.

  “Macallan 1952,” the boss said as he raised the crystal to his lips.

  King followed suit and let the amber burn fire down his throat after holding it along the apex of his tongue for six seconds to smooth it.

  “Fine and rare,” King said.

  The boss smiled. “You’re familiar with the year.”

  “It’s Macallan’s best.”

  “So tell me. If it’s not to get back at your daddy, what is it? Why do you want to work for me?”

  This is what King had prepared for.

  “You’re right,” he said as he pulled in a breath. “It does have something to do with my father, but it’s not an act of revenge. I… I don’t want to be like him.”

  The boss leaned back as caviar was brought to the table. “And why is that?”

  “I have a brother,” he said, but stopped himself before saying Thorne’s name. Not that he needed to. The boss knew everything about him. “And, in our family, we’ve always been yin and yang.”

  “The angel and the devil,” the boss said as he spooned a small dollop of caviar onto his fist. “How quaint. And let me guess who you are.”

  King didn’t say anything. The boss didn’t offer him any caviar. Instead, King watched the boss enjoy an entire four-course dinner while being served nothing, not even a second glass of that forty-thousand dollar scotch.

  When the boss was satisfied, he looked at King.

  “You start tonight,” he said, standing up.

  And thus it began, King thought. All the blackmail, bribery, extortion that you could ever dream about, just waiting for me to put on that suit.

  He got out of the shower, turning off the water. Wrapping himself in a towel, he hustled back to the bedroom to get dressed.

  Now, the bruises were no longer coupled by welts and open wounds. They’d entered the dull aching stage. It had taken the bosses’ fixers six months to collect from him.

  The bruises suited him more than he liked to admit. At least this way, you could see the damage, instead of just imagining it.

  Being the bad boy was all he’d ever known, and he’d played it his entire life.

  Thorne was always the good one, the responsible one, the one who followed all the rules and fit so neatly into the family’s expectations.

  King sighed. Thank God for melatonin, he thought.

  It was the only thing that even gave him a shot of sleeping without being a zombie the next day. The whole getting up early in the morning schtick wasn’t for him.

  He spent a few minutes tidying everything in the bedroom. It was one of the things King liked about himself. Fastidiousness.

  In order, there was comfort. His mouth kicked up when he thought of how not everyone appreciated how much he loved things clean. That was something about him that Effie never understood.

  It was one of those things that drove him crazy. How she’d dump her purse on the first available surface when she walked into a room, or how she’d kick off her shoes, not even bothering to pushing them neatly against a wall. Those romance novels she left dog-eared and scattered everywhere.

  But, still. It was part of the balance, that yin and yang.

  “Love is weakness. Weakness is for losers,” he reminded himself.

  Now get dressed, for God’s sake.

  King realized he wasn’t quite ready to put his clothes on, though. He needed the brand new stick of deodorant that he’d bought at a convenience store on his way here. It was still in a plastic bag, hanging by the front door.

  He re-anchored the towel around his waist and started down the hallway. The scent of a wood fire flooded his nostrils.

  “What the hell?” He could have sworn he’d put out the fire last night, but as he entered the living room it was roaring. “Shit!”

  A head popped up from the other side of the couch. King’s heart almost stopped, sure that this was it.

  That last beating was just a warm-up. This one wouldn’t just stop at bruises, he was certain of it.

  And then he realized it was her.

  “Effie?” he asked, uncertain. “What…”

  She looked at him, her eyes wide.

  “King?”

  He felt so exposed for some reason, standing there in nothing but a towel.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded.

  It came off angrier than he intended.

  “Sorry, I… I didn’t know you were here. Or anyone was here. There wasn’t a car—what happened to you? Are you okay?”

  Her eyes were wide as she examined the bruises on his chest.

  “What are you doing here?” he repeated.

  “I… I don’t know,” she said softly.

  What did that mean?

  “How did you get in? Wait, never mind. Where’s Thorne?”

  “He’s… not here?”

  It was a question, not an answer. It just made him more confused.

  King shifted slightly, completely thrown by Effie’s sudden appearance. Of course he’d seen Effie a few times over the years. She could only be avoided so often, as the person who was practically glued to Thorne’s side.

  He stared at her, and she stared back.

  “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

  As he got dressed, he ran over scores of things he should say. Her being here, surprising him like this, it was the last thing he needed.

  When he stormed back into the living room, Effie was on the couch with her shoulders covered in the thick blanket. He could see the low-cut satin camisole underneath. It dipped into dangerous territory, but he refused to let that distract him.

  Who cares if she’s even hotter than she was in high school?

  “Where’s Thorne?” he asked.

  Great. That’s a really strong opener.

  “He’s… he’s…” Effie gestured, and then dissolved into tears.

  King glanced around the room, but there was no one to help.

  This is exactly what I need, he thought.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “He’s cheating on me!” she said between sobs.

  Awkwardly, he reached out and patted her shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “He’s—”

  “It’s not okay! I freaking caught him in bed with someone else! Someone who looks just like me, by the way.”

  “Oh,” he said, frowning. “Well, I guess that’s kind of good.”

  “Good?” she asked, exasperated.

  “I mean, at least he’s attracted to you, rig
ht?” King could hear the smugness in his own voice, but he couldn’t help it. “I mean, kind of keeping it in the family. You are both so good at that.”

  He just couldn’t stop himself. King hadn’t realized until that moment that for the past three years he’d harbored so much anger over her dating his brother.

  “You’re a jerk, you know that?” she asked.

  Effie stood up and let the blanket fall onto the couch. She grabbed her jacket, but not before he could see that she’d taken off her bra to sleep. The sudden chill from losing the blanket hardened her nipples instantly against the thin fabric. He felt his cock stirring below, but pushed the urge aside.

  She deserved this.

  King heard the front door slam and a car start in the driveway. Slowly, he made his way onto the patio. His erection refused to wane even when her SUV was out of sight.

  What the hell am I supposed to do now?

  3

  Effie

  Effie had thought she’d been cried out, but by the time she’d reached the end of the Smiths’ cabin’s driveway, her tears were blinding.

  There’s no way I can be around anyone like this.

  She didn’t even have to think about it. Effie angled the SUV towards the trailhead of the familiar chipped paths she’d explored with King all through high school.

  It soothed her, just the sound of her footsteps in the wild. Like she was a teenager again, she easily picked out the sounds in the forest that hugged the outskirts of the city. Dark-eyed junco. American Goldfinch. Northern cardinal.

  It was here, her junior year, that she’d first told King she wanted to be a vet tech. He’d laughed and joked that it was good her relentless memorization of bird songs would come in handy.

  She knew her Dansko work shoes were getting covered in mud, but she kept on. Dr. Yung would give her hell when she saw them, but in the woods work seemed a lifetime away. Effie didn’t stop walking until she realized the sun would set soon. She was exhausted, but calmed.

  As she approached the Explorer, the clouds in the sky started to turn a threatening deep slate. Effie barely made it out of the deserted parking lot before the first drops of rain appeared.