27. Marcus

27

Marcus

Seb falls asleep quickly, his dark curls spilling onto the pillow like a halo.

I hover over him, watching the flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks, resisting the urge to brush a stray curl from his forehead.

If I wasn’t here, who would be looking after him?

The thought sobers me.

I like being able to care for Seb when he needs me. But equally, I’m the last person he should ever rely on.

Being here these last few weeks has made me feel like I’m playing another part, a devoted boyfriend, where I get to pick my boyfriend up from the hospital, where I get to check him for signs of concussion, look after him, care for him.

But I know, deep down, that it’s all just playing pretend.

I head back into the lounge. The laundry service has dropped off a bag of my clean clothes. I don’t want to disturb Seb in the bedroom, so I begin sorting my clothes into piles on the coffee table.

My phone chirps with a call from Saskia.

“Hey, it’s me. Can you tell the security team it’s okay for me to come up?”

My stomach plunges. Saskia. Saskia here. Saskia here when I have her little brother asleep in my bed.

“How about I come down to you, and we go out somewhere?” I say.

“Yeah, I’m not really in a state to go out.” It’s then I hear the edge in Saskia’s voice.

“What happened?”

“I’ll tell you about it when I come up.”

Shit.

I’ve got no other option but to clear her with the security team.

I unlock the door to my suite, then race back to my bedroom to check on Seb. He’s still asleep. What can I do? There’s no way to smuggle him out of here. And I don’t want to wake him to warn him. He needs to sleep.

I close the bedroom door carefully behind me just as there’s a knock on the door.

“It’s open,” I say.

Saskia lets herself in. Her eyes are rimmed with red, mascara smudged in dark half-moons beneath them. Her knuckles are white as she clutches the strap of her handbag.

She puts her handbag down on the coffee table with a thud, then reaches out to hug me.

“I’m so glad my best friend is in the country right now.” Her voice comes out shaky.

Fuck. She’s a mess.

With my arm around her shoulder, I lead her to the sofa farthest from the bedroom.

“What happened?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

“You’re not going to believe it.”

“I live in LA. Trust me, I’ve seen everything,” I say quietly.

Her eyes narrow. “Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re an undercover agent and you’re afraid the potted plants are bugged by the KGB.”

“I…ah…” I glance at the closed bedroom door, but it’s enough to clue Saskia in.

“Do you have someone here?”

I swallow. “Ah, yeah. I do.”

A smirk slides on her face. “Is it a hookup?”

“Yeah. And he’s asleep, so, just, like…voices down.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

Her smirk disappears and Saskia looks uncharacteristically fragile.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Not really.” She wipes a hand across her face, smearing her mascara further, leaving dark streaks across her cheeks like war paint. “I’m fairly sure my husband is having an affair.”

“What?”

It all comes pouring out. Tom’s late nights at work, his vague explanations about client meetings that never quite add up, leaving gaping holes in his schedule that he refuses to account for.

I lean forward to retrieve a box of tissues from the coffee table, and she angrily mops at the tears leaking down her face.

“It’s such a fucking cliché. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

It does seem unbelievable. My best friend, with her perfectly polished nails, her perfectly put-together life.

“You don’t know anything for sure yet,” I say. “You actually need to talk to him.”

“I know I do,” she hiccups. “But I’m scared. Because, at the moment, it could all be my imagination, right? If he confirms it, then it’s real. And I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“I know it’s scary, but imagine how much worse it’ll be if you let this uncertainty eat away at you. You need answers, one way or another.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Saskia blows her nose.

As she reaches for another tissue, her elbow bumps one of the piles of laundry on the coffee table, sending clothes cascading to the floor in a colorful avalanche.

“Oh, sorry.” Saskia leans down to help me gather the scattered clothes.

Suddenly, she freezes, her body going rigid like she’s spotted a snake among the clothes.

Then she snatches up a T-shirt. She stares at it in her hands, her forehead rumpled.

Printed on the T-shirt is a periodic table, with the caption: I Wear this Shirt Periodically .

Fuckity fuck. I completely forgot I included that in my laundry after Seb left it here.

My mouth goes dry, my pulse racing so fast I can hear it thundering in my ears. I fight the urge to snatch the shirt from her hands.

When Saskia looks up at me, her eyes are weirdly bright.

“Your taste in T-shirts seems to have changed.”

Oh holy hell.

I force my face into a neutral expression, but I’m fairly sure my clenched jaw betrays me.

“Why do you have my brother’s T-shirt?” Saskia demands.

I stare at the T-shirt, my mind whirling for a plausible explanation.

The silence ticks on.

“He left it here,” I say finally.

Saskia’s eyes widen. Her nostrils flare, her breathing becoming sharp and quick as color floods her cheeks. “You hooked up with Seb? What the fuck, Marcus? You know he’s off-limits!”

My mouth is dry. I swallow hard but can’t seem to make my salivary glands work. I can’t help my eyes flying to my bedroom door.

Saskia’s forehead crumples in confusion.

Then, she swivels her head to look at the closed door, her gaze narrowing.

Shit.

“Saskia…” I say, but it’s too late.

She’s already standing, striding toward my bedroom door.

I catch up with her just as she opens it.

She blinks at the sight of her brother curled up in my bed, asleep.

“What the absolute fuck?”

I put my hand on her arm, tugging her away.

“You have to keep your voice down. He knocked his head at soccer practice and needs to rest.”

There is total shock and disbelief on her face, but she lets me steer her away from the bedroom.

She collapses on the sofa, like her legs aren’t working properly.

I remain standing, running my hand through my hair. Shit. Of all the times for this to come out.

Saskia takes a deep breath and leans forward, elbows on her knees, her gaze boring into me.

“So, how long have you been fucking my brother?” she says it almost conversationally, but I know Saskia well enough to know hear the edge underneath her words.

“A while,” I say.

“How long is a while?”

“We had a brief thing at university,” I say. “Then it reignited at your wedding.”

Her mouth drops open and she gapes at me.

“You and Seb had a thing at university?” she confirms.

“Yeah.”

“And you decided to reignite it yet again while you’re home this time?”

I shift my weight from foot to foot, my hands shoved deep in my pockets. “We’ve been doing the long-distance thing since your wedding.”

Now I’ve completely gobsmacked her. Her eyes widen to an almost comical degree, her mouth working soundlessly like a fish out of water.

“You and Seb? Are you actually fucking kidding me right now?” she says once she’s regained the power of speech.

“No. I’m not kidding.”

Her face works through a complex series of emotions. Shock gives way to confusion, then anger flashes in her eyes before her expression settles into a mixture of hurt and betrayal.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me? All those conversations we’ve had, all those messages we’ve exchanged, you never once thought to say, ‘Oh, by the way, Saskia, your brother and I are a thing.’”

“Seb didn’t want you to know. I respected that.”

Hurt flashes across her face. She turns to stare at the closed bedroom door for a few seconds, then fixes her gaze back on me.

“I’m your best friend. If I told you to end it with him, would you?”

“No.”

She lurches back like I’ve physically struck her.

The word lies like a chasm between us.

“Do you love him?” she asks, her voice quiet.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I understand what love is.” I rub my hand over my face, scraping my stubble. “But I do know he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Too late, I realize those are not the words Saskia needs to hear right now. Saskia’s used to being the glittering golden child. She’s never lost to Seb in anything.

Now, when she’s wounded, I’m telling her she’s lost one of her most sparkling possessions to her little brother.

Her shoulders slump. She closes her eyes like it’s too painful to look at me right now.

When she opens them, they shine with hurt.

“You’re not here for me, are you?” Saskia says.

“What?”

“You flying here when Dad had his heart attack. You didn’t come to support me, did you? You came to support Seb.”

“I wanted to support both of you,” I say feebly, but I know Saskia can read the truth on my face.

“Do Mum and Dad know about this?”

“I think your dad knows. I’m not sure about your mum.”

“Oh my fucking god, I can’t believe this.” She rocks back. “I’ve been comforting myself that my husband might be fucking around on me, but at least I have an amazing best friend and great family. But you’ve all been keeping a massive secret from me.”

“I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

The voice comes from behind us, and Saskia and I spin around.

Seb is standing in the doorway to the bedroom.