13. Dex

My little sister is crying into my shoulder, her giant tears soaking through the cotton of my t-shirt. She's pregnant with her first child, though, so I won't mention that her waterworks feel a little excessive.

I'm not brave enough, or stupid enough, to do that.

‘Eight years,' she howls. ‘It's taken you eight years to come home to me.'

Guilt squeezes my heart tightly. ‘I know, love. I missed you too. But I'm back for good now.'

‘In theory,' she says with a sniff, lifting herself off my shoulder. ‘God knows, they'll want their pound of flesh from you.'

I smile weakly, because it's true. I may have just landed this morning on a red-eye so short I got way too little sleep, but the reception I received at Loeb when I went in to show my face was exuberant enough to make me panic. It seems I'm their Great White Hope for turning the fortunes of their Equities division around, and I have a mountain to climb to prove that this budget-busting hire was worth it.

‘They'll let me out occasionally,' I promise with more confidence than I feel, ‘and you'll always be my first call.'

‘Glad to hear it,' she says with a warning thump to my upper arm, and I grin at her.

Belle is objectively beautiful, inside and out, and it pains me that I wasn't around for more of her formative years. The force of my need to cut ties with my father and the toxic values of my upbringing was so great it obliterated all else. Even the desire to be around for my little sister.

That said, she's done okay for herself. The more I get to know Rafe, the more soundly I approve of him as a life partner for Belle. He seems a rock-solid guy, as do his mates, and I couldn't have asked for her to find a more adoring husband. It's clear he thinks she's the sun, moon and stars.

‘The place is looking great,' I say, looking around. An all-white textured panel that must be six feet tall and three feet wide dominates the round hallway. The panel itself is curved. I guess it was commissioned for this exact space. ‘Holy fuck, that piece is amazing.'

Our parents infused both of us with a keen aesthetic sense and an appreciation for good art. They've long invested in paintings and sculpture—our mum has a great eye—and Belle has picked up the family baton.

‘Never marry an art dealer,' Rafe quips. ‘The art budget is through the fucking roof.'

I laugh. ‘I can well believe it.'

‘He's worse than me,' my sister protests. ‘He's such a pushover. He says yes to every piece I suggest.'

‘That has nothing at all to do with the paintings,' Rafe says, and the way he looks at Belle as he says it, with love that's soft and fierce all at once, is really something.

‘You've done a great job,' I tell her quietly as I stroll into their open-plan kitchen and living room. We're on the upper ground floor of their new townhouse, and it really is a beautiful space.

‘Are you knackered?' she asks, putting a light hand on my shoulder as we cross over to the island.

‘Fucking destroyed,' I say, pressing the heel of my palm to one of my bloodshot eyes.

‘Well, we'll get you fed and you can have an early night,' she promises.

‘That would be great,' I admit. I still have to get back across town. I've rented an apartment in the City, which is depressing but necessary. I'll be burning the candle at both ends this year, I have no doubt, and the last thing I need is to add a painful commute into the equation. Sure, I'd rather be over here in Holland Park on the weekends, but I'll have my head buried in my laptop most of the time, so what's the point?

‘You still on for Sunday lunch?' Belle asks, following her question with a giggle when I roll my eyes, because the last thing I need this week is to play Happy Families with our parents.

‘I guess so.'

‘You guess. You're such an American.'

‘I suppose. You being dragged along too, Rafe?'

‘Wouldn't miss it for the world,' he says with a sarcastic cheeriness that has me sniggering.

‘Poor fucker,' I observe, taking the bottle of cold beer he's handing me. ‘Thanks. You definitely married into the wrong family.'

Long story short. Our dad's a religious nut and our mum never got the memo she was allowed her own beliefs. Neither did my sister, who was brought up even more strictly than me, with purity culture rammed down her throat at that convent school she went to.

That she took matters into her own hands and hooked up with a much older sex club owner was so out of character I still can't really believe it.

Our dad coming home early from a trip and walking in on Rafe butt-naked in his home one morning was the real scandal, though.

Suffice to say, it forced a lot of tough conversations between my sister and our parents, and it taught our dad that his days of patriarchal rule and brainwashing were firmly over.

I feel so guilty that I wasn't around for my sister, even if Rafe well and truly proved his mettle during the entire shit-show. I'm beyond proud of her for having the courage to lay down some boundaries and stand up for her own happiness, no matter how much that happiness was at odds with the values our parents had imposed upon us.

At least one of their kids has turned out not to be a giant fucking coward when it comes to accepting themselves for who they truly are.

‘I can handle Ben,' he says, topping up Belle's sparkling water before cracking open his own beer. ‘He knows not to push it with me. And your mum's come around, I think.'

‘Definitely,' Belle echoes. ‘She loves you.'

‘Not sure she loves me. She loves the prospect of how many babies I'm gunning for,' he teases.

‘Ugh,' I say jokingly, because while the thought of anyone impregnating my little sister leaves me cold, it massively takes the pressure off me to settle down with some nice, British version of Claudia and dutifully produce babies.

Wait. That leaves me even colder.

What warms my heart and feeds my soul, though, is breaking bread with my sister and her new husband in their beautiful, art-filled home. Even if our family unit is not what either of us would have hoped for, she's my person. She always will be. And it's not right that I've been apart from her for so long.

It's not right that the young woman sitting across from me, happy and carefree and loved up and secure in her own skin, should be a relatively unfamiliar version of the studious, blindly obedient girl I grew up next to. And I want to make amends. I want to be fully in her life again.

Just as I want her fully in mine.

She's the best person I know.

Which is why, when she pleads with me to accompany her and Rafe to Alchemy this weekend, "just for drinks in the bar", I don't have it in my heart to turn her down.