“LILA! Come on, sis, I knowyou’rehome.”
Shit! Itishim.
With a sigh, I slide off the security chain and yank openmydoor.
“Duncan,” I mutter darkly, staring at the sight of my brother standing on my porch in the pale morning light, dark sunglasses over his eyes. There’s a hefty duffle bag slung over his left shoulder and a leather satchel gripped tightly in hisrighthand.
I’ve barely gotten his name past my lips when he reaches out, shoves my door open wide, and forces his towering frame inside my apartment. He’s hardly cleared the threshold when he slams the door closed behind him and collapses back against it, breathing so hard you’d think he’d just crossed the Boston Marathonfinishline.
“Please, by all means, come in,” I say dryly, crossing my arms over my chest as I examine him. My ire fades slightly as I take a closer look. He’s sweating, his clothes are wrinkled like he’s been wearing them for days, and his face is torn between an expression of profound relief andpallidfear.
To say he doesn’t look like himself is putting it mildly. Duncan has always been handsome, with dark chestnut hair, high cheekbones and lively brown eyes the same shade as mine, except his are almond-shaped instead of saucer-like. Girls used to fall over themselves, hoping for a date with Duncan Sinclair, Class President and Homecoming King at the private academy we attended as teens. His effect on women only grew, as he matured intomanhood.
It’s more than just good looks. He’s always had a certain charisma, a magnetism that draws people in despite their better judgment. They never even realize they’re caught up in his spell until it’stoolate.
Like a clevermagician.
Or lethalquicksand.
Trust me, growing up as his little sister wasn’t easy. He won every fight. He got my parents to take his side every time we disagreed about something, even when he was clearly at fault. That winsome disposition is simply…undeniable.
It’s probably why he’s always been so successful. He’s got charm in spades and he’s always put it to good use, whether to talk the panties off the biggest prudes back in high school, or the wallets off the wealthiest investors in SiliconValley.
The man before me now bears almost no resemblance to the dapper big brother I remember. In the six months since I last saw him, his hair has grown out of its typically pristine cut and he’s lost considerable muscle mass, as if his daily gym routine has fallen by the wayside. He looksdull— totally drained of that spark that sways people over to his side in arguments, or has them pulling out their checkbooks after an investment pitch. Perhaps most alarming of all, there’s a mottled black bruise around his right eye, a remnant from a fist during a fight heclearlylost.
Frankly, he looksawful.
“What the hell happened to you?” I ask him, point blank. No use beating aroundthebush.
His eyes crack open and scan me up and down. “Me? What happened toyou? Are you even wearingpants?”
I glance down at my bare legs and confirm that I am, in fact, not wearing much of anything from the waist down. Not that it matters — Luca’s sweatshirt is so giant, I’ve owned winter parkas lessrevealing.
“I live here. I’ll be asking the questions, thank you very much.” I fold my arms over my chest and stare him down. “Seriously, what the hell are you doing here, Duncan? And why do you look like you’re on your way to audition for the role ofDisheveled Hobo 3on an episode ofLaw &Order:SVU?”
He pushes off the door and runs a hand through his hair, jaw ticking. “Lila, I’m really not in the mood for your shitty jokes. Not today, allright?”
“Again —I live here. My house, my rules, my shitty jokes. Deal with it… or don’t let the door hit you in the ass on thewayout.”
“This how you treat all yourguests?”
“Guests are generallyinvited.”
Annoyed, he glares at me; I glare right backathim.
Am I being a littleharsh?
Maybe.
But, to be fair, Duncandidsquander our entire family fortune. My bitchiness has never been morejustified.
“How bad is it?”Iask.
“How badiswhat?”
“Whatever trouble you’re in that brought you running all the way from California back to Boston.” I pause. “With a black eye. Andluggage.”
He sets down his duffle bag and the smaller leather satchel by the doorway. “Maybe I’m just here for a visit. I did grow up here. This coast doesn’t belong toyou,Lila.”