AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Cyrus is two years younger and practically my twin, except he got my dad’s dark, soulless eyes while I lucked out with my mother’s. He wins the height contest by just an inch at 6’6”, but I’ve got him on weight by about twenty pounds. And I’m marginally, fractionally prettier, which isn’t saying much because we’re both sporting ill-healed broken noses from our teen years and Cro-Magnon foreheads.
You won’t see us on the cover of GQ, that’s for sure.
I shoot him a glare as I set down my coffee. He throws up his hands, coming through the kitchen with an exasperated smirk.
“Do me a favor. Go start a grease fire. Then I could get out of this motherfucking date.”
He chuckles with a merciless twinkle in his eyes. He’s been busting my balls since the first day he could talk. “Gran would never forgive you. Besides, better you than me, bro. You’re the oldest, so you’re up first.”
“Fuck.” I run a hand over my head to the back of my neck and grip the rock-hard muscle, trying to unknot the tension. “She serves up guilt like Mike Tyson’s left hook.”
He screws up his face, turning over one hand as if to say, ‘Yeah, so? What’s new?’.
“Don’t be so mean, you two. She just wants you to be happy.” My sister Sophia’s sarcastic contribution chimes from over my shoulder.
“I am fucking happy,” I grouse, wondering why everyone is so goddamn interested in my happiness when I am fucking, goddamn happy.
Sophia marches our way from behind the pass, slipping a pen into the sleeve pocket of her chef’s jacket, her ink-black hair piled on top of her head in a chaotic disaster of a bun.
She sidesteps around us, leaning over a steaming pot of soup, grabs a tasting spoon and dunks it in, then blows and slurps it between her lips just the way Mom does.
“Who was the last person to season this soup?” She screws up her face, turning to look over her shoulder. “Too much fucking salt! If anyone touches this again, you are not only fired, I’m coming for you. Don’t touch my fucking soup! Everyone hear me?”
She wields the spoon in a half-circle like a bloodied sword.
Sophia curses better than either of us, and truth, even at five foot nothing and maybe a buck-five, she’s one of the few people in the world that scare me.
There’s a chorus of “Yes, Chef” from around the kitchen, but no one stops working. It’s heads and eyes down, lest they draw more wrath from the raven-haired pixie with the Gordon Ramsay temper.
“Fucking idiots.” She blows out a long breath, then gives me a wink on a crooked grin. “If one of us doesn’t get married soon, Grandma said she’s going to die of a broken heart.”
“Jesus.” Cyrus shakes his head, raising his eyebrows. “I thought Mom was bad. She said if she has to go one more Christmas without grandchildren, she’s a failure as a mother. Why can’t any of my children settle down? God is punishing me, I know it.” He mimics Mom’s thick Italian accent.
I stretch out my left arm with a wince, gritting my teeth when the burning stab of pain shoots through the muscle of my shoulder, a reminder that ex-husbands don’t like losing either.
“Still hurts like a motherfucker, huh?” Cyrus watches me as I flex my arm then settle it back at my side. “No progress on the fire either?”
“Nope. Insurance still investigating. I’m pretty fucking sure it wasn’t some electrical malfunction.”
He shakes his head. “Thank fuck for good sprinkler systems.”
“Yeah. That’s just stuff, this…” I point to my arm. “Some things you can’t just rebuild or re-buy.”
Luckily Cyrus was with me that day, otherwise the knife probably would have ended up in my aorta. We were on the elevator on our way to the gym on the first floor of my building, when two-hundred and eighty pounds of angry ex-husband launched through the opening door with a hunting knife.
I landed a hard left hook to the side of his head before security barreled in and fucked it all up, preventing me from killing the asshole. They couldn’t even hang onto him. Ended up trading my workout time for a police report and ten stitches for my trouble.
Fucker wore a mask, too, so even with the security footage, we couldn’t ID him. I doubt he’ll come at me again. It’s not the first time a spouse on the other side of one of my cases has taken their best shot, and it won’t be the last. Divorce is fucking dirty.
I’m not so sure marriage is any better. Not from what I’ve seen, at least. Thank God I’ll never know for sure because I’ve taken my own vows.
I’ve vowed to never put a ring on anyone else’s finger or let one be put on mine.
“Well, you know what Mom always says.” Sophia gives me a sisterly stare. “Two wrongs don’t make a right.”
“That hasn’t always been my experience,” I counter, sliding my hand over my mouth and squeezing the hard bone in my jaw.
“Whatever, big brother.” She looks at the huge clock on the wall, then points her spoon my way. “Don’t be late. Being late for a blind date is tacky.”
