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Kip’s eyes narrow for a second, then his expression becomes neutral again, and he hands a bottle of beer to me first, then offers them to the other guys one by one.
For a moment, the terrace patio is silent, apart from the clinking of the ice cubes in Mr. Winslow’s glass as he swirls his whiskey around.
I flinch when Gulliver’s lips press against my neck, the heat of his skin on mine scorching me. “Come sit with me,” he whispers against my ear as he presses me forward and toward the huge sectional couch where Davis and Thorn are sitting.
Stepping forward, I sit down on the cushions next to Thorn, but far enough away that I’m not touching him and leaving plenty of room for Gulliver to sit next to me. A startled cry falls from my lips as he sits, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into him, my back nestled into the curve of his shoulder as he lazily draws circles over my exposed collarbone.
I try to relax, but the idea of being in his arms, of being in anyone’s arms, is unsettling. I’ve enjoyed the way he kisses me, but cuddling feels so much more intimate than a brief, orchestrated kiss.
Last summer, my parents agreed to let me go and visit a distant aunt in Spain, and I used the months of freedom to explore the beautiful country, anonymous and unknown. I introduced myself by my middle name, and for those three glorious months I was just Cordelia, in a place where the people had no idea who I was, or more importantly, who I wasn’t.
The men around me start a conversation, but I tune them out, instead listening to the sounds of the night. After a while, I relax a little and let my back rest against Gulliver, enjoying his body heat.
“Well, kids, I have an early round of golf in the morning, so I’ll say good night,” Mr. Winslow says, placing his empty glass on the table and standing. “Gulliver, Izabella, congratulations. I might be a pushy bastard, and I might have tried a little too hard for a political alliance between our two families, but I’m truly happy you’ve found each other. I’m cynical, bitter, and divorced, but there’s nothing better than being young and in love, so enjoy it. And not that you need it, but you have my blessing.” When he turns his gaze on me, his smile is warm and genuine. “Izabella, sweetheart. Our home is your home. Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, feeling a little choked up at his words.
“Good night, everyone,” he says, squeezing Gulliver’s shoulder before he disappears into the house.
We all stay silent for a few moments, then the guys look at each other and a ring of laughter starts with Davis, spreading through the others until I can feel the vibrations in Gulliver’s chest at my back.
Lifting myself from the cocoon of his arms, I twist around and find a wide grin etched across his face as he laughs openly, his eyes crinkling at the sides.
“Oh my god.” Thorn rasps. “I can’t believe you got away with it. You fucking got down on one knee,” he says, laughing so hard he’s wiping tears from his eyes.
“Did you see Izzy’s mom’s face?” Davis crows.
“And Penelope,” Kip adds. “I’ve never seen her green with envy before. I wish I’d taken a picture.”
“You all think this is funny?” I ask, a little incredulous.
“It’s hilarious.” Davis laughs. “Tonight, Gulliver got himself out of a life sentence. It’s epic.”
“But it’s all fake,” I say.
“And that’s the best thing about it,” Gulliver says, his voice rough and low.
Shaking my head, I reach for my beer and take a long pull, grateful that I’m not having to drink the disgusting champagne that’s been forced into my hand at every turn tonight.
“What’s with the beer?” Thorn asks, tipping his own bottle toward mine in question.
“What about it?”
“Well, I’d bet money on your sister drinking pink drinks and fruity cocktails, and you’re drinking beer straight out of the bottle.”
I shrug, not sure what exactly he wants me to say. I don’t think mentioning that I’m not my sister is driving the point home.
His head tilts to the side, and he assesses me impassively. “I can’t get over how fucking identical you and Penelope are, it’s freaky.”
Shrugging again, I swallow back my retort because “Duh, we’re identical twins” probably isn’t that constructive.
“Leave her alone,” Kip says. “Why don’t you tell us a bit more about you, Izzy? Something more than just the fact you’re Penelope’s twin.”
“There’s not much to say.”
“Who are you friends with at school? How many people knew there were two of you before today?” he asks.
“I don’t have any friends, so no one knew other than the teachers,” I answer dismissively.
