The Forbidden Twin(23)

She was right. He'd argued the point because he wanted her to come up with a way for things to be different. An impossible wish.

During the drive they'd agreed she should spend the night with him. It  meant her getting up very early in the morning to go home and change  clothes for work, but it seemed the best course of action, the path of  least possibility of discovery.

He pulled into his parking garage. They got their suitcases from the  trunk and headed to the elevator. They hardly took their eyes off each  other. He saw in her everything he felt-expectation, need, gratitude  and … desperation. In the elevator she went into his arms, pressed her  face into his neck then leaned back to look right at him.

He kissed her without restraint, without hope. The doors whooshed open.  He would've picked her up and carried her, except their luggage would've  gone down in the elevator without them.

He opened his eyes, took a step back … and spotted Summer standing in the open doorway.





Thirteen


S carlet's world took on a dizzying slant. Her sister stared in horror,  in shock, in disbelief. The doors started to close. John slammed his arm  against them, keeping them open, then grabbed both suitcases and set  them in the hall as Scarlet forced herself out of the elevator.                       
       
           



       

"Summer," Scarlet pleaded, her hands outstretched. "I can explain."

Summer's face was ghostly pale. She looked back and forth between John  and Scarlet. "Did you just spend the night together?" Her voice  registered an octave higher than usual.

"Yes, but-"

"Let's go inside," John said, interrupting.

Summer shook her head, took several steps back. "This is the secret  you've been keeping from me? Him?" She looked around wildly. "Was he the  reason you didn't come home that night? The same day I gave him back  his ring?"

"Please let me explain."

Summer held up her hands, warding off the words, then punched the down  button. The elevator doors opened immediately and she stepped inside.  "And to think I came home a day early because I missed you so much," she  said to Scarlet. "And I came here tonight to apologize to you," she  said to John, "for treating you so badly."

The doors closed and Scarlet's heart shattered.

"Come inside," John said.

"No."

"She won't be going home. You know that. You won't find her tonight."

"I can't be with you," she said. "I have to go."

"All right." He spoke gently but firmly. "I'll put my suitcase in my apartment, then I'll drive you."

"I'll get a cab." She pressed the down button again and again. "C'mon, c'mon."

"I'll drive you."

"I can't talk to you right now."

"You're mad at me for this?"

"No. Yes." She closed her eyes, put a fist against her chest, over her  heart. "Both of us. We were stupid to take such a chance just to satisfy  physical needs. Stupid, stupid, stupid."

He grabbed her shoulders. "It wasn't just physical for me. Except in the beginning."

What could she say? She didn't want him to know she loved him. She'd  kept it secret all this time. She could keep it secret until it died a  natural death. She owed Summer that much. "It was for me."

"I don't believe you."

"That's your problem." She needed to find Summer. To explain. To beg  forgiveness. When the elevator opened, she grabbed her suitcase. He  followed with his.

"Go away."

"I'm taking you home."

She stopped talking to him. Didn't speak all the way home. Got out of  his car and shut the door without saying a word. Words couldn't solve  this disaster.

Her apartment seemed cavernous. She looked into Summer's room, saw her luggage still unpacked.

She sat on her sister's bed, brushed her hands back and forth over the spread, then dragged a pillow into her arms and squeezed.

Everything hurt-her head, her eyes, her throat. A cannonball had made a  target of her stomach. Her heart pounded a painful rhythm that she could  hear in her ears and feel everywhere else.

All these years-all these damned years-they'd never let a man come  between them. Some had tried to play games with them, but they'd been  open and honest with each other, had avoided misunderstandings and  arguments because of that directness.

As soon as she'd realized John was interested in Summer, Scarlet had  avoided him, so much so that Summer had asked if she even liked him. At  least she had been able to answer honestly that she liked him just fine  but that three was a crowd. Still, Scarlet had fallen in love even  though she'd fought it every step of the way. Shoved it into a box until  that night at his apartment-that amazing night that she'd never dared  to hope would happen.

She pushed Summer's pillow against her face and screamed into it. Why  had she gone to see him that night? Why had she let herself believe it  would be okay to console him, to offer a friendly face? She'd known. In  her heart, she'd known nothing good would come of her seeing him alone.

And then she'd convinced herself she only wanted some good memories.  Instead she'd hurt the person she loved most in the world, the one who  loved her the most, too. Her sister, her best friend.

And it all could've been avoided if she hadn't been so selfish.

Scarlet looked around the bedroom, decorated so differently from her  own. Summer's stamp was here-more feminine than Scarlet's. More homey.  Her love of antiques reflected their grandmother's.

Will you ever be back?

Will you ever forgive me?

She swiped her wet cheeks with her hands then picked up Summer's bedside  phone and dialed her cell number, knowing her sister wouldn't answer  it. She waited for the beep.                       
       
           



       

"Summer-" her throat closed up for a couple of seconds "-there's more to  this situation than what you're thinking. I'm not trying to excuse what  I did, only to tell you why it happened. Please, I beg of you. If you  won't see me in person, at least call me. I … I love you."

She cradled the phone carefully, tossed back her hair and went to her  own bedroom, closing the door on the empty room. She wouldn't sleep, she  already knew that, so she grabbed her sketch pad and curled up in her  armchair, but it was as if the creative forces in her body had imploded,  leaving only rubble.

She tossed aside the pad, dragged her hands down her face and leaned her  head against the back of her chair. The phone rang. She jumped up,  answered it in the middle of the second ring.

"Summer?"

"No, it's me." John.

Scarlet sank onto her bed.

"I figured you'd still be up," he said. "Want to talk?"

"What is there to say?"

"You need to give her time to adjust to the idea."

"If the situation was reversed, I wouldn't adjust."

"Summer will."

"Meaning Summer is a better person than I am." Like she hadn't always known that.

"I didn't say that. You would adjust, too, but it might take you longer."

Scarlet thought she heard a smile in his voice. How could he be smiling?

"But she's in love and happy," he continued. "And she loves you. It's  going to be fine. No one else knows, and she won't tell anyone. Except  Zeke, probably. You'll get past it."

"How can you be so sure? Why are you so calm about this?" Tears sprang to her eyes.

"I don't think it's worth getting worked up about."

"Not worth-" Scarlet couldn't finish the sentence. "Well, that's easy  for you to say, John." Not worth it? "I can't talk to you anymore."

She hung up then curled into a ball on the bed. She'd regretted some of  her actions before-small regrets, like immature choices she'd made or  her constant attempts to annoy her grandfather.

But all of them together didn't add up to this.



"Are you in mourning?" Jessie asked Scarlet the next day at work. "I've never seen you wear all black to work before."

Without having slept, Scarlet had gone into the office early, straight into her cubicle, and hadn't emerged.

"Did you need something?" Scarlet asked.

"Touchy," Jessie said, her brows raised. "This came for you. You've sure  made somebody happy, to get so many presents." She set a Tiffany's box  on Scarlet's desk then strolled off.

Scarlet had no interest in opening a gift from John. She set the box in  her desk drawer and went back to work, wishing the time would fly and  the lunch hour would come.

At some point during the night she'd realized there was someone she  could talk to-her cousin Bryan, the only person she was certain could  take secrets to his grave. He'd had plenty of opportunities as they grew  up to tell on her for things she'd done, misadventures he'd somehow  ferreted out, but he never had.