Page 76 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

"Marcus?” Anna's voice calls out from downstairs. "I need you down here. Now."

I lean in whispering against her ear. "Don't go anywhere."

"I won't," she promises.

"I'll be right back. I will. Please believe me.” We both know why I’m saying these words. But she doesn’t argue.

"I'll be here." She's a little breathless, her lips kiss-swollen in the moonlight and I have to force myself to actually walk away from her.

I take the stairs two at a time, already working out how fast I can deal with Anna so I can get back up there. I'm on the front lawn where Anna is waiting when I glance up toward the balcony just in time to see her - all the warmth she'd infused in me drains away.

She's got her phone out. Her whole posture changes as she reads the screen, her shoulders pulled tight. If I could I'd leap into the air to join her to see what's bothering her, but then Anna grabs my arms, her nails digging into me, her subtle way of saying "focus, you dimwit, this is important."

By the time I've dealt with Anna, a mix-up with one of the agents annoyed they hadn't gotten a private viewing before the crowd hit, I look back up at the balcony and it's empty.

I go through the kitchen, out the front, scanning the street full of parked cars and strangers, looking everywhere, a stone lodged hard in my throat. Then I see her, already at her own car, door open, sliding in.

"Alexia!" I call out, running to her.

But she ignores me. Her car door slams shut. The engine turns over. And she's pulling out of the display village and onto the main road before I've made it halfway down the driveway. I'm left standing there, the tape measure clutched in my hand, her taste still on my mouth, watching all my dreams fade into the night.

NINETEEN

Alexia

Six Years Ago

The music from Freya's house party makes my ears ring before I've even gotten through the front door, and I've only come because staying home means another night of hoping Zachary isn't going to come over, and then being devastated when he doesn't.

Three months since Leon's birthday. Three months of wondering if I'd imagined what had happened that night, and wishing that I had.

"Bedrooms are upstairs," Freya announces to the kitchen at large, waggling her eyebrows over the top of a jug of something that is an unnatural shade of blue. "You know...for whatever shenanigans you might be thinking up."

Someone cheers. I roll my eyes and go looking for something to drink that doesn't look like it'll stain my tongue for a month.

I'm five minutes deep into my exploration of Freya's fridge when someone says, "I think you can tell a lot about a person by their condiments drawer, don't you?"

I straighten from my hideout spot and meet the voice head on. "Absolutely. Condiments are the new medicine cabinet."

"Exactly." He smirks. "Or are you just trying to avoid conversation by pretending you've been assigned the important task of sorting those bottles by"—he leans in and scans the bottles—"piquancy?"

I bite back a smile. "Good eye. And yes. Is it working?"

"Not on me." He leans back, one hand holding a beer, the other casually resting on the counter. "Hi. I don't believe we've been formally introduced. I'm Marcus Shaw," he says, dead serious, like we're at a work function and not standing in front of Freya's crisper drawer.

"Alexia."

"Pretty name." He holds out his hand as if offering me to shake it. "But I don't get your last name?"

I fold my arms and refuse to take it. "You've heard it. Multiple times. We went camping together, remember? That time when you set your own tent on fire."

"Hmm, I don't recall."

"That's because you were drunk. You cried like a baby as we watched it burn down in flame."

His eyes narrow. "I did not cry. I was emoting about the loss of a cherished childhood memento."

I snort. "Leon and you found it at Goodwill on the way to the camping grounds because you decided to go on a camping trip without a tent."