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“Harry, Freya knows what she did was wrong. She didn’t realize—”
“Realize what?” My roar stops my mother’s sentence. Her crystalline blue eyes widen, her winged dark blonde brows disappear under the heavy fringe of her bangs.
“Harry, please.” My father says, wearily and I’m nearly tempted to stop. For his sake. He hasn’t said a word, but I know he’s sick. I don’t know why he’s keeping it from us, and why no one talks about how much weight he’s lost. But, can’t stop. Not even for him,
“Dad. I love you and Mum. But this is between Freya and me.”
He nods, closes his eyes and then stands up. He walks to my mother, takes her hand and without uttering a word, leads her out of the room.
I watch Freya, not taking my eyes off her. She doesn’t look at me again. Instead she watches my parents retreating back until she hears soft click of the door closing behind her.
“Tell me. Why?” I say simply.
“Harry, I didn’t know…” she wails, her eyes still on the floor. Her hands clutched her in lap, fingers laced together and clenching each other so tightly, her knuckles are bloodless.
“Of course, you didn’t know. How could you have known by looking at pictures and talking to Camille? But you decided you’d act like you knew so you could humiliate a woman you don’t like. Right?” I bark at her,
She nods, her breathing is fast and shallow. She’s crying again. It just pisses me off.
“I don’t understand why you’re crying. Are you the injured party? You did what you set out to do…” I turn away from her and pace the room.
“I’ve never known you to be cruel. But what I saw tonight, Freya, I wouldn’t have done that to my most loathed enemy. In front of her fucking family.” I hear the strain in my voice. My pain is a living, breathing thing.
“I would have never, Freya, not in a millions believed you capable of that. If I hadn't been there and someone told me the story I wouldn’t have believed it. You wouldn’t…no couldn’t, do something so unspeakably wrong.” I say, my disappointment growing by the second.
Freya looks at me then, her eyes awash with tears, but the fear is replaced by hurt.
“Harry, I knew about Zara and William.” She says. Her confession is just an octave above audible. Yet, my body jerks as if she spoke with with cymbals and spears instead of words.
“I knew and I didn’t tell you. Had never planned to tell you.”
I stagger backwards until the backs of my calves hit the couch and fall backwards on to it.
“You knew?” I ask in an exhaled breath. The wind completely knocked out of my sails.
“Yes.” She says simply, her anguish plain but her voice controlled. “I didn’t say anything because…” her chin wobbles slightly and she pauses. “I’m also married to a man I don’t love. Who doesn’t love me. And I’m also having an affair with the man I should have married and who is the love of my life. I empathized with Zara. How could I judge her, expose her without exposing myself?” She asks and I lean forward, put my head in my hands and try to absorb what she’s saying and what it means.
“I’m your fucking brother.” The last word comes out as a scream. My anger burns white hot.
I put my face in my hands as fear grips me. Freya is the person I’ve always loved more than anyone. The one who I’ve shared everything with. The one who I would lay my life down for with pausing to think about it. And she was prepared to participate in Zara’s fraudulent game, she’d done it because she was also a cheating, liar who didn’t want to reckon with what she’d done. Can I trust anyone? Is this how people live? Telling each other lies? Keeping inconvenient truths to themselves?
Slowly, I bring my eyes up and force myself to look at her. I study her face like I’m seeing it for the first time. How could I have misjudged her so completely?
“Who are you?” I ask angrily, but also with genuine curiosity. I stare at my twin, for the first time not unable to understand her. When she doesn’t respond, I go on.
“You decided that I shouldn’t know that my future wife was fucking my best friend because you’re cheating on your husband and didn’t want to judge?” The full force of my disgust, incredulity, hurt, wrath leaves my body with those words and I see the moment the enormity of her betrayal registers. I’m grateful my parents aren’t here. It would kill them see this. Unless of course, they knew too.
“Harry. It wasn’t that simple. You know what it’s like amongst our set. No one marries just because. It’s always strategic. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, it turns out to be a marriage that bears more fruit than heirs.” She says, sadly, but as if what she’s saying makes sense and that somehow it explains her betrayal.
“You’re pathetic.
That is pathetic.” My throat is clogged with what feels like every ugly emotion in the universe, rendering my voice hoarse.
She looks at me now, for the first time and her eyes are wide. The fear has returned. She knows she’s gone too far. That a simple apology, a promise to never do it again won’t be enough. Not now.
“Do you think that if I’d known George was cheating on you, no less with your best friend that I wouldn’t have told you? Do you think that I would have stood there, watched you marry him, toasted you if I had known?” I demand, closing the gap between us, standing right in front of her. She flinches, several times while I’m talking as if I’m striking her.
“Tell me.” I growl out when she doesn’t respond.
