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“Not when my dear old brother texts you a million times a day. There’s no damn absence.”
Suddenly, Ash’s demeanor changes, he’s almost nervous. He does this thing with his eyebrows where he twists the ends of them as if to distract himself. I know something’s up, but much like Mom and Dad, I’m entirely in the dark.
I’m about to call him out on it until Logan—my brother’s best friend—and a mystery woman walk into the kitchen. Logan flies through girlfriends like I go through underwear, so it doesn’t surprise me she’s here. Yet, I find it rude and annoying he doesn’t have the courtesy to inform us a stranger will be joining us.
Logan’s face breaks out into a mischievous smirk, the same one he had when he played pranks on me when we were younger. The only thing that’s changed is the fact he’s taller than me. Actually, he towers over me like Ash. Add to that a muscular body, instead of ten-year-old fat pre-puberty kid. And he got rid of the bowl haircut.
According to some magazine, he was named the hottest athlete of the year. I remember reading the article thinking Logan Carrington... really? The same boy who practically lived in our house and was Ash’s Siamese twin. Let’s ignore the fact that I’m his actual twin.
Age changes everyone, and despite the fact I haven’t seen him in over two years, nothing much has changed except his legs are now covered in tattoos. He’s wearing shorts which give me a view of the intricate patterns and drawings.
I can’t get over it, he’s staring rudely while Ash rambles on about something. I’m surprised Dad or Mom hasn’t said anything either. Logan’s like a son to them and Dad’s anti-tattoos. It’s the reason why Ash keeps the one just under his stomach a secret. It happened on some bro-code drunken-night-out, and when he tried to text me a pic, I was quick to point out the fact I almost threw up in my mouth at the sight of his pubes.
What fascinates me about the tattoos on Logan is that his arms are ink-free. Usually, the arms are the first place you have inked, not the legs. Nevertheless, I move my rude stare away from him and onto Ash and his dirty face.
Logan moves around the kitchen and stops at Mom, embracing her in a tight hug and not letting go for a while.
Something smells fishy.
Aside from the lingering smirk, his ash-brown hair is flicked to the side, styled with a line cut through the lower part. A fad that’s apparently rocking this generation. He runs his hands through it, lifting his bottle-green eyes to meet mine. I jump off the stool as he walks around the counter to me, and wrap my arms around him.
In my bare feet and stretching on my tiptoes, I whisper in his ear, “What are you up to?”
Logan holds me tight, wrapping his arms around my waist. I hate to admit he smells good. Some fancy aftershave designed to lure in women I’m guessing.
Bringing his lips close to my ear, his tone is smooth. “This will send you into a tailspin.”
I pull back, confused, but quick to extend my hand to the girl standing quietly in the corner. She’s quite pretty—exotic with a nice fashion sense. It’s my polite way of saying not everyone can rock a caftan but she certainly can.
“Hi, I’m Emerson… Ash’s sister.”
She smiles with nerves, biting down on her lip with her very white teeth. I’m amazed at the length of her hair, which she’s wearing straight with a few blonde streaks reaching the tip of her waist.
“I’m Alessandra, I’ve heard a lot about you.” She speaks with an accent—it’s thick, and by the way she rolls her ‘r’ I assume she’s from Spain.
“Oh,” I say looking in Logan’s direction. I didn’t think he’d talk about me, but obviously, he does. Odd, considering we aren’t that close anymore. “That’s nice of Logan to talk about—”
“Mom, Dad,” Ash interrupts me, moving closer to Alessandra and wrapping his arm around her waist. “Alessandra is my... my wife.”
My eyes spring wide open, my jaw drops to the floor with a crashing halt. His wife? When in God’s name did this happen? He hasn’t even mentioned dating let alone marriage. This has to be some sort of prank. Logan’s put him up to it. This isn’t the first time they have done something like this. They used to gang up on me all the time and it drove me insane.
We were known as the three troublemakers in the neighborhood when we were kids, and I considered myself one of the boys until I turned fourteen. So, I can smell a prank a mile away and this one is rotten to the core.
“Excuse me?” Dad questions, clearing his throat. His usually fair skin takes on a beet red color, a tell-tale sign he’s fuming. I glance over at Mom, she looks equally as shocked.
“We got married in Spain. Alessandra is my wife.”
“Married?” Dad repeats.
Ash nods, keeping his stare persistent and not blinking to challenge Dad. The two of them are just as stubborn as each other, and the longer this drags on, the more it becomes evident this isn’t a joke.
“When did this happen?” Mom asks in a calmer tone, trying to disguise her shock.
Ash looks at Alessandra, thoughts passing between them, keeping the rest of us waiting impatiently. “It happened last weekend. It sorta just happened.”
“You don’t sorta get married, Ashley,” Dad grits, slamming his palm on the marble top. “You’re too young to be married.”
“I knew you’d say that.” Ash raises his voice, competing with Dad. “You had no problem when Emmy announced she was engaged… and to some dickhead she met on TV!”
