AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter1
London
“So what’s your next adventure?” My brother alternates between swiping and typing on his phone, not even looking at me.
I sigh. Since we’re at his upscale gentlemen’s club and he’s paying, I should just endure his antisocial behavior, but sometimes I wonder why I even bother.
“Northern lights.”
He looks up for the briefest second and then returns to his screen. “You’re escaping New York’s winter by going to the Artic Circle?”
“Oh, how you always find a way to criticize me,” I quip. “I’m going to find my own personal Loki and fuck his brains out.” It’s not unlikely, but I say it more to provoke him.
“Yell it louder, so you get escorted out and they revoke my membership.” He shakes his head while typing again. “I thought women were into Thor.”
And there it is—a tiny, almost invisible grin on his face. That’s why I like Gio. He’s annoying as hell, but deep down, he cares.
“Why thank you for your suggestion. The jury is out until I return from my adventure.”
My adventure. Most people believe I leave every winter to escape the dreadful weather, or to blow off steam after my biggest event of the year. There is some truth to that, but my motivation has its roots elsewhere.
I started traveling in memory of someone who can’t experience it anymore. But it’s become my church. It makes me alive. The crazy adrenaline sports, reckless parties, and nameless hookups where I can let go completely are acts of rebirth for me.
Moments in time to find peace despite the wildness of the actions. The thrill of it grounds me and liberates me at the same time.
“Are you going anywhere this winter?” I ask, but keeping this conversation alive is a genuine struggle.
Okay, it’s not like we need to catch up on anything, but it would be nice to talk while we wait for our food. After we placed our order, I tried to spark his interest in a new project I want to finance. After that failed, I moved onto a recent political scandal, the price of gold and a mining crisis in Brazil. I even tried discussing our siblings’ sex lives. Not that I know much, but I certainly know more than him.
Gio stares at his phone. We must look like a couple who has lunch out of obligation and has maxed out their daily quota for discussing life’s logistics. He works, and I try not to be bored.
Nothing. I get nothing. If I don’t count hums, nods and a few other acknowledgments. Though I suspect hisanimatedreactions relate to the issue athishand. Or on the screen, in this case. Finally, he glances up for a millisecond.
“You know I only travel in summer.”
The lack of patience in his voice would irritate me, but I have too many other grievances in my life.
“Sorry to break it to you, bro, but spending a month at your house at Lake Como while still working is not a vacation. It’s another level of workaholism.”
“We all enjoy different things.” He holds my gaze for a moment and it’s unnerving. Perhaps it’s better when he stares into his phone.
I look around and spot Finn van den Linden, the billionaire playboy, entering the restaurant. Satisfaction washes over me. It won’t be a wasted lunch after all.
The hostess walks him to his table, practically tripping over her own feet in an effort to draw his attention. He acts with the detached politeness of people with his pedigree and takes a seat.
He’s alone. Perfect. I snatch the white linen napkin from my lap and place it on the table. There will only be a brief window before someone joins him.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Gio, though he probably doesn’t hear me. He never looks up.
For some outlandish reason, I wonder if that’s the case even during sex. Yuck. I shiver at the idea of my brother having sex. Gross. He’s my stepbrother and we’re not related by blood, but still… ugh.
A few eyes follow me as I head to Finn’s table. Good thing I chose the curve-hugging dress this morning.
I care little for things, but I dress for success. My clothing ensures I look the part I’m playing. It’s all just wrapping, but it helps me get what I care about, and that’s what matters.
The Madison Club is quiet at lunchtime. Hushed conversations full of pretense hum through the air. I’ve never understood why men feel the need to socialize in members only clubs. At least this one allows women as guests. Not that many of them use that benefit. It’s a boys’ club.
While the rules here are a century old, the decor isn’t the stereotypical, stuffy mahogany darkness with marble undertones. The floor-to-ceiling windows bring a lot of light into the beige and birch wood restaurant. It’s a large space where members enjoy high-end cuisine, and the only room where guests are allowed.
