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I turn off the engine and take a moment to spy my brother’s place.
On the outside, Spencer keeps his home well-maintained. Impeccably trimmed shrubs line the outer walls, and the lawn is meticulously manicured. This is my first time here; Spencer only returned to Crystal River from Boston afew months ago to start at the university as a professor. I am very much looking forward to seeing what’s inside these elegant townhouse walls. Knowing my brother’s taste, I am expecting pure class, in true Spencer style.
“Welcome, Damon. Here’s hoping you’ll stay and not disappear like you are wont to do.”
My professor brother opens the front door, expecting me. I’ve come alone. No need for bodyguards or followers here.
Catching up with my brother is an almost sacred act that remains private.
“I’ll stay if you offer me a glass of good whisky,” I say to him as I cross the threshold into my brother’s place. Spencer merely smiles.
“I wouldn’t offer a sophisticated man like you anything less, brother.”
We’re both dressed in suits, as we always do. T-shirts and jeans aren’texactlyour style, even when we’re not working. I’ve gone for an open-collar black suit – a hint of my muscular chest on display - while Spencer sports a perfectly knotted tie with his dark brown suit. We easily slot into our roles: the gangster and the professor.
I note he gets his suits tailored in London. I prefer Italian. Another point of difference between us.
But no matter the country of origin, we both share an expensive taste in clothes. Two brothers who are so different, and yet have the same desire for simplythebest.
I follow him into his reading room. This is definitely his favorite place in the building. There’s a realclassic libraryvibe emanating from this room. It’s so typical Spencer - all resplendent mahogany paneling in rich coffee-brown hues and subdued, atmospheric lighting. My attention is instantly drawn to the large bookcase cradling many famous and great tomes of literature.
Spencer and his books.
The bookcase is certainly not just for show; I know my brother has read every single one of the thick tomes that line the shelves. That’s the kind of sophisticated man he is. I’ve always harbored a tinge of envy for my brother’s vast intellect and prowess with the written word. It all comes so effortlessly to him.
Spencer - theintellectualPenmayne.
From a small bar in the corner of his library, my brother pours me a drink and offers it with an outstretched hand.
“It’s notyourwhiskey, unfortunately,” he says. “I hope you will forgive me.”
He’s mentioning my alcohol company - the global business that I’ve set up with the purpose of presenting a legit façade to the outside world.
“I’m sure I can manage another brand of whiskey, Spencer,” I reply. “As long as it’s good. It does feel like a betrayal of my company to dare taste it, though.”
We cheer our drinks.
“What do you think?” my brother asks, raising an eyebrow at my sip of whiskey.
“It is respectable.”
“That is certainly high praise, coming from you,” he replies. “You are a man who knows your alcohol. Please sit.”
I gladly do in one of his comfy leather reading chairs. My brother takes his spot opposite me.
“Tell me, how is Crystal River University life treating you?” I ask him with a wry smile. Spencer smiles back at me.
“It’s treating me very well,” he replies.
“And this girl that you’re seeing?” I ask. “How is she?”
I am characteristically blunt.
“Very well, Damon. She is very well.”
“Ah, so you’re going to remain coy about her?” I askcheekily. “Keeping her a little secret from me? You were fine divulging all about her to me that one time I got you drunk on my alcohol.”
My brother and I attended a family event a few weeks ago and had too many drinks: a yearly tradition for our late brother, Arthur Penmanye, who was involved in a fatal car crash two years ago. Arthur was the life and soul of our family – the lovable, adventurous, optimistic, popular Penmayne. His twin, Royce, has not taken things well. Every year, it is customary for us to rent out a bar in town for the night and drink and celebrate the life of our beloved brother in seclusion. That was where I brought along some samples of my alcohol. That’s where I got Spencer drunk, and where he told me all about his little dalliance with Olivia Weldon.
