(Please note: I'm British and my stories are written in British English. I write whatever comes to me and in whatever way feels right to me. Some of my stories are down and dirty, some are slightly more restrained. They are all a part of my imagination and I don't censor my muse to fit any aesthetic. You might find that you like some and hate others. That's perfectly fine. I genuinely enjoy writing all of them and hope that each will find its intended audience.)
The wedding ceremony was a complete blur for twenty-two-year-old Charlotte Reynolds. She said her vows purely from memory and practice, including the part about honouring and obeying that her groom's very traditional parents had insisted upon.
All she could think was,
he's here!
Her twin brother Charles whom she hadn't seen in the flesh for four whole years.
He had flown in from the USA earlier in the day to attend her wedding, but had stayed at a friend's house rather than their parents' home where she'd dressed in her bridal outfit.
Charlotte had seen the back of his blond head when their father had proudly walked her up the aisle, but he'd averted his face so that she hadn't been able to sneak a quick peep and drink in his beloved features.
A woman's wedding day should be the happiest day of her life.
Charlotte was happy enough marrying Peter Gainsborough, the filthy rich architect she'd met while doing her English degree at Cambridge, but theirs was no grand romance, at least not for her.
He was sixteen years older than she. They'd met one evening when she'd been out for drinks with a group of female friends from the university. He'd bought them all champagne, but had made it clear that she was the one he was interested in.
He had wooed her with expensive perfumes and jewellery, taken her on short romantic breaks to Paris, Rome and Vienna and several other such cities. When he'd asked her to marry him just after she'd graduated, she'd thought, 'why not?'
She wasn't expecting them to have more than a good friendship. She'd known that it was her model looks rather than love that attracted him to her; he wanted a wife who would look good on his arms. He was coolly aristocratic. They would have a pleasant life without the fireworks that came from passionate love.
His elderly parents had frowned upon his choice of bride, saying that they thought she was perhaps too young for him. She suspected it was the fact that she was no heiress who was bringing both wealth and consequence to the marriage.
But Peter, their only child, had ignored their objections to his choice of future wife, and they had grudgingly accepted her rather than lose him.
Her twin hadn't been thrilled either when she'd broken the news to him via FaceTime two months ago.
They had always been incredibly close as children.
She'd been almost inconsolable when he'd chosen to go to Harvard University to pursue his degree in Comparative Literature instead of going to Cambridge University with her and doing an English degree as they had always agreed.
They had talked often when he was in the USA, but she'd missed him like she would miss having an arm.
He'd made every excuse under the sun not to come home during his four years there, but finally he'd agreed to come home for her wedding to Peter.
And finally, as she turned to walk back down the aisle on her new husband's arm, she saw her brother.
Her heart almost stopped.
He'd allowed his ash-blond hair to grow longer than she'd seen it before. It was bleached even whiter by the sun.
His body had filled out and he looked like a Norse God.
She rushed to him like an eager schoolgirl, forgetting dignity.
He held her so tightly she couldn't breathe for a moment.
Then he let her go.
Their eyes met and held for a few moments, then her mother and father, aunts, uncles and cousins were hugging her and Charles was lost in the melee.
Peter whisked her off to Dubai for a two-week honeymoon. No expense was spared and had it been anything but her honeymoon, she would have thoroughly enjoyed her stay at the exclusive hotel.
All she could think about was the look in her twin's eyes and wonder if it meant what she thought it did.
It couldn't, could it?
The question ran through her mind a thousand times.
She called her parents as soon as she returned to the UK and discovered that they had gone on one of their weekend golfing trips but Charles was at their house alone.
She decided to go over to their house and have a heart-to-heart with her twin.
She didn't call in advance, knowing that he would probably find some excuse to leave the house before she got there.
She used her key to enter the house and padded to his room in her stockinged feet.
Charles was lying on the king-sized bed their parents had bought him when he'd finally stopped growing at 6'6". He was listening to music via his AirPods and didn't hear her enter.
He was startled when she leaned over him and for a moment the look she'd seen in his bright blue eyes on her wedding day was back.
Then they went studiously blank.
"Why did you go to Harvard when we'd planned all along to go to Cambridge?" she demanded.
They had planned to rent a two-bedroom place, cook sumptuous meals and drink copious bottles of wine while they discussed the classics.
University had been heartbreakingly lonely without him.
He sat up on the bed but didn't immediately reply.
"Why, Charles?" she insisted.
"Beacause of you," he admitted.
"Me?"
"Do you know what it's like to kiss your sister on your eighteenth birthday and suddenly realize that you're in love with her?"
Their American-born father had grown up kissing close relatives on the lips in greeting. He'd continued the tradition when he'd married his English wife, moved to London and had the twins.
Charlotte and Charles had kissed on the lips all their lives—it had been as natural as hugging each other—but something had shifted the day of their birthday.
Their parents had bought a Marks and Spencer cookies-and-cream chocolate cake to celebrate their actual birthday ahead of the blow-out party they'd planned on the weekend.
As they had done on every birthday before, the twins had cut the decadent cake and exchanged a kiss.
It had been as brief as any they'd ever exchanged, but their eyes had collided just before their lips brushed each other and Charles's expression had startled his sister.
Startled her because it had reflected what she had been feeling, too.
She'd dismissed the feeling, thinking that it had to have been only sisterly love.
But had he really...?
