Fraud

Ezra

How do I even start this?

Pacing the floor of the private banquet room I rented out in Emily’s favorite restaurant, I run my hands through my hair because I don’t know what to do.

This isn’t me.

The flowers.

The bullshit live quartet.

The silver domed dishes and flickering candles.

Small chandeliers glimmer above my head, the lighting low to be romantic.

I’m as out of my element here as I would be at a peace rally, and I can’t stay still because of it.

Locking my hands behind my back, I stare down at the scuffed toes of my boots. I never wear the bullshit polished loafers that Ta

I’ve only been here for ten minutes, but already I’ve stripped off the jacket, unknotted my tied, unbuttoned my collar and cuffs and rolled my sleeves up my forearms.

Part of it is the rage I feel, the need to tear shit apart because it’s easier than worrying about what Emily will say when she gets here.

The two waiters stare at me nervously from where they stand near a far door. Even the violinist keeps stealing quick glances my direction before flicking his gaze back to the music in front of him.

Nobody looks at me for too long except for the female cellist who has made it obvious she likes what she sees.

A monster.

A beast.

A loaded ca

This isn’t my scene, and yet I’m buried in it on Ivy’s suggestion. She thinks a grand display will convince Emily to work this out. But I have my doubts.

It was never supposed to end up like this. Emily was something fun when we first started fucking her. She was lashing out at her parents for promising her to Mason, and Damon and I were taking turns toying with her because she let us.

It was a game.

Something we did in high school for a handful of months that ended when we all left for college.

Everything changed when we saw her again at her engagement party. And now, here I stand like a heartsick punk, pacing the floor of a room I have no business being in.

I could destroy my brother doing this.

I could fuck up my own head.

Neither of us are all that well balanced to begin with.

Worse than that is the chance I’ll tear Emily’s heart apart even more when she shows up to discover I won’t give her up.

This is stupid.

Reckless.

It goes against everything I promised Damon back when we were still kids.

I shouldn’t be here.

And I can’t destroy him.

Not when he’s so close to the edge of rage all the time that there’s no telling what he might do.

Not that I’m that much further from the edge. Especially not now as my fingers curl into my palms, my hands tightening into fists. Pain shoots along my jaw when my teeth clench together, and my pulse pounds against my throat.

I shouldn’t be here.

And Emily isn’t coming.

A muscle in my jaw jumps as I turn to yank my jacket from the chair where I’d dropped it, my shoulders tight and biceps bunching as I march toward the doors to leave.

Fuck it all, I think. The best thing I can do is get drunk or high, to fucking knock some faceless asshole around in some nameless bar. It’s the only thing that helps relieve the energy inside me.

I’m almost to the door, my decision made when it opens before I can grab the handle. My eyes dart up, my stare hard and unwavering when Emily steps through.

Instantly, her eyes glance around the room. First surprise shines behind the turquoise color. Then confusion. Elation. Fear and sorrow. She runs the entire gamut of emotions in the first five seconds.

I turn and scowl at the roses and candles. The waiters and quartet. I shake my head and regret renting this place and hiring these people.

This isn’t me.

It isn’t Damon, and it’s not Emily.

None of us have ever been so classy.

She must be thinking the same thing. Her eyes dance to mine, our stares tangled and caught. Pale skin is framed by her red hair, freckles a faint splattering of pinpoint color across the bridge of her nose. They’ve always driven me wild.

And that mouth of hers, the one that drops me to my knees every time she opens it on a moan, the same pink, pouty lips that shimmer with spit when they’re wrapped around my cock, they scowl at me now because she knows why I brought her here.

This isn’t us.

We’re not flowers and string instruments, candles and cocktails. We’re not anything official because I’m bound to my twin brother and she’s bound to a marriage she doesn’t want.

Instead we’re dirty and wrong. Three si

How many times have I stared at her beautiful body, my hand pumping my cock while she rode Damon’s face? How many times has my tongue been between her legs while my brother fucked her mouth?

That was all it was supposed to be.

Until I made the fucked-up mistake of falling in love.

Just like Damon.

Just like Emily.

The only problem is that two brothers are never meant to share. Especially two brothers who want to possess a woman entirely.

“What is this?”

My eyes skate to the scene and back again as I jam my hands into my pockets and shrug a broad shoulder. “Ivy suggested it, but I’m not sure I’m feeling it anymore.”

Her gaze locks to mine. “Suggested it for what? I thought I was meeting Ivy here.”

Brows tugging together in confusion, concern flits behind her eyes, bright and accusing. A growl rumbles low in my chest at the sight of it, my hands fisting against my legs.

There’s no other thing to do than spit it out. I went through the ridiculous process of setting this up, I might as well make use of it.

“I want you to give us a shot. Just me and you. Nobody else.”

Even to my own ears, the words are pathetic, but I’m not a master strategist like Ta

I’m more accustomed to breaking arms and banging heads together to get it.

“We can’t do this,” she says, her voice soft, her eyes watering. There’s so much pain in her expression that it’s driving me insane.

She moves as if to open the door to leave, but I slam my palm against the wood to hold it shut. Emily flinches at the sudden sound, and I brace my forearms at the side of her head and cage her in place.

My hips rub against her stomach, and she trembles. Just like always when our bodies touch.

Dipping my head down so I can look in her eyes, I catch her chin with my fingers and brush my mouth to hers.

“You know you want this.”

“It’s not about what I want,” she insists, her voice fucking breathless and shaking.

A tear slips from her eye and I catch it with my thumb, lifting my hand to my mouth to suck it from my skin. There isn’t any part of her I’m willing to let go. Not her taste. Not her voice. Not her heart.

“You want this.”

Her eyes snap open, raw pain now melting the blue color until her eyes are the depth of the sea sinking so damn deep that I’m happy to drown in them.

“What do you think can come of this Ezra? What will we be? In agony like Ava and Mason every day? Two people who know that no matter how hard they love each other and how desperately they hang on, that in the end there’s nothing they can do about being torn apart? I’m marrying Mason in less than two years.”