The Elliotts: Secret Affairs: The Forbidden Twin

After she left, her grandfather turned to Scarlet. “Do you know what Finola was talking about?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

He looked away, saying nothing. Scarlet didn’t know whether he was telling the truth or bluffing.

Scarlet wished John was beside her, holding her hand, defusing the situation. He was diplomatic. He would know how to change the mood. She was too emotionally involved and didn’t dare get into it. Instead no one spoke the rest of the evening beyond necessary, polite words.

When she climbed into bed later, she eyed her phone. She knew John’s number by heart now. She wanted to hear his voice, but needed to come up with a reason to call ….

Food. Food was always a safe topic. She would ask him if she should pick up something to eat tomorrow on her way to his place. He would have appetizers at the gallery, but not dinner, and she wasn’t planning to stay for dinner at JoJo’s, just to have a drink and show her face.

She dialed. The phone rang four times, then his answering machine picked up. She didn’t wait for the beep, but hung up. She glanced at the clock—almost midnight—and tossed the phone out of reach.

Neither of them ever questioned what the other had done on nights when they weren’t together, but this was the first time she’d called and not found him at home.

Jealousy reared up. She tamped it down. He’d said they didn’t have an exclusive arrangement, but she didn’t buy it. He wasn’t a player. But she was curious about why he wasn’t home yet.

Of course, she had no business calling him at midnight on a work night, when most people were sleeping, and especially to ask a question she could talk to him about the next day. He would see through her ploy. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care. Let him think what he would.

The phone rang. She leaped across the bed to grab it.

“Hey!” Summer said. “Where’ve you been all night? I’ve been calling for hours.”

Scarlet settled into her pillows, the phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she adjusted the bedding. Her disappointment that it wasn’t John disappeared. “At the symphony with the Grands. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to let you know that we’re coming home a day early. The twenty-eighth instead of the twenty-ninth.”

One less night. “How come?”

“I’m homesick.”

“Really?”

Summer laughed. “No. Well, kind of. Zeke’s got a meeting in New York on the twenty-ninth. This is not for public broadcast yet, but he’s going to do the music and lyrics for a rock musical.”

“Good for him!”

“We think so, too, especially since it means we’d get to live close to home.”

“You’re going to live together?” Scarlet had assumed they would, but having it confirmed—

“Well, yes. What did you think?”

“Are you coming back to work?” She recalled her grandfather assuming Summer wouldn’t return to the job, and had wondered, herself.

“I don’t know yet. I’m still figuring things out. Scar?”

“What?”

“You’ve seemed really distracted every time I’ve talked to you. This whole month. Longer than that, even. What’s going on?”

“Nothing worth talking about.”

Static crackled in the silence. “When I get home, we’ll catch up. When I can see your face, I’ll know whether there’s something I should know.”

She was right, of course. Nothing Scarlet could say or do would prevent Summer from seeing into her soul—her broken heart at that point, since her relationship with John would have ended.

“Are you planning your wedding yet?” Scarlet asked, changing the subject.

“Not yet. We don’t feel we need to hurry. Maybe at Christmas.”

“You’ll want the fairy tale, I think. It takes time to plan.”

“You’ll design my dress, won’t you?”

Scarlet smiled. “I already have.”

Summer’s voice softened. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Scarlet managed to say before her throat swelled shut.

“See you soon.”

“Okay. ‘Bye.”

Scarlet could never do anything to alienate her sister. Watching Fin tonight with Gram and Granddad settled that in Scarlet’s mind. Family came first. Always and forever.

There would be another man to love someday, she told herself as she turned off her bedside lamp.

Then she lay there in the dark, alone, denying herself the luxury of tears.

Eleven

As director of sales for Snap, the celebrity-watcher magazine of the EPH empire, Cullen Elliott had worked closely with John for several years. Almost the same age, they also had a friendship unrelated to the business, having known each other longer than John had known Summer and Scarlet. The men golfed together. Challenged each other. Wagered with each other, too. John liked Cullen and was glad the friendship hadn’t been strained when the engagement ended.

“I can’t believe you beat me by thirteen strokes,” Cullen muttered as they rode the elevator to John’s apartment late Saturday afternoon after a long day golfing. “How long has it been since you played?”

John smiled leisurely. “I told you. The last time you and I played. October, I think.”

“You didn’t squeeze in a round or two while you were in L.A. last month?”

“Nope. But conditions weren’t the best today.”

“Don’t be condescending.”

John grinned as they exited the elevator and walked down the hall. Usually a prankster, Cullen had seemed to be forcing jokes all day, so John hesitated before he spoke again, not knowing whether he should discuss what he’d observed.

“You did seem off your game,” he said finally. “And distracted. Woman trouble?”