Page 87 of The Playboy Billionaire

“I’ve watched your tapes, April. Spoken to your old teachers at the conservatoire.”

I don’t think I’d be more shocked if she struck me.

Scarlett shrugs. “Why did you drop out? According to your teachers, you had a promising future.”

I shake my head and grab my bag. My past is my past. It needs to stay there.

“Why April?” Her voice is unapologetic, making me drop my bag and spin around to face her.

“Why?” I snap, unable to help myself. “Because I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I had no one to pave my way. No support. From eighteen, I was alone. I was expected to stand on my own two feet according to the state.”

There is no way she could understand.

I close my eyes and inhale deeply. When I open them again and exhale, I look at Scarlett. “Sorry, that was rude.” She waves away my apology as if unnecessary, but I know I need to explain. “My student loan covered my tuition, but to live, I worked two jobs on top of studying, twenty hours a week in the evenings, just to get by.”

I lower my voice. I hate discussing my past and what might have been.

“Then studying began to clash with work,” I add more calmly. “One could not survive without the other. Believe me, I tried. In the end, I burnt out.”

When I finally look at Scarlett, I see her arms folded over her chest. Her face gives nothing away after my outburst.

“Tell me what was wrong with the routine, April.”

With nothing left to lose—that’s exactly what I do.

CHAPTER 37

CALEB

April has been avoiding me again. She has worked with the team in the office, and I know she’s been attending and teaching classes at Scarlett’s. However, she may as well be a ghost where I'm concerned. I come home, and she’s out or holed up in her room. I wouldn't know she was living with me if it wasn’t for a single pair of shoes on the shoe rack by the door. We no longer eat together. Dinner is left conveniently in the warming drawer.

Tonight, I know she’s out.

A message scrawled in her handwriting is waiting for me when I make it out of the gym. She’s gone to the movies with one of the dancers from Scarlett’s studio. The letter smells of her. Her floral scent clings to the paper. I’m becoming a sad sap, sniffing at a piece of paper, but I can’t help myself. April Wilson has rankled me, making me behave like a lovesick teenager.

Not tonight, however. If she’s out, then it’s boys’ night. I call the boys, and poker night is on, at mine. It’s been weeks since I hosted—since my house guest arrived. Something the boys have mocked me for, relentlessly.

The doorbell goes. The guys have the key code to my floor. I’ve known them forever, and it makes life easier, especially when they stay over. Tristan, Quentin, and Xander walk in. Tristan carrying wine, Xander beer, and Quentin an enormous box of Chinese takeaway from our favourite restaurant.

The elevator pings behind them. My twin, Gabriel, steps out.

Gabriel has taken to joining us on boys’ nights as Leah uses the time for her girlie evenings. He has tried to deny it, but I think he secretly enjoys getting out and reconnecting with the guys.

Tonight, the girls are invading Leah and Gabriel’s apartment, which means Callum isn’t here. For playboy men, my cool dude of a nephew certainly gets a lot of attention. When the girls go out, Gabriel brings him, or we go to his. Poker goes to hell on those nights, with five grown-ass men cooing and ahh-ing over the little man.

“How’s Callum? Was it colic?” Quentin asks Gabriel.

What? Colic? How does Quentin know about Callum’s colic?

I watch my brother’s expression soften as he looks at our old school friend. I never thought I’d see the day my brother let down his walls.

“He’s good. The colic seems to have passed. Great recommendation. Thank your old nanny.” It’s hard to believe my twin is a father. That he’s found his soulmate. And that’s no exaggeration. Leah is his other half. They’ve always complimented each other. It simply took them eight years to finally open their eyes to the fact.

Marcus slaps Gabriel on the back, and I nearly fall over when my brother smiles at him.

“It’ll be teething next.” It’s Xander who chirps up.

“Then crawling. We’ll all have to baby-proof our apartments,” Marcus adds.

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