Page 2 of The Love Scam
(why????)
bottles of water.
“Venice?” he sputtered, spitting a stream of foul water back into the larger stream of foul water that was the Grand Canal.“I’m in fucking Venice?”
Another Prologue
NEW CHARITY DIRECTOR
Venice, Italy*: The executive director of Support San Basso Families has announced the hire of a new director, Ronald Kovac.
“Mr. Kovac brings to SSBF a decade of running American charitable programs, and we are very excited that he is joining the efforts to raise money for local families in need.”
Mr. Kovac, a native of Colorado, U.S.A., has announced that due to fund-raising efforts he undertook prior to officially taking the job, SSBF will be able to donate 200,000 euros to local families in need in time for Easter. The money will go toward housing repair and food.
“We are tremendously excited to have Mr. Kovac on board at our fine institution. We believe that, as San Basso was once a church and the building has been a part of our history for over a thousand years, SSBF is getting back to its roots, so to speak, by giving back to the community.”
Kovac is a graduate of Harvard Divinity School as well as Harvard Business School.
Media Contact:
SSBF Executive Director
Share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.*
—Hebrews 13:16
One
Months before fucking Venice…
Rake rubbed his forehead and fought down a groan as his twin took the seat across from him. They hadn’t seen each other in months, which was good for all: the two of them, their mother, the population of Las Vegas, society in general.
He sighed and tried to straighten. The movement sent a wall of pain slamming through his brain. “Not that I don’t love being treated to your scowling face in the wee hours—”
Blake sighed. “It’s ten-thirty in the morning.”
“—but why am I here?” Beside his brother, who sat with perfect posture and was wearing a suit at oh-God-thirty in the morning (though he was his own boss and could lounge in jeans and a T-shirt), Rake felt distinctly rumpled. Possibly because hewasdistinctly rumpled.
Blake’s dark blond hair was meticulously trimmed, his blue eyes meticulously not bloodshot. Savile Row on the man’s back, Armani on his wrist, and no doubt something fancy on his feet. Rake slouched lower and looked: yep. Blackand shiny. Definitely expensive. The two of them were a before-and-after picture.
Worse, Blake hadn’t insisted on a meeting at dawn so Rake could admire his twin’s dapperness. (That was a word, right?) Something was up.
He struggled upright. “Is Mom okay? Please say Mom’s okay. A hangover plus Blake plus Mom is just exhausting to think about.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. Sometime in the night, his tongue had been switched out for a wad of cotton. A dirty wad that tasted like booze. “My headisstill attached to my body, right? It didn’t blow up or anything?” He gingerly felt his skull, worried his fingers would sink into it like bread dough. “My brain feels really explodey.”
Blake snorted. “Stop making up words, you hungover troglodyte.”
Rake nearly spit all over himself; probably wasn’t the best time to gulp his water. “I will if you will!”Wow. That didn’t sound childish AT ALL. God, why do I let Blake get to me like this? Why does he goad me? We’re almost thirty!
“Troglodyteis a real word!” Rake cheered up a bit to see Blake’s famously even temper was splintering.
“God, why do I ever reach out to you?”
“Dunno.” He did know, but would never say. They’d always been different, always fought, but underneath it all was something like love, or at least loyalty, or at least not hate. So Rake would think, but never say,You reach out because you’re lonely. Because you’re a stereotype—the uptight rich guy who needs tru luv to loosen up. And I’m your screwup brother who occasionally needs guidance but never admits it, because I’m a stereotype, too. And around and around we go.“But it makes you nuts, so I don’t know why you don’t quit it.” Rake finished his water,and now grabbed Blake’s.Ah, water, sweet water of life. Wait. Water of life?
“God help us when you become a father.”
