Page 47 of The Fling (Close Quarters 2)

How are we going to get through the dinner tonight without giving our secret up?

Halfway through the night, it’s time for our presentation. Flynn and I stand at the front of the room, trying not to look at one another lest we give the game away. We’ve got a portable projector that displays the images we chose onto the wall behind us—including the one of Presley and I with our faces covered in cake and buttercream.

“Having a twin is a complicated thing,” I say. “It’s impossible for people not to compare you and when your twin is the girl who could do it all...”

Presley watches me, a little wrinkle between her brows. Tonight she’s wearing a silky dress in pale gold, with her hair in big, bouncy curls. But she looks at me like no one else in the room matters. She only wants to hear what I have to say.

“It was hard, being compared to someone like her. But you see, it’s impossible not to like Presley as I’m sure you’re all aware. She’s generous—with her time and her affection and her advice. She’s kind, thoughtful. She’s a good friend.” I smile at her across the table. “She’s also got a terrible sense of humour that revolves entirely around puns so bad they make Dad jokes look cool.”

The table titters and Presley’s grin grows even wider.

“She’s also incredibly forgiving. God only knows she’s had a lot of practise, because this...” I point to the picture of us with pink hair and wide smiles and messy faces. “Was totally my fault.”

“It was!” She laughs and points at me.

“But you see, Presley doesn’t hold a grudge. No matter how many times I left, no matter how many we fought or sniped at one another or stole each other’s shoes, she would always forgive me.” I swallow back a surprising lump of emotion in my throat. “And so when I think about being compared to someone like her, I feel...proud. Proud to call her my sister and proud to have grown up with such a strong yet gentle woman. People don’t think those two traits go together, but if you’re with Presley for more than five minutes you’ll see that they do.”

Her eyes shimmer, and she swipes a tear from her cheek. Mike sits beside her, looking stony-faced, not even trying to appear like he’s interested in what I have to say. When I falter, Flynn pushes a hand against my lower back, as if to steady me. His presence gives me power to stand up in front of this room and share my feelings—something I have never done before.

With him by my side, I feel like I can tackle anything.

After the dinner is over, Presley pulls me to one side and tackle hugs me. “Easy, Care Bear,” I say.

“I hate it when we fight.” She looks at me with glimmering eyes. “I know you and Mike don’t get along—”

“I shouldn’t have been so vocal about it.” I shake my head. “He’s going to be your husband and you’re a grown woman. It’s your decision, so I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I want you to feel like you can talk to me. About anything.”

“There’s talking and there’s...judging.” I bob my head. “I crossed the line, Pres. I’m sorry.”

She looks like she wants to say something else, but instead she sucks on her lower lip. The truth is, Idon’tlike Mike. I think he’ll be bad for her—not in the way Flynn is bad for me, but properly bad.

However, I can’t complain about people judging me and then turn around and do exactly the same thing to Presley. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t ruin her big day. I need to stick by that, enjoy the time I have with her.

“So we’re not fighting anymore?” she asks.

“No, we’re not fighting.” I sling an arm around her shoulders and rest my head against hers.

Across the room, Flynn catches my eye and the corner of his lip lifts automatically, before he sharply looks away.

“Now, what isthatabout?” Presley asks.

“Subtle as a sledgehammer, he is.” I roll my eyes.

“Are you two...?” She shakes her head. “No, I’m imagining things.”

The cheeky grin that emerges, despite me knowing we’ve agreed to keep things quiet, totally betrays us.

“You are!”

“Shh.” I pull her farther away from the event. “It’s nothing, we’re just...”

I can’t even explain it to myself.

“A redhead, huh? He’s cute.” She smiles, clearly chuffed to be in on the secret. “Are you happy?”

“Yeah, I am.” For the first time in months I am truly, blissfully, categorically happy. “I really am.”

---