Page 68 of The Twins

ACT THREE

“I will never unsee this night.”

Remo

SAN RICARDO - 20 YEARS OLD

The waitress leaveswith our order. I don’t gaze after her skirt. It’s pleated, ironed to perfection. There’s not a stain on it.

I used to like coming here when I was younger. Mom and Dad knew the owner. It’s one of the old establishments, and it needs an upgrade to arrive in the twenty-first century, but hey, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. At one point in time, it reminded me of home.

“Why are you leaving me?” I ask instantly.

Mr. David takes off his coat with a sharp exhale. It distracts me. I haven’t seen anyone as gorgeous as this man in months. His dark hair is combed to perfection, messy, and styled at the same time. It’s starting to show salt and pepper elements, but the man works it like he doesn’t have a care in the world that he’s getting older. As he should.

His face is stubble-free, and he smells like he just came out of the shower. Mind you, we’ve been busy all day at my mom’s funeral service. He’s a known figure, and everyone wants to shake his hand whenever he shows up at events. Ask for favors. I doubt that they held back today because there was a funeral.

Still, Mr. David’s warm chestnut eyes haven’t lost their spark. He doesn’t complain. He shows up as the perfect version of himself, and he does what he needs to do. Charm everyone with his new and improved body, a body he’s seemingly been living and breathing in the gym for.

Why can’t he tone it the fuck down for the day of my mother’s funeral?

Fuck him.

You wish.

“I’m not leaving you,” Mr. David replies, and the serenity of his voice infuriates me. My heart pounds at his audacity.

“You dragged me out of my home to explain why you were selling your house. What the fuck is going on?” I ask, balling my fists. I take a deep breath and open my hand, placing my flat palm on my thigh.

I can’t keep this up.

But I don’t know how not to be angry.

“I’m not leaving you,” Mr. David repeats. He places an arm on the table. His hand openly invites me. I don’t move. I stare at his beautiful hand, and I remain quiet. “Can I hold your hand, Remo?”

“No,” I hiss.

“I bought a house near Fort Mote,” he announces, and I implode. Tilting my head, I peer outside. It’s dark, and there’s nothing nearby, no lights and no homes. The road’s deserted, and the mayor hasn’t bothered upgrading it since I graduated high school.

I can’t breathe after what he said.

“And I want you to move in with me.”

“Excuse me?” I croak. I grab the icy water the waitress brought earlier, and I down my share.

“Pack your bags,” Mr. David says, leaning back on his side of the booth. His arms are spread, and his thumb plays with the leather of the bench he sits on. He’s like an eagle, eager to lure me into his trap.

He doesn’t smirk at me, but his amusement is plastered all over his face.

Spontaneity is not my forte. I rise from my side of the booth, but Mr. David grabs me by my arm. “Sit back down. Open your mouth. Say what you want to say.”

I groan—

“Do not groan at me,” he demands, and I twitch. He doesn’t scold me often, but when he does, it messes with me. It makes me want to drop to my knees and ask for forgiveness. As much as I’ve separated myself from that playful and horny Remo, I can’t resist.

I don’t understand what Mr. David is saying.

Defeated, I return to my seat. I leave my hands above the table, but I can’t touch him just yet. His offer still stands, but he doesn’t push it further. He asks, “What do you have to say?”

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