I stared at the female equivalent of Jethro. Out of all of Jethro’s siblings, his sister looked the most like him. Jethro was the diamond—sharp, faceted, and so pristinely perfect he shot rainbows from every angle. This woman was the mirror image. Her dark hair was sliced with precision, hanging like a silk curtain just past her jaw. Her eyes were more bronze than gold while her round cheeks and full lips were the direct contradiction of sweet but sultry.
I drifted forward, stumbling a little as my vertigo played with the outskirts of my vision.
The woman didn’t move, just waited for me to go to her.
Her fingers locked together in her lap, her entire lower half covered by the plush blanket.
When I stood awkwardly in front of her, she motioned toward her bed. The covers hadn’t been turned down and it didn’t look slept in. The crisp yellow of her linen looked like a lemon meringue pie and just as delicious.
“Sit, please.”
I sat. Not because of her order, but because my wobbly legs refused to stand any longer. Who was this woman, and why did she look at me as if she knew everything about me?
I blushed.
Everything?
God, I hoped not. How could I face Jethro’s sister if she knew how much I wanted him? How could I look her in the eye knowing I’d had her brother inside me, and despite my conflicted emotions, wanted him every second of every damn day?
“Do you talk or did you make a vow of silence before entering my room?” The woman cocked her head, her hair cascading perfectly in glossy heaviness.
Shaking my head, I swallowed. “No. No, vow.”
We stared at each other. Her assessing me and me assessing her. Two women of similar age, with a man in the centre polluting our right to be strangers. We’d only just met, but whatever we said would be weighed and found wanting, knowing we weren’t on equal footing.
The thought depressed me.
She held a permanent place in Jethro’s life. He openly adored her—I could tell just by looking at her.
I was jealous.
I was sad and happy at the same time.
I hadn’t come here looking to make a friend, but I hadn’t come here expecting to find her, either.
“Should we start simple or would you rather get to the heart of the matter?”
I shifted higher on her bed. “I think starting with the truth would be more beneficial. Don’t you?”
A ghost of a smile tilted her lips. “Ah, now I get it.”
“Get what?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why my brother is struggling.”
My heart flip-flopped. “Jethro?”
She nodded.
“How is he struggling?” I didn’t dare hope for an answer. Could it truly be that easy?
The woman laughed quietly. “You truly do go for the heart.”
What does that mean?
Was it a simple turn of phrase playing on her last words or had Jethro said I’d captured his heart? I’d tried to ensnare him with my games of seduction and beguile. But perhaps by giving him my love...I’d stolen his in return?
Could that be true?
