Jessa James - His Brother's Fiancée

He got it, the whole appeal of making him jealous, but for this long? And to get engaged? King had spent years trying to find holes in their relationship, hints that Effie was attracted to Thorne.

It had always been obvious that Thorne was into Effie, but that hadn’t ever bothered him. But her? It just didn’t fit.

More importantly, why didn’t she just accept my ultimatum? he wondered.

But that was a question he couldn’t ever ask. The expiration date had long since passed.

King shut off the shower and stepped onto the radiant-heated floors. As he began to towel himself off, the same familiar tune that always entranced him got stuck in his brain.

He hummed Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, the song that dragged him back to his childhood and wouldn’t let him go no matter how hard he tried.

King couldn’t even begin to imagine how many afternoons he’d spent at the piano while the teacher slapped his knuckles with a ruler for any errant move. Thorne sat nearby, rigid in the wooden seat, waiting for his turn. With every slap of the rules, King could see Thorne close his eyes as if it hurt him just as badly.

He pulled on a threadbare pair of jeans and thick flannel shirt. As soon as he opened the bedroom door, he nearly bumped right into Effie.

She emerged from the guest shower, hair damp and beginning to curl. The familiar rose scent that gushed from her, from the bathroom, almost knocked him down. He felt like he was seventeen again, and they were freshly in love.

King hadn’t realized until this moment that it wasn’t just the shampoo, it was the shampoo and her . The rose oil he’d been massaging into his own hair was nothing compared to the magic that happened when she used it.

Effie bit her lip and looked down. She was in one of the thick terry cloth robes that the caretakers kept impeccably bleached and fluffy. Too large for her, even tied at her waist twice, it gaped at the chest.

King knew the lines, the slope, of her breasts well. And he knew that just an inch away were those perfect pink nipples that would harden instantly with the slightest touch.

“We have the same shampoo,” Effie said.

“What?”

She gestured to the bathroom. “It’s weird, the shampoo in there is the same that I use.”

“Oh. I guess that is strange. I don’t know, the caretakers stock everything.”

Yeah, she was still hot. There was no denying that. But that didn’t make up for what she did, he told himself.

What was he expecting, anyway? Even if something did happen right now, so what?

And it easily could. She was shaken up, vulnerable, and probably eager to get back at Thorne.

But this was a cycle he was going to break. He wasn’t going to play sloppy seconds to Thorne, even if his brother hadn’t had a problem with the role.

Still … he couldn’t stop staring at her perfect breasts, nearly exposed. Or the collarbone with the deep divots. He could remember how salty it got in the summer after they’d spent the day hiking—

“Hey!” Effie snapped her fingers and his eyes shot to her. “My eyes are up here. Or did you forget?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, and pushed by her, but not before he saw her roll her eyes.

“Please,” she said. He heard her pad behind him down the hall towards the kitchen. “You’re trying to tell me you weren’t looking?”

“I wasn’t.” King busied himself with the Keurig machine.

“Men are always looking.” He heard a scrape as she pulled out one of the heavy chairs. King took a deep breath and willed himself not to tell her to take it easy.

“I see you’ve become pretty full of yourself.”

“I don’t mean just me,” she said. “All women. We’re objects, adornments.”

“I’m pretty sure objects and adornments don’t talk.”

“Whatever.”

King watched her in the reflection of the glass French kitchen cabinets while he waited for his cup to fill. Effie had pulled out a romance novel and was already lost in it.

When he turned around, he was intent on having his coffee in the great room, but something about seeing her like that—just like it was in high school—infused him with a fresh sense of rage.

“Those shit books are as dog-eared and covers are as filthy as I remember,” he said. “In fact… didn’t you read this exact same one in high school?”

She glared up at him. “Like you would know. Or remember.”

“Sure I remember.”

Effie put down the book. “Tell me one, one romance book that I’ve read that you remember. Not this one. Just the title, that’s all.”

“Jesus, Effie, you expect me to remember—”

“I don’t expect anything from you. You’re the one who said you think you remember what books I read in high school.”

“I was just saying they’re all the same, it might as well be the same one. Don’t take everything so literally.”

She gave a short laugh. “You know, at least the heroes of romance novels always take care of their women. Real men could learn from them.”

King couldn’t help it. He took the bait and sat down across from her. At this angle, on a level playing field, at least at wasn’t as easy to look down her robe.

“And you’re an expert on men, huh?”

Effie glared at him. “When do you think we should be able to leave?”

“Smooth transition. Maybe tomorrow. You in a rush? Figured out where you’re going to go?”

Effie turned red. It was the same, cute embarrassed flush he remembered from when she was sixteen and got the top prize at the summer fair for her Ag age group.

“Not exactly,” she said. “I mean, Thor—well, you know. We weren’t exactly living together. Not officially.”

“Why the hell do you think I know that?”

“Do you not talk to your family at all?”

“Not if I can help it. And we certainly don’t sit around gossiping about you, if that’s what you’ve been thinking. Believe it or not, you’re not the most fascinating subject.”

“But I’m an adornment that can talk. What’s not fascinating about that?”

He wasn’t sure if he saw a glint of mischief in her eye before the power cut out.

“Fuck,” King said, and stood up brusquely to tend the fire.

Effie put her hands over her ears. “Take it easy on the chair scraping, why don’t you?”

King couldn’t be bothered to reply. They were lucky they still had daylight, and that he’d spent the past weekend chopping wood. Not that the cabin needed it.

There was a perpetual year’s worth of firewood just out the back door. It was his mom’s one self-admitted “bourgeois” trait. She couldn’t stand the thought of not always having a completely full supply of kindling and logs.

He felt Effie’s presence as he stoked the flames.

“Can you do anything about the electricity?” she asked.

“Nope. Sorry, princess. It looks like the castle you barreled into isn’t the fairest in the kingdom.”

“King, stop.” For a moment, he heard the real Effie. The one he knew, the one that was still part of her.

He sighed. “Alright. All we can do is make ourselves comfortable and ride it out. Get the blankets from the hall closet?”

A few seconds without her right there, that’s all he needed. Then he could snap himself out of the semi-trance she had him in.

But it wasn’t that easy. She arrived with armfuls of wool blankets and quilts.

“I didn’t get the down ones, I’m allergic,” she said. “Remember?”

“What kind of vet is allergic to feathers?”

“Uh, the kind that doesn’t specialize in fowl? And I’m a tech, not a veterinarian.”

When she bent down slightly to pile them on the couch, he could have sworn he saw everything. And he couldn’t tell if it was purposeful or not.