Chapter One
Wind flapped Jason Lyall’s open coat toward the window of his favourite restaurant, where Caroline sat over candlelight, laughing. With her current boyfriend.
Half a year ago, Jason had tried to make her laugh like that. He’d always missed the mark—no matter how much he wished for it, they’d never clicked. Not like that . . .
He smiled wistfully. Not for Caroline, but for the idea of her. A partner to come home to each night. Someone to be his most ridiculous self with. Someone who loved him regardless.
Because of, even.
He schlepped past the restaurant, bowing his head over a text message to his brother (be there in 2 mins), and traipsed through the dark up the light-speckled hill toward the villa he’d grown up in. The quarter-acre patch his parents had left him.
The wind tossed dark hair into his eyes; he concentrated on the tickle over his skin and not the hollowness expanding on the inside. When exactly did he get this pathetic?
He chuckled.
Silly.
He used to be vibrant. Full of energy. All colour on a grey day.
Now, at twenty-six, five years after finishing university, he was . . . bored? Boring? Lonely? Antsy?
Not that he could really complain. He was an accomplished pianist, he’d travelled the world, performed with international orchestras, he had his own home. It was just . . .
He pushed the vision of happy Caroline out of his mind, laughing at himself. Pull it together.
He waved to his brother from the gate and closed it behind him. Tall lavender either side of the path bent with another gust. Carl pushed off the porch chair and rose to his feet.
Jason’s breath caught.
It always did, seeing his brother. It wasn’t any one particular feature that momentarily shook Jason; it was the combination. Carl was medium height, his smile dimpled either side of his cheeks, his bright blue eyes thickly framed with black lashes. A slightly upturned nose gave him a cute air, and there was a tiny freckle at his jaw.
It was Jason’s face. His exact face.
He’d be used to it if they’d grown up in the same family, but Jason and Carl had met accidentally three years ago, when Jason had performed Bach and Chopin in Sydney. One of those Holy Shit moments that rarely happen in life, and he’d never thought would happen to him.
Carl was his twin.
After the initial shock, they’d swapped stories, speculated, and hired a private detective to probe into the matter. They learned they’d been born to a teenage mum whose aunt had adopted one of them. The other—Jason—had been put up for adoption.
Since then, they’d loosely kept in touch, but other than genetics he and Carl had little in common—not even a birthday, since Jason was born on December 21st and Carl on the 22nd, fifteen minutes later. Carl showing up short notice like this . . . it was a bit mind-boggling.
It seemed more the sort of out-of-left-field type of thing a Sagittarian would do.
In fact, this visit reminded Jason of the Jason he used to be.
The Jason he wanted to be again.
Before another ache could take him hostage, he smiled and opened his arms for an awkward embrace. Carl laughed, and the rhythm of it—just like his own—set off another wave of goosebumps.
Jason withdrew and let them inside. Carl peeked around the villa’s airy rooms with their sparse, elegant furnishings, while Jason uncorked a much needed bottle of wine. His eyes flickered between bottle and brother.