Finding Him (Covet 2)

Chapter One

JULIAN

They say you never come back from death the same. I was evidence of that. Everything felt foreign, like I wasn’t supposed to be in my own body, like something had altered my soul while I was sleeping and when it returned, it didn’t quite fit in the body that woke up.

I snorted into my whiskey as the people around me talked in hushed voices like they were afraid my mom was going to jolt awake in the casket if they were too loud.

She was dead.

Dead.

I’d just seen her a week ago at the hospital; she’d been suffering with gastroparesis, a disease that made it impossible to digest food and sometimes even water. She’d been doing so well, and then one minor infection sent her into a downward spiral that even the best doctors money could buy couldn’t fix. Couldn’t help. Couldn’t save.

An infection. Like a paper cut that gets ugly and red and refuses to go away, that’s why she lost her life, not even the fucking disease but a side effect.

It was like she knew something was wrong. Right before she died, she’d made me promise to reconcile fully with the very twin brother who had stolen my life.

While I was in a coma.

How’s that for a blockbuster movie?

And that ridiculously beautiful and intelligent woman had told me she loved me and made me say it—made me promise to try to be the bigger person—out loud. It was the last time I saw her, the last time I held her hand.

Her hands were cold now.

Placed at her sides perfectly, her makeup flawless, her dark silky hair arranged around her head like she was merely sleeping and waiting for her prince to rescue her, though we all knew the ugly truth. My father had been more dragon than prince, and the fact that she made it through their marriage unscathed was a miracle. He thought money meant he didn’t have to suffer consequences and that love could be bought. He had no idea that the price would always be something he could never afford.

“How are you holding up?” My brother Bridge’s voice interrupted my morose thoughts and intense concentration in the direction of the room that held our mother’s body.

I didn’t want a viewing.

Neither did Bridge.

But it was never just about us.

It was about our family name.

About what our father would also want, even though he no longer controlled Tennyson Financial, the largest financial corporation in the US. Even though he divorced our mother and cast her aside when we were teenagers, splitting my brother and me up in the process. I remained with my father, while Bridge lived with our mother.

But today, my father wanted the world to see the Tennyson men gather in strength, and I’d like to think that the bastard even suffered a bit of a broken heart at the sight of the love of his life without breath in her lungs and warmth on her skin.

The old Julian would have said he deserved it.

The Julian that woke up from that coma couldn’t even look in the direction of the casket without tearing up and wanting to throw glassware all over the mansion.

“Fine.” My voice was clipped, forced. “I’m fine, you?” I took another slow sip, my jaw clenched as Bridge stared me down.

We were identical twins.

He was a bit broader than I was, but now that I’d taken up lifting in order to work out the rage I had over the fact that he’d stolen my fiancée, it was even harder to tell us apart.

“Liar.” He tilted the bottle of Jack into my glass. I let him, because I wasn’t numb yet, because it hurt, because I had nobody to talk to.

Because I couldn’t talk to him, not when I was still so angry at him.

It had been four months, and I still couldn’t look at Izzy, who was now his wife. Because then I’d see the pity in her eyes, the sadness, the need for me to forgive her so she could get rid of her own guilt.

“Yeah, well, I’m a Tennyson.” I lifted the glass to my lips. “What else you got?”

“You’ve been distracted lately.” He pointed out the obvious, making my teeth clench. I needed him to be hateful, not caring, so I could continue hating him.

I scowled. “Can we not do this? Not only is the place crawling with media, but I don’t need another lecture from my big brother on how to run my own company.”

“That’s not what this is about.” He lowered his voice. “This is about you running yourself ragged, showing up to work looking like you haven’t slept in years, dark circles under your eyes, cracked knuckles like the punching bag you spar with was pissing you off too much, the constant bouts of shouting I hear coming from your office when your secretary forgets to remove a staple before you shred something.”