“Because…” Because I thought I was in love with you. “Because I thought I could stop your stupid plan.” Nice save. “Do you honestly think Isabella’s going to miraculously fall into your arms? Your brother is devastated. I can’t believe I ever—” Shut up, Jess. “You’ve got to fix this. The wedding is a week away.”
Keats studies me. “You really did all this just to stop me?” After a pause, he lets go of my wrists.
“Yes,” I say, forcing myself to look him in the eye without flinching.
Big mistake. His blue ones are now more awake and searching mine. I keep my chin defiantly up.
“And you never really had a thing for Byron?” His eyes are narrowed like he’s trying to figure something out.
“That’s right,” I say, unsure how much to reveal. How did he turn this conversation around to me?
“You’ve been lying to me all this time?”
I push him in the chest. “Fix this thing with your brother and Isabella.”
“I can’t.”
“You cannot be happy about this? Are you?”
“I don’t know. I can’t believe…it worked…” He rakes his fingers through his hair, eyes distant as he grabs a tuft of his shorn locks on top.
“Well it did. And Byron knows you kissed Isabella.”
Keats eyes finally widen to their normal size, like he’s finally properly awake. “Where is she now?”
“You’re an arsehole.”
“I just need to talk to her.”
“Tell her what you did, Keats, or I will. You’ve got twenty-four hours.”
Terry suddenly goes wild outside, and a minute later there is a banging on the door. Keats opens it a crack but it’s pushed open by Isabella who, considering she’s only 5’2”, teetering on sky-high heels and starving, is pretty strong. She slams it hard before the McAllisters’ noisy dog could get in.
Turning to Keats, Isabella reaches up and surprises us both by pulling his head down to hers for a kiss. I grimace when he kisses her back, at which point Isabella shoves him away, then bitch slaps him hard across the face. The sound reverberates around the high ceiling of the old Queenslander home, the smack leaving a red hand print on Keats’ cheek.
“I thought so. You bastard,” she hisses at him, eyes still a bit red and puffy from her earlier bout of bawling. “You were supposed to watch out for Byron last night. You expect me to believe it was his idea to come home with Jada?”
“I can explain,” Keats says, the frown on his forehead telling me he’s scrambling to get his head around his morning so far. He places fingertips at his temples as if he’s developed a splitting headache. He looks up and sees me, opens his mouth as if to say something but shuts it again.
Isabella follows his gaze and notices me for the first time.
“Hi, Jess. What are you doing here?”
Why does she keep asking me that?
“I was just…”
She looks from me to Keats, her lawyer brain working overtime. “Is there something going on between you two?”
I am insulted by how incredulous she sounds. I’m tempted to tell her I’ve gone further than her around her ex-boyfriend’s make-out field—a home run, in fact, complete with fireworks. But Keats doesn’t say anything, and it’s not like he’s come back for more, so maybe it’s not much to brag about after all.
“No.” The truth is easy to say but hard to admit out loud, even to myself. “You two have a lot of things to talk about here. I better go.” I turn on my heel to leave.
“Hay-gen, wait.” Keats catches up to me just before I reach for the door knob.
“Piss off,” I snap quietly at him, mindful of Isabella watching us, arms crossed in front of her. “Why don’t you go suck face with your brother’s fiancée again?” I turn away, but his strong fingers grab my upper arm.
“Why are you mad?” he asks as he half-turns me to face him.
“Why do you care?”
When he doesn’t answer, I shrug his hand off my arm.
I reach for the door knob again but it turns before I touch it. Byron’s eyes widen when he sees me, but as soon as he notices his brother, then his fiancée over Keats’ shoulder, he regains his momentum. He barges right in, grabbing Keats by the shirt front and bodily lifts him to push him against a wall.
“What the fuck, arsehole?” Byron says.
Keats pushes him away. What a shit day for him—three people trying to kill him before he’s even had his coffee. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
Byron takes a menacing step towards Keats again but Isabella inserts herself in between them, stopping her fiancé’s progress with a hand to his chest.
“I’m sorry, pal. I had to give it a shot,” Keats tells his brother over her head.
“You didn’t have to do shit. She’s my fiancée.”
“She was my girlfriend first till you stole her.”
“He didn’t steal me, Keats,” Isabella pipes in.
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to witness this but I can’t seem to walk away.
The brothers continue to glare at each as if she hadn’t spoken. Like catwalk models about to have a showdown, their intense expressions are smouldering. You can cut the barely contained hostility between them with a knife, the air ready to boom like thunder if they clash. I can’t believe Isabella has two great guys after her.
This is just depressing.
“I thought I was in love with her,” Keats says, looking the most unsure that I have ever seen him.
“I am in love with her.” Byron’s eyes flick to Isabella and the small smile they exchange tells me they’ve already forgiven each other for this morning’s stoush. “And I was in love with her when you two were going out. But I still fought like crazy not to do anything about it. I’ve just confronted Jada. She told me thephotos were your idea, arsehole.”
“You slept with my girlfriend while I was still going out with her, fuck nut,” Keats fires back.
“Hello?
