Under the protection of my twin brother

Chapter 1. Dinner with Ghosts

Chapter 1.

The silence at the table was as thick as the cream sauce on the plate in front of me. I poked at it with my fork, pretending to eat. Every sound — the clink of crystal, the slight clatter of a knife on porcelain-sent a throbbing pain through my temple. Tod was sitting across from meТод. His posture was perfectly relaxed, but I could see the tension in his jaw. He was staring off into space over his father's left shoulder, a practiced trick of not making eye contact with him, but also not looking obsequious.

The father, Richard Radrigies, put down his knife and fork with a small, satisfied sound. His gaze, cold and appraising, moved slowly over Tod.

"So," he began, and the velvety voice with which he charmed partners and frightened servants filled the dining room. - The failure of the deal in Shanghai. Three million. They disappeared. Explain it.

Not "why did this happen". Not "what went wrong". Just " explain." Like a dog shitting on a carpet.

Tod didn't blink. — The supply data was tampered with. Our due diligence didn't work. I took it upon myself.

"I took it on myself," my father repeated, savoring the words. "How noble. And I took it upon myself to make calls to angry investors. I took it upon myself to personally fly there and fill up this fire you started with gasoline.

To her father's left, Evelyn's stepmother took a tiny sip of wine. Her face, always a perfect blend of polite undertones and mild sadness, didn't flinch. "Richard, dear, he admitted a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. Tod works so hard.

Her father didn't even look at her. His attention was on Tod like a spotlight. "Soft-spoken. Just like your late mother. She couldn't hold a punch, either. Running, hiding, crying.

The air in the room died out. I felt an icy chill run down my spine. Tod didn't move at the table, but I saw his knuckles turn white as they gripped the edge of the table. Under the table, our foot accidentally touched his. He didn't move away. The warm spot through the thin fabric of his trousers became the only fulcrum in the universe.

"Don't talk about her," Tod said. The voice was flat, but there was a ring of steel in it that only I knew.

My father smiled. That was the worst part-his smile. A cold, toothless shark. - Sensitive. This is also from her.

Then his gaze moved slowly toward me. I felt myself shrink inside, trying to make myself smaller, more invisible. His eyes, the color of old ice, rested on my face, then slid down to the neckline of my dress. I wanted to cover myself with my hands.

"And our princess is... blooming today," he said in a sweet, syrupy tone that made me feel sick. "It's like a painting. Isn't that right, Evelyn?

Evelyn nodded, her smile a little strained. "Sarah is always beautiful.

"Harvey Morgan called today," my father continued, leaning back in his chair. His fingers tapped on the polished wood. "He asked me if my pearl was engaged." I had to disappoint him.

My stomach turned cold. Harvey Morgan. My father's fat, sweaty friend with slitted eyes and hands that were always a little too wet. He looked at me at the last party like he was looking at a new car.

"I'm not a pearl," I said softly, before I could think.

My father raised an eyebrow. "Don't you?" But what is it? A diamond? Or maybe a cog in my empire who thinks he can have an opinion?

ТодUnder the table, Tod pressed his foot down hard on mine. Keep quiet.

At that moment, my father's phone rang, lying on a napkin next to me. He glanced at the screen, and something... familiar flashed across his face. Calculating. He picked up the phone.

"Harvey, old man! the voice was velvety and friendly again. "Yes, of course, I remember our conversation... yes, she's here. He's sitting across from me. Blooming before my eyes, honestly.

I couldn't take my eyes off his face. He was looking directly at me, but he was talking to the person on the other end of the phone.

"Huh?" my father chuckled softly, and that cold light flashed in his eyes. "Of course I'm watching. This is the most special gift for you. We agreed.

He hung up. The call didn't last more than a minute. But in that minute, something in the world shifted off its axis. "Keeping an eye out. The words hung in the air, heavy and venomous.

Evelyn cleared her throat. "Richard, that doesn't sound... right."

"Are you jealous?" her father turned to her, and there was a hint of mockery in his voice again. "Don't worry. I have another gift for you. Silence.

He stood up, pushing back his napkin. "Dinner's over. Tod, to my office in fifteen minutes. I need to clean up your s**t. He left without looking back.

Silence fell over us again, but this time it was the silence after the explosion. Evelyn stood up, her movements jerky. — I... need to check the kitchen." And she almost ran out of the dining room.

We were alone. I looked up at Tod. He was already looking at me. There was a storm in his dark, almost black eyes (like our mother's, I was told). Rage. Helplessness. And something else I was afraid to name.

He stood up abruptly, walked over to me, and held out his hand. I took it and he helped me up. His fingers were warm and firm. He didn't let go of my hand until we were out in the empty, softly lit hallway.

It smelled of old wood, expensive wax, and ... and fear. The eternal, ingrained fear of this house. Once, in another life, I think, it had smelled like cookies and my mother's perfume. But that smell was gone forever.

Tod stopped and turned to me. We were standing close. Too close for a brother and sister. I could see the tiny cracks of fatigue around his eyes, the shadow of stubble on his cheeks. It smelled like rain (Did it just arrive?) and something subtly Todian, amixture of soap, leather, and something sharp and metallic.

"Ignore it," he breathed. The voice was low and strangled. "It's just his sick games. He likes to put pressure on weak points.

"Games? my own voice was hoarse. — He just offered me as a gift, Tod! As... as a rare brand for your collection!

"He didn't offer anything," Tod said, grabbing me by the shoulders. His fingers dug into her skin almost painfully. "As long as I'm here, nothing will happen. Can you hear me?

He spoke with such fierce conviction, as if he could stop his father, Harvey, and the whole rotten world with a single glance. But he couldn't. And we both knew it. The helplessness made my throat grow tight, and I felt a telltale wetness in my eyes.

He saw it. His gaze softened, became agonized. He let go of one shoulder and slowly, as if against his will, raised his hand and used his thumb to wipe away an annoying tear that had rolled down my cheek. The touch was rough, scalding.

"Don't cry," he whispered. — Don't ever cry in front of him. This gives it power.

I nodded, unable to speak. His finger lingered on my skin for a second longer, then he abruptly withdrew his hand as if it had been burned.

"Go to your room. Lock yourself in. I - I have to go to him."

"Tod- "" Go, Sarah. He was already turning away, his profile cut out of stone against the dark window. — It'll be all right.

He lied. And I knew it. But I nodded again and walked down the hall, feeling his eyes on my back. A hard look that said not "you're my sister," but "you're mine."

I went into my room and leaned my back against the closed door. My heart was pounding. The smell of his fingers — leather and something sharp-still lingered in my nose. I closed my eyes.

Then she remembered. It wasn't that I remembered, but it hit me. Ten years. The same house, but then it seemed huge, full of dark corners and creaky sounds. Tod and I were hiding in the big closet in the back. We could hear my father yelling at my mother downstairs. Something crashed. Then his heavy footsteps on the stairs. "CHILDREN! Where are you worms?!"

I huddled in a pile of old coats, shaking so hard my teeth chattered. Tod was right there. He was just as scared, his eyes huge in the dim light. But he reached out and pressed a finger to my lips. His own lips formed a silent "shhh."

Quiet, Sarah. I won't let anyone hurt you.

He put his arm around me, and we sat there in the dark, in the moth-smelling silence, until my father's anger subsided. It wasn't a slap that he saved me that day — my father never raised a hand to us, words were enough for him. He saved me from a fear that could have torn me apart from the inside out. We were a team. Accomplices. Two halves of the same whole, locked in a golden cage.

I opened my eyes. The room, my beautiful, spacious prison, came back into focus. But the fear was different. He was an adult. Fatherly disapproval turned into an opportunity to be sold. And fraternal protection ... started to smell like something forbidden.

I went to the window and pressed my forehead against the cold glass. A light was on in the study window below. They were there now. My father and Tod. One is kicking out the soul, the other is trying to save face. And somewhere in this city, probably sipping whiskey in his office, Harvey Morgan sat and thought about his " special gift."

I felt sick. Out of fear. From helplessness. From knowing that the only person I felt safe around was the only one I shouldn't have felt safe around.

I turned my back on the window, on the light in the office, on everything. In the silence of the room, I could have sworn I could still feel the warmth of his foot under the table and the sting of his finger on my cheek.