I am fascinated to see if Reeve’s twin looks like him or if they share any of the same character traits. I’ve been reading up on identical twins since Carson broke the news, and he was correct. They aren’t always identical. While they are born with the same features, they can develop in different ways as they grow. They can have different heights, different builds, different facial traits, and different facial expressions. They can be completely different in personality.
His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, as I grab his hand. “It’s going to be fine. Breathe, and remember I’m here with you. This is an exciting moment,” I add, wanting to reinforce the most important part of today. “You have a brother.”
Anxiety is replaced with cautious elation on my husband’s face. “It’s surreal.”
“It’s wonderful.”
Please, please, let this go well for him. I offer up silent prayers the entire way down to the living room.
My heart is racing when Reeve stops outside the closed doors, drawing another deep breath and squeezing my hand tight. I’m tingling with nervous adrenaline so I can only imagine how my husband is feeling.
Reeve opens the door, and we step into our plush living room. We usually only entertain guests in here, preferring our informal living room when it’s just us.
A tall man stands in front of the window with his back to us and his arms folded in front of his chest. He’s wearing a black T-shirt over fitted black jeans and boots. My heart does a funny little jump, and all the tiny hairs stand at attention on the back of my neck. I examine him more carefully, and I can’t shake the sense of unease crawling over my skin. His brother has a couple of inches in height on Reeve, and he’s broader in the shoulders. His hair is cut similarly to Reeve’s. It appears to be the same shade of brown minus the natural blond highlights Reeve has acquired thanks to the Californian sun.
Reeve clears his throat, looking at me with one brow raised in question. He must have heard us come into the room, yet he has made no move to turn around, which is a little rude. Perhaps he’s a bundle of nerves too. “Hello,” Reeve says so there can be no doubt we are here.
The man turns around and walks toward us. Everything blurs, and it happens as if in slow motion. My heart speeds up, and I hope Reeve doesn’t notice how clammy my hand is in his grasp or hear how loud my heart is banging against my rib cage. I am rooted to the spot, staring at his brother in confusion, wondering what kind of mind fuckery this is.
The guy looks like Reeve. He’s not exactly identical, but there is more than a strong enough resemblance to easily identify them as brothers. However, that’s not why my legs are threatening to go out from under me and my heart is galloping like a racehorse just let out of a gate.
The guy looks like Dillon.
If Dillon had blue eyes instead of green and brown hair instead of blond. He has the same scar over his eyebrow, the same ridge in his nose—from when he got in a fight in school—and identical piercings, and when my gaze lowers and I see the familiar ink on his arms, I know who I’m looking at, but I can’t make sense of it.
“I’m Reeve Lancaster,” Reeve says. “And this is my wife, Vivien.”
“It’s nice to meet you both.” His husky Irish voice confirms any last flicker of doubt. “I’m Dillon O’Donoghue.”
66
My knees buckle, and I sway on my feet. Nausea swims up my throat, and I think I’m going to be sick. Reeve reacts fast, slinging his arm around my back and holding me upright. “Darling, what’s wrong?”
A hysterical giggle lies trapped at the base of my throat. Where do I even start?
Gripping Reeve’s arm tight, I cling to his body as shock races through my veins like lightning. My brain is fried. A multitude of questions dances around my head, and it feels like I’m losing my mind. This cannot be happening. What is happening?
Lifting my gaze, I lock eyes on Dillon, and it’s disconcerting seeing Reeve’s eyes on Dillon’s face. How is this possible? Have my eyes been deceiving me? I don’t understand. There were occasions when I thought I saw hints of blue in Dillon’s eyes under certain lighting, but I never gave it more than a passing thought. Now I know it’s because he must have been wearing contacts. But why? This makes no sense.
Dillon’s eyes drop to my swollen stomach, and a muscle clenches in his jaw. He didn’t look surprised to see me, so either he knew whose house he was visiting or he’s pretending. Neither scenario provides any reassurance.