One Night With The Wrong Brother

"Arthur?" The name scraped against Katherine's dry throat. It was a whisper, fragile and hopeful, born from the haze of a hangover that felt like a hammer inside her skull. Her vision was swimming, the edges of the room blurring into dark, indistinct shapes. The drink from last night-or whatever had been slipped into it-still clouded her mind with a heavy, narcotic fog. The sunlight slicing through the gaps in the heavy curtains was too bright. It burned. But not as much as the sudden, freezing stillness of the man standing by the window. He was buttoning his cuff. His back was to her. Broad shoulders, the taper of a waist she had clung to only hours ago. The skin of his back was tanned, smooth, and familiar. Or so she desperately wanted to believe. Her brain, desperate for the fairy tale, automatically filled in the blanks with the gentle warmth of the man she had been longing for. At the sound of the name, his hands stopped. He didn't turn around immediately. The silence in the room stretched, heavy and suffocating, swallowing the sound of the distant Hamptons surf. Katherine pulled the silk sheet up to her chin. "Last night..." she murmured, lost in a haze of manufactured happiness. "I knew you'd come back for me." He turned. Katherine blinked hard, trying to force her eyes to focus. The face was blurry, but the silhouette was so familiar. Her mind instantly overlaid Arthur's kind smile onto the shadowy features. But then the fog parted just enough. The breath left Katherine's lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. It wasn't Arthur. The jaw was harder. The eyes were darker, devoid of the gentle warmth she had fallen in love with over the summer. There was no kindness in the set of his mouth, only a cruel, twisting line of disdain. Agustus Riddle. Arthur's younger brother. The room spun. The memories of the previous night-the yacht party, the endless champagne, the fireworks, the warm body she had stumbled into in the dark-crashed into the reality of the morning. She had whispered confessions of love. She had cried in his arms. She had given him everything she had been saving for Arthur. "Gus?" Her voice trembled, breaking on the single syllable. "I thought... I thought last night..." Gus stared at her. His eyes were like chips of ice. He didn't look like a man who had just spent the night with a woman. He looked like a man looking at a stain on his expensive carpet. "You thought what?" His voice was low, rough with sleep but sharp with mockery. He walked toward the bed, his steps deliberate and predatory. Katherine shrank back against the headboard. "I... I felt..." "You felt?" Gus cut her off. He stopped at the edge of the bed, his shadow falling over her, blocking out the sun. "You mean you felt the alcohol? Or did you feel the opportunity to get one step closer to the real prize?" The accusation hit her like a physical blow. Her stomach churned, bile rising in her throat. "No. That's not... I was drunk. I thought you were him." Gus laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound that made her flinch. He leaned down, placing a hand on the mattress on either side of her hips, trapping her. "Don't flatter yourself, Woodward," he spat. "You were drunk enough to be loose, but sober enough to scream my brother's name." Tears pricked her eyes, hot and humiliating. "Please. Stop." "Stop?" His face was inches from hers now. She could smell the lingering scent of whiskey and the expensive soap he used. "You didn't want me to stop last night when you were crying about how much you loved him." Katherine squeezed her eyes shut. Shame, hot and viscous, flooded her veins. She wanted to die. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Heavy, purposeful steps. "Gus? Are you in there?" Arthur's voice. Katherine's eyes snapped open. Panic seized her chest, tightening around her lungs until she couldn't breathe. If Arthur saw her here... in Gus's bed... Gus's expression shifted instantly. The mockery vanished, replaced by a sharp, alert tension. He looked at the door, then back at her. For a second, just a split second, there was something else in his eyes. Something that looked like panic. He grabbed her arm. His grip was hard, bruising. "Get up," he hissed. "My clothes..." "Now!" He yanked her out of bed. Katherine stumbled, her legs weak, clutching the sheet around her naked body. Gus didn't wait. He dragged her across the plush carpet toward a panel in the wall that blended seamlessly with the wainscoting. He pressed a hidden latch. The panel clicked and swung open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit service corridor. "Gus?" Arthur's voice was closer now. The doorknob to the bedroom rattled. Gus shoved her into the darkness. Katherine tripped, her bare shoulder scraping against the rough plaster of the inner wall. He followed her in, pulling the door shut behind them. The click of the lock was the loudest sound in the world. They were plunged into semi-darkness, the only light coming from a faint green emergency exit sign down the hall. The space was tight. Gus was pressed against her, his chest heaving against her shoulder. "What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice shaking so hard her teeth chattered. Gus didn't answer. He slammed his hands against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in. He leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers. In the gloom, his eyes were black pits. "Listen to me," he whispered, his voice a venomous hiss. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone... especially Arthur... I will destroy you." Katherine trembled. The cold from the wall seeped into her skin, contrasting violently with the heat radiating from his body. "Why are you doing this?" she sobbed quietly. "Because," Gus said, his voice devoid of any emotion, "Arthur's already on a plane to London. You missed your chance. And you are a mistake. A messy, pathetic mistake that I need to clean up."