I wake to amber eyes staring down at me. I flash Brandon a sleepy smile, he presses a kiss to my hair and I giggle, he must love my new shampoo. “You slept well?” I ask.

He nods, placing another kiss on my temple. “I did, you?” he says against my skin and I hum in response, loving the wet kisses he litters on my shoulder. “Elna. Stop moaning.”

To that, I moan louder and he spanks my butt to shut me up. It doesn’t work, I tug on his nipple with a moan. Our conversations from last night flood back, my eyes trail Brandon who hops out of the bed to pull his shorts over his waist. Resting my head on the pillow, I tug the cover over my breasts, reluctant to leave the comfort of our soft mattress.

I expect him to stroll into the bathroom since the time reads past nine, instead, he drags the chair from the vanity to sit by the bed. Maybe he is taking my advice to stay in today, I won’t mind that at all since I have no plans. He flashes me a smile, his fingers stroke my cheek and I make kissy faces at him. I’m in love with this man. Well, his addictive touch.

“No, don’t stand up,” he says when I try to get off the bed. I frown. “Please, Elna.”

That funny feeling returns in double folds, I nod. To calm myself, I say, “Can I get a kiss?” I don’t have to ask twice, he lowers himself to the bed and claims my lips. Afraid for what he will say, I refuse to let go of his lips until he pulls away to touch my forehead with his.

“Baby, I’m scared,” I tell him. “I don’t know why.” His thumb traces my lips, he joins me on the bed so we are facing each other and I visibly relax. “Thank you, you’re the best.”

“We need to talk,” he says, tucking strands of my hair out of sight. My lips part, I slip my hand into his shorts where his erection greets me and moan so loud he groans. “Stop it.” His plea is weak, he doesn’t retract my hand and I stroke him. I am not as agile as I was so I can’t get on my knees but I am satisfied with his response. I need him again. “Elna.”

When his hand lowers to my breast, I flash him a seductive smile. It is working. I know I am stalling but I am scared. My fear is unfounded but I can’t shake off the bad feeling.

What if he delivers terrible news I can’t get over? I want this moment to last.

His beards caress my chin, jolting me out of my thoughts, I raise my eyes to his face. The openly displayed uncertainty triples my fear and I lose interest in his dick. I know him to be confident until Brianna is involved but he said she’s fine. I know she is because I went to check on her myself. He let me have access to her room after the movie fight.

“I’ll do whatever you want after we talk, if you still want me.” I hiss. “El, I’m serious.”

Propping my elbow on the pillow with a huff, I stare down at him with my disapproving scowl and he flinches. Good. Since words no longer affect him, actions should. I pinch his nose, knock his forehead repeatedly until he lets out a small scream in protest. When his face morphs into an expression of hurt, I cup his cheek to kiss him soundly on his lips.

“We have been over this, Brandon,” I say, my face taking on a stern look. He needs to get it into his thick skull. I belong to him. “You deserve me. I love and will always want you.”

Brandon shakes his head, my heart bleeds at his conviction. I will have to up my game if I intend to change his mind or I will go crazy. “You don’t know what I did,” he whispers.

Prying his hands off his face, I rub my knuckles against his cheek. “But you will tell me, won’t you?” He nods, tears shine in his eyes and I catch them before it drops. “Why don’t you let me decide if I still want you after that, okay? Don’t make that decision for me.”

His smile is too sad, it reaches into my heart and shreds it. Nothing I say will change his mind until he gets the load off his chest but I still say, “If I prove you wrong, what do I get in return?” His head begins to move left and right, I slap him gently. “Just answer me, baby.” I am the pregnant, hormonal one but sometimes, he is unpredictable. “Please.”

“Anything you want,” he says.

“Even if I want to be your best friend?” He manages a laugh, the corners of my lips lift. “You will make me your best friend?” He nods. “I will follow you to your office?” I pout when I sense his refusal coming. “Okay. You will never keep any secret from me again?”

“Never,” he says solemnly.

I take a deep breath and nod. All I have to do is prove him wrong and I will have the best version of my husband. Best friend and best husband, all in one package, awesome. I rub my hands together like I am preparing for a fight and he chuckles. I pinch his cheek, his hand goes behind my head which he pulls down for a kiss that leaves me breathless.

My nose rubs his, my smile broadens. “I love you, Mister Stark. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he says without breaking eye contact, “you make me feel special.”

“That’s because you are special,” I retort. The grin he flashes me has my nerves calming, I smoothen the scanty hairs on his chest. “I think I am ready to hear what you have to say.” Maybe I am not but stalling will only make me more nervous. “Don’t freak me out.”

He points to his chair, I nod, saddened by the distance he creates. The sooner we get this over with, the faster I will get my confident husband back. Still on my side, I stretch my hand to him and he kisses the back of my palm, causing me to giggle like a horny fangirl.

Nervousness rolls off him in waves, I sneak out of the bed to the closet and return with a bar of chocolate and a pack of Caprisonne. I am the first one to start laughing, he shakes his head but still accepts them from me. At Brandon’s order, I crawl back to bed, content with the smile playing on his lips as he takes painfully slow bites from his chocolate.

Downstairs is too far for my cravings, so I moved part of my stash to our room. I am not a big giver when Caprisonne is involved but I can’t take his sour mood any longer. Caprisonne always has a way of brightening my day, I hope it can do the same for him.

“Why did you fire Danielle?” I ask. He offers me a bite of the chocolate, I shake my head but he insists. Soon, I’m munching gladly on his chocolate and sipping the orange juice.

“Sonik made an announcement.” I nod, oblivious to his point. “I share my business ideas with five people and you told me to tell all five of them different ideas.” The memory from that day is hazy but I nod for him to continue, tossing the pack to the floor with a belch which he overlooks. “Well, I did. It turns out Danielle is the mole. She told them.”

Searching his face for any reaction, the most I get is a twitch of his lips. “Are you sad?”

We both know he cares about his staff no matter the level of pretence or nonchalance he displays. He bought that foolish woman a Mercedes and she repays him with a betrayal. Scum, a bag of shit. I need to have a nice chat with her, woman to woman. In simpler terms, she needs to have a word with my fists. Are pregnant women allowed to fight?

“Maybe, I don’t know.” My gaze flickers to his face, he shrugs. “But I’m disappointed.”

I snort. He is the only man I will forgive for being unable to identify his emotions. Josh said he has improved, if we have only been a couple for less than a year and he has come this far, it means our future together is bright. So I have to be more patient with him.

“Do you want a kiss?” I say, opening up my arms and puckering my lips. He indulges me by pecking my lips but retreats before I can deepen the kiss. I scowl, he winks but grows serious immediately. Now, it’s time for the main discussion. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Confusion clouds his eyes. “About Brendan,” I say with emphasis on his brother’s name. “Baby, I don’t blame you for firing Danielle, she deserves it. You did right by her and she betrayed you.” He nods, I smile, we are on the same page. “Why didn’t you say anything about a twin? I asked you once.” The first day David mentioned the name, I asked him but he brushed it off, seduced me with his touch. “I hate secrets, baby, you know that.”

Casting his head down, he says, “I know. I’m sorry.”

Seated at the edge of the bed, I pull the cover over my chest and say, “But why didn’t you say anything? He was your twin for God’s sake, Brandon. I deserve to know these things. I am your wife, not a stranger.” He raises his head to stare at me, I release a sigh. “Baby, stop pushing me away, talk to me, okay? I want to be that person you tell everything.”

“I killed him.”

Typical Brandon; take the blame for everything. Lacing our fingers, I smile at him till he squirms. “Brandon, you cannot,” I start, “keep blaming yourself for everything bad that happens around you. Bad things will always happen, bad people will always exist and we cannot control them. We cannot stop certain things from happening.” He squeezes his eyes shut, I mutter, “Baby, I know Brendan died in a car accident. It’s not your fault.”

“It is, Elna. Please don’t exonerate me.” Brandon’s eyes flutter open, he yanks his hand gently from my grip and strokes my cheeks. When he stops, I pout but his dry chuckles has me sitting up. “Brendan…Brendan caused Brianna’s accident, he was the driver.”

I nod, he never gave me these details. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want him to relive the trauma but hearing the hurt in his voice as he recounts the story makes me glad I kept shut.

“And he got out without a scratch. I told him to stay far away from my daughter but he refused,” Brandon says and my eyes dart to his face which has taken on a foreign look. The seriousness in his voice has my lips turning down in a frown, fear climbs up my spine with each word. “Brianna was his winning card but she was my daughter first.”

Brandon is no longer looking at me, probably reliving the awful memories. I rub his knees to provide him comfort. “So he had to die the same way. Through an accident.” My hands moving on his knees freeze but he doesn’t notice. “Brianna should have died in the car accident but she didn’t. And unlike him, I make no mistakes, he stood no chance.”

With a sigh, he relaxes in his chair to smile at me. “Knowing this, do you still want me?”

Do I want to be with the man who killed his twin brother?

I tuck my hands between my legs, unable to process everything he just told me. The part of me that believes in him and his goodness refuses to accept his confession. This is a tale he spun to punish himself, I applaud his storytelling dexterity but I can’t be fooled.

“Do you regret it?” I ask.

* * *

He doesn’t regret it. But he feels bad. What does that mean? I race down the stairs as fast as I can, my car keys dangling in my hand. Hopefully, I look sane with the way I hurriedly dressed and left. I need to talk to Clarissa but about what? Do I want to tell her what Brandon said? What if she calls the police on him? Will she do that? She won’t.

All these questions yet no answers. I miss a step and reach blindly for the bannister but my hand slices through thin air. A scream tears through my lips, my hands go around my stomach to protect my baby as I slide down the stairs and onto the marble floor.

Tears cloud my vision, a sharp pain shoots from my stomach to all parts of my body when I try to sit up so I lay back on the floor while propping myself up on an elbow. As much as I want to, I can’t lie down, it’s not good for the baby but my body needs me to relax. One of my legs hang from the stairs, I whimper in the process of trying to lift it.

“Brandon,” I call in a small voice, eyes darting to the top of the stairs. My eyelids flutter, a moan escapes me. I register the stickiness between my legs and scream, “Brandon.”

Darkness calls, I push it away as I roll to my side. I should have taken my phone. Tears coat my lashes, I mutter a prayer. Heavy footsteps approach the stairs, they quickly turn frantic and soon enough, firm hands are lifting me off the ground. I peel my eyes open.

Confused at the double blurry images that appear in my vision, I jam my eyes shut. “I think I’m bleeding,” I manage to say before giving in to the calm slowly surrounding me.

Peace.

Joy like a river flows in my heart, the bed is not as soft as the one in my bedroom but I curl or try to curl myself into a ball until my hand touches my belly. My eyes fly open.

Where am I? I squint at the ceiling lights, trying to swim above the incoherent thoughts. Everything rushes back in pieces. Brandon. His confession. The fall down the stairs.

“My baby, my baby,” I cry out, frantic as my eyes search the room for anyone to answer my question. Brandon appears and takes my hands which I’m rubbing over my tummy with fear. I direct my stare to him. “How’s my baby?” I hiccup, tears trickle out of my eyes. I am a bad mother. I don’t think I can do this. I put myself and my baby at risk.

“They are fine,” he replies.

I sniff. “Are you sure?” More tears leak from my eyes. I need someone to tell me I’m not doing this wrong and the slip could have happened to anyone. I don’t want to bring a girl into this world when I can’t even take care of myself. “I’m sorry, it was an accident.”

“I know.” He sweeps the hairs matting to my forehead. “Don’t be sorry. I promise, they are fine.” Nodding, my mouth opens but I have nothing to say. He frowns. “Don’t cry, wife.” I smile while he wipes the snot running down my nose with a napkin by the bed. I take a look around the unfamiliar room and my face scrunches. “We are at the hospital.”

Silence takes over us as I scan the room, the white walls and closed windows to give us privacy. The ultrasound machine by the side of my bed with the screen turned off. I look to the door which opens and the doctor walks in with a smile so bright I have to smile.

Brandon moves to the other side to hold my hand and the doctor takes his place. Our skins are the same tone but unlike me, he’s bald and the white ceiling lights reflect on his scalp. He pushes his glasses up his nose, settles down on the stool, his smile intact.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Woozy,” I say with a small laugh, feeling bad when Brandon strokes the inside of my palm. I lied about it when he asked, I am not sure I want to talk to him. My head turns to him, my smile fades when it occurs to me he addressed my baby with a plural. “Who’s they?” One brow goes up, I growl. “You said they are fine when I asked about my baby.”

Brandon’s eyes light up, darting between the doctor and back to me. Antsy, I groan and he chuckles. Bringing my hands to his lips, he says, “Our babies. We are having twins.”

Twins.

Brandon is a twin. Brendan and Brandon.

The withdrawal is subtle, the freezing of my heart and the balling of my hands into fists to stop Brandon from holding me. I twist my neck to face the doctor who confirms the information with a nod. His lips move but I don’t hear one word. Brandon’s confession rushes back to me, hitting me hard. I sniff and my chest tightens with the realisation.

I am having twins. He killed his twin brother.

“Mrs Stark?” I hear. My eyes on the doctor encourage him to keep going. Though I am the centre of attention, it feels like I’m watching everything through a glass window, afraid to confront my reality. “... Sometimes one of the twins hide behind the sibling...”

The next few seconds are a blur, I give vague answers to questions I barely hear. I feel him rubbing the gel onto my skin, followed by the hand-held device which the doctor runs over my bump. A black and white picture appears on the screen, I stare at it, barely processing the twin images or the doctor’s explanation. We are having twins. Babies.

“Can you see them?” Brandon asks, taking my hand in his and disgust stirs inside me.

The baby, no, my babies are huddled close as if seeking comfort from each other. A grin spreads across my lips, the disgust dissolves as I gawk at the screen, content. My girls.

Double blessings.

“Print it, please, I want a copy,” I hear myself say but my voice sounds forced. Brandon makes a similar request. The doctor responds with a nod, cleans my stomach. Before he has a chance to pull my shirt down, Brandon places a kiss on my bump and beam at me.

Holding the sonogram in my hand after the doctor leaves the room to give us privacy, I can’t help smiling at it. “Daddy’s little girls,” Brandon whispers in my ear and I giggle. I didn’t lie when I told him he would be a great daddy. Great daddy but a terrible brother.

Tears well up my eyes, he wipes them before they can fall and I lost the gall to tell him how I feel about his confession. He must have sensed it, when his lips claim mine in a gentle kiss, I hear the plea he tries to convey silently and my heart breaks all over again.

We are having twins but my husband killed his twin brother. Murder is murder, or is it not? Life hasn’t always been black and white but this is a grey area that confuses the hell out of me. His question comes back to haunt me. Knowing his crime, do I still want him?

I don’t know.

Cupping my cheeks, he pecks my nose and I know he’s waiting for my response. That unsure look crosses his face, I smile. “I love you,” I tell him, words laced with sincerity.

Stunned by my reply, his smile wavers and I weave my hands into his beard and tug on it. He winces but doesn’t pull away. I flash him a wide smile he returns, memories from our good times replay in my head, melting my resolve and silencing my conscience.

For this small moment, I pretend we are fine and he didn’t confess to killing his brother a few hours ago. Pulling his head down, I kiss him until we are breathing the same air.