The spell disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. It pissed me off. I thought I’d learned to control them better. Turned out my body was toying with me. Making me believe I had one less problem to worry about, when in reality, it was just biding its time.
“You don’t look well. Come in. Please. Let’s talk.” The soft voice encouraged and seduced and I craved somewhere to sit for a moment.
Gritting my teeth, I pressed down on the door handle and entered the room where Jethro visited.
My eyes darted around the large space. Lemons and greys and colourful carpets. Sweeping fleur-de-lis silver curtains framed a huge wraparound window with a comfy seat big enough for a whole family of bookworms to curl up on and read.
“You must be the new Weaver.”
I bit my lip, spinning on the spot. I missed her in the first sweep. She’d been so still, so well hidden in the welcoming décor.
I found her sitting beside her bed in a large chair covered by a coral blanket. “You needn’t fear. I’ll delete the recording. No one will know you came here.”
I should’ve relaxed in gratitude. Instead, I stiffened.
I stared at the female equivalent of Jethro. Out of all of Jethro’s siblings, his sister looked the most like him. Jethro was the diamond—sharp, faceted, and so pristinely perfect he shot rainbows from every angle. This woman was the mirror image. Her dark hair was sliced with precision, hanging like a silk curtain just past her jaw. Her eyes were more bronze than gold while her round cheeks and full lips were the direct contradiction of sweet but sultry.
I drifted forward, stumbling a little as my vertigo played with the outskirts of my vision.
The woman didn’t move, just waited for me to go to her.
Her fingers locked together in her lap, her entire lower half covered by the plush blanket.
When I stood awkwardly in front of her, she motioned toward her bed. The covers hadn’t been turned down and it didn’t look slept in. The crisp yellow of her linen looked like a lemon meringue pie and just as delicious.
“Sit, please.”
I sat. Not because of her order, but because my wobbly legs refused to stand any longer. Who was this woman, and why did she look at me as if she knew everything about me?
I blushed.
Everything?
God, I hoped not. How could I face Jethro’s sister if she knew how much I wanted him? How could I look her in the eye knowing I’d had her brother inside me, and despite my conflicted emotions, wanted him every second of every damn day?
“Do you talk or did you make a vow of silence before entering my room?” The woman cocked her head, her hair cascading perfectly in glossy heaviness.
Shaking my head, I swallowed. “No. No, vow.”
We stared at each other. Her assessing me and me assessing her. Two women of similar age, with a man in the centre polluting our right to be strangers. We’d only just met, but whatever we said would be weighed and found wanting, knowing we weren’t on equal footing.
The thought depressed me.
She held a permanent place in Jethro’s life. He openly adored her—I could tell just by looking at her.
I was jealous.
I was sad and happy at the same time.
I hadn’t come here looking to make a friend, but I hadn’t come here expecting to find her, either.
“Should we start simple or would you rather get to the heart of the matter?”
I shifted higher on her bed. “I think starting with the truth would be more beneficial. Don’t you?”
A ghost of a smile tilted her lips. “Ah, now I get it.”
“Get what?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why my brother is struggling.”
My heart flip-flopped. “Jethro?”
She nodded.
“How is he struggling?” I didn’t dare hope for an answer. Could it truly be that easy?
The woman laughed quietly. “You truly do go for the heart.”
What does that mean?
Was it a simple turn of phrase playing on her last words or had Jethro said I’d captured his heart? I’d tried to ensnare him with my games of seduction and beguile. But perhaps by giving him my love…I’d stolen his in return?
Could that be true?
Forcing myself to stay present, I asked, “Who are you?”
The woman leaned forward, extending her hand. “I’m Jasmine.”
Mirroring her, I looped my fingers around hers, and we shook slowly, still sizing each other up like an untrusted opponent.
“You’re his sister,” I whispered, breaking our touch and placing my hands in my lap.
“I’m many men’s sister.”
“You know who I mean.”
She leaned back, sighing a little. “Yes, lucky for you, I do know who you mean. Let’s get the introductions out of the way, shall we?” Running French-tipped fingernails through her hair, she recited, “I’m second born to Bryan and Rose Hawk. I chased my older brother into the world as soon as possible, and that fact alone makes us closer than my other two siblings. I love him more than I love myself, and I know what he lives with every day with being the firstborn of a family so steeped in tradition and persecution that it’s become an unhealthy combination. I know what you’ve done to him, and as much as I want to hate you for smashing apart his world and making him struggle more than I’ve ever seen, I can’t.”
I couldn’t breathe properly. Like a dying person only interested in air, I was only interested in what Jasmine had to say about her brother. “What does he struggle with? And how did my arrival have anything to do with what’s happened to him?”