Chapter 7

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This can't be happening.

I practically ran down the hallway, clutching my glass so tightly I thought it might shatter in my hand. My head pounded with every step that echoed off the walls, a dull ache residing at the front of my skull.

The common bathroom was located next to the grand sitting room beyond the front door. I strode right down the short second hall to the door left at the end, shoving it open with more force than necessary, and went for the sink.

I think I'm going to throw up.

The bathroom was all white marble and silver fixtures; the room huge with its oversized shower on the left, and clawfoot bathtub on the right where a high window shone afternoon light onto the floor at my feet.

My heart raced as I tried to control my breathing. It felt like I was having a goddamn panic attack.

How could this happen?

To add to my confusion, Manning and Andrew looked almost nothing alike, the only similarity their black hair, but where Manning's was full colour, Andrew's was starting to streak with strands of grey. Andrew looked kinder, softer, where Manning looked angular and brutal; he had to be at least five years younger that Andrew. Not to mention, their eyes weren't even the same colour or shape, their noses dissimilarly slanted and their lips... His lips...

How could they possibly be related?

And all that being said, Kallum looked nothing like Manning, either. Would I ever have found out who Manning really was if I hadn't come to the party today?

Guilt lingered somewhere deep in my gut, perplexing me further. Why did I feel guilty, like I'd done something wrong? I haven't done anything wrong, have I...?

That man had deserved how I'd spoken to him. His arrogance and entitled demeanour, so typical of the wealthy elite. Who did he think he was, to think he was better than anyone else?

And what the hell did he expect me to do? I wasn't going to be spoken down to as if I were below him. No way.

I sculled my drink whole and half slammed the flute on the basin top.

I'd wager a guess that Drew and Bruce didn't share the same two parents. Maybe they were half-brothers? Stepbrothers, even? They didn't even share the same last name. And obviously they weren't close, because in twelve years of friendship with Kallum I had never laid eyes on him before last week.

In any case, I'd still have to go back out there and face him again.

When the panic refused to recede, I opened the small linen cupboard beside the bathtub and took out a cloth. Running it under the cold faucet, I wrung it out and held it to my cheeks, trying to cool myself down.

To add insult to injury, what could I say to Kallum about all this? Did he suspect anything after that dreadfully awkward encounter? Did he know I knew his uncle?

Or maybe I was just being paranoid.

The skin on my chest was red and splotchy and I scolded myself for wearing something low cut; my embarrassment was painted there as if on a canvas, completely on show for all to see. I dabbled the cloth along it, only half enjoying the chill against the heat there.

Could I stomach going back out there? Maybe I could text Kallum and say I wasn't well and had to go home... Then I remembered. My purse was in the kitchen.

Fuck.

Well with that option ruined, I certainly couldn't leave the bathroom until I'd composed myself. But where was I going to get my composure from – at this point it had taken a bloody holiday to The Caribbean with no hope of returning in time.

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