Lights, Camera, Omega - Page 107

“We’ll talk about my part after dinner,” he promises.

Daphne shakes her head, incredulous.

“I swear to god the two of you?—”

But her thought is cut short, the limousine slows to a halt, the chauffeur gets out and opens the rear door beside her and the boys.

Daphne’s lips pinch together. Not in the adorable heart-shaped smirk she sometimes makes, but in a sour pucker—as if she’d kissed a lemon.

Her big aquamarine eyes scan the night lit city just beyond the limo door, open wide as saucers.

Dumbly, I realize that she has probably never been to New York City before. She likely has no idea where we are.

Julian and Magnus, however, know exactly where we are.

“Carnegie Hall?” Julian muses quizzically.

“The one and only,” I grin at him, making my way out of the limo.

The five of us put on happy faces now that we’re in public. Even if things are incredibly strained at the moment, each and every one of us understands the power of the optics of our relationship. If the paparazzi so much as catch a whiff of disharmony—you can bet that the tabloids will run whatever they can with extreme prejudice.

Luckily for us, though we are still in clear view of any potential paps or even just other concert goers who may try to sneak a snap of us on their phone camera—we’ve been seated up and away from the masses in a private box meant for important alumni and celebrities—two requirements I just so happen to meet. So, luckily for us, no one will be able to overhear any words that may pass between us after the house lights dim.

“Cosmo, I don’t know how to make it any clearer–thus far this isn’t helping to explain anything,” Daphne grits out through a toothy smile.

I’m about to make another weak attempt to stall for time—when the velvet curtains part, a young woman in a simple black velvet sheath dress and a violin balancing on her shoulder, and another woman, almost her mirror double wearing a pair of black palazzo pants and a crisp white silk blouse follow her toward the piano at the center of the stage.

My younger sisters, Charlotte and Camille, the twins prepare to begin their celebratory graduation performance—having finished their studies at the prestigious Juilliard School.

I manage to pull my eyes from Lotte and Cammy—my precious baby sisters, in time to see the reactions of my packmates.

I watch as Daphne’s brows rise with surprised understanding.

“Oh my god—those eyes, that coal black hair,” Julian rasps on a whisper, his hand covering his mouth.

Sol sits forward, straining to listen as the announcer’s voice rolls over the loudspeakers:

“Our first performance of the evening, Charlotte and Camille Amanpour, members of this year’s graduating class. These sisters will be performing Mendelssohn’s Double Concerto in D.”

His eyes dart to me—a look of shock laced with pain creeping into his golden features.

I look away, the guilt nearly overwhelming—only to find Magnus staring back at me, his expression inscrutable.

Perhaps I have misjudged this plan. Maybe this is where it all ends. I’ll have to wait until the end of this concerto at the very least—then my fate may be decided.

“You have sisters!?” Sol does his best to keep his voice down. The five of us huddled as far back in our private box as we can manage to escape any prying eyes.

As if a momentous weight has been lifted from his shoulders, Cosmo stands on the opposite side of the box from the rest of us—lazily pulling his gold wireframes from his breast pocket and sliding them up his nose before resting his hands casually in his tuxedo slack pockets.

“Yep. Two of ‘em. Twins, in case you couldn’t tell.”

“Hey Cos, take those fucking glasses back off—so I don’t break ‘em when I deck you in the face,” Sol growls.

Daphne stretches out an arm, shepherding the pissed off Sol behind her like a mother duck protecting her chicks.

“So—wait a minute, none of the rest of you knew he had two younger sisters?” she stammers, struggling to tally the mental math.

“No,” I answer flatly—my eyes still fixed on Cosmo.