The dancing prowess of Jun and Odile paved the way to fame for musician Vincent Friday. Seven years on, as his album sales stagnate, Vince summons the stars of his best-known music video to stage a one-night-only reunion show in Vegas. That night, h...
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Jun groped for Odile under the covers and whimpered like an abandoned puppy. California king be damned. Why had she scuttled so far away from him? Then his eyes opened to an empty pillow and he groaned at the ceiling. Having woken up from the most delicious dream, it hurt his balls that he couldn't fulfil it.
Cold shower in the master bedroom's ensuite, then.
His groan became a wicked grin. He swung his legs out of bed and grabbed the small remote from the nightstand. With the push of a button, the heavy curtains parted on their own, so he could stand butt-naked by the window.
"Looking good, Central Park," he mumbled to himself, scratching at his unmentionables.
Three months of Manhattan life and he still hadn't gotten used to the view. Had to pinch himself to remember he was not watching a movie. That was his face reflected in the glass pane. His cocky, crooked smile, bushy brows and bed hair. Jun ran a hand through his dishevelled locks and feigned a misty-eyed, photo-model look. Blew himself a kiss, snickered and sighed.
Time for that shower.
His sleepy brain caught up as he brushed his teeth, reminding him Odette was coming to town. Di must have gone to pick her sister up from the airport. Better put some proper clothes on before leaving the bedroom.
He wandered downstairs – because they'd somehow snagged a loft with an upper level – into the living room. This 'open plan' floor accommodated a full kitchen and a sprawling parlour, not just a sink and stove five feet away from his matchbox bed. Jun nearly tap-danced down the steps.
Of course, his cloud nine would eventually deflate, but he didn't like to dwell on that. Not before breakfast on a Saturday morning. He spied the sisters embracing in the kitchen as he approached...
...and had to quickly duck behind an armchair when they kissed. On the lips. Tongues and all, from the sound of it. Was he still dreaming? Jun gulped. He sat up on his knees, stealing another glance at the girls.
They stood between the cupboards and the kitchen island, arms around each other, foreheads pressed together. He almost didn't recognize Odile, but it had to be Odette pecking at her sister's lips. Until Di turned to the sink and Odette reached for the box of tea on the island.
Jun dropped down to the floor again, before the ballerina could see him. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked leftover sleep away. Surely, the twins couldn't have been making out. He was making things up, that had to be it. His blue-balled jealousy of the sisters' closeness had him seeing things.
The electric kettle clicked into place, the watery growls drowning out the girlish giggles. Jun crawled to the staircase, snuck up the steps and whistled a show tune on his way down, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.
He walked past the British tea and treats on the kitchen island and threw an arm around Odile. Her lips had a foreign taste when he kissed her. For reassurance, he sought the scent of milk-and-honey soap below her ear. The same soap he had just used. Her fine hairs bristled under his hot breath.
"Morning, Odette," he greeted the twin.
"Morning, handsome."
He reached for another mug and fetched himself a tea bag. "Thanks for the haul, by the way. We were dying for some proper tea and biscuits around here."
"You're welcome." Odette side-stepped him to stand beside her sister as he lined up his mug on the countertop. "How did you even know which one of us to kiss?"
Jun chuckled. "I just know."
She pulled Odile to her, mashing up their faces.
"You're identical, I get it." He tried to tug Di back to him, but Odette held on, smooching her sister's cheek.
"Even Mama and Papa mistake us sometimes," the ballerina said, one manicured hand poised on her hip. "But... you never do. I simply cannot fathom how."
Jun suppressed a wince. If he'd thought Odile's accent was posh before, Odette might as well have been the Queen of fucking England.
"I just know," he reiterated, "I always do. Anyway." His hunger replaced the urge to pry the sisters apart. "How about a tower of American pancakes drenched in maple syrup to welcome you to the Big Apple, hm?"
The twins moved aside in tandem while Jun scoured the cupboards for pots and pans.
"Your mom's coming?"
"Of course," she beamed, "it's Carnegie!"
"Right."
Jun put away the British treats to make room for his pancake ingredients. Odette laced fingers with her sister and led her to the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island.
"You're coming next Friday, right?" the ballerina questioned. "To see my Aurora at Carnegie Hall?"
"That depends." He didn't look up from whisking eggs and sifting flour. "What time?"
"Seven-thirty-ish. You could probably get there at seven, though, so we can take pictures and stuff."
"Yeah, sorry, we've got our own show at that hour."
Odette's porcelain smile cracked into a frown. "What show?"
"Tristan and Isolde," he said, mixing his pancake batter, "on Broadway. We invited you and your mom to the premiere back in October, remember?"
The porcelain broke into pieces and fell to the floor. Jun turned to smirk at the tiled wall behind him, busying himself with the mugs of tea.
The gall on this girl. Soo-yun and Sergei had spent the entire opening week in New York, front-row seats every night, cheering on their kids. Had even come back for more of the same over Thanksgiving weekend last month. Sergei would have to oversee his students' Nutcracker production in Chicago, but Soo-yun had booked Christmas flights since September.
And what had Odette done? Or Abigail? Zero investment, yet Di still checked for them in the audience before every performance. It broke his heart to –
...Was that Russian the sisters were whisper-bickering in?
Stunned speechless, Jun took too long rinsing a teaspoon as he schooled his face into a neutral expression. Why Odile hadn't told him that she could speak Russian was a question for another time.
"Here you go, ladies." He brought their tea to the kitchen island and moved his pancake batter to the cupboard countertop.
Odette forced a thankful smile, then raised a condescending eyebrow at the mug her twin picked up. Odile had adopted Jun's preference for sweet tea after moving in together, but the ballerina maintained her inbred disdain for milk and sugar in her cuppa.
"Since when is that a proper brew?" Odette admonished her sister.
Di dipped her lips into her latte-coloured tea and didn't answer.
