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Rhys adjusted his bowtie in the ornate mirror of their hotel suite, his smirk practically etched into his face. The room around them was decadent, reflecting the wealth and luxury of the gala they were about to attend. Soft, golden light from the chandelier above bathed the space, casting long, elegant shadows across the floor. The hotel suite was opulent, its design a blend of vintage charm and contemporary luxury. There was an almost surreal quality to it, a feeling that they were in a world that didn’t quite belong to either of them, a world they had slipped into, like an ill-fitting suit.
Rhys’s reflection was the picture of smooth confidence, his posture impeccable as he tugged at the knot of his tie with practiced precision. His dark hair was neatly combed back, his suit sharp and stylish, the very image of a man who belonged in a world of power and privilege. He glanced over his shoulder toward Ben, catching his eye in the mirror.
“You know,” he began, his tone light, playful, but edged with that familiar arrogance, “pretending to be married to you is the closest I’ve ever come to being respectable. How does it feel, Benji? Being married to the other sibling?”
Ben didn’t look up from his glass of scotch. He sat on the edge of the sofa, his posture tense, his jaw tighter than usual. His hand gripped the glass firmly, but his gaze remained fixed on the drink, swirling it idly. The silence in the room felt heavy, as though it carried the weight of too many unspoken things between them. The fact that they were here pretending to be a happily married couple, masquerading for the sake of some elaborate con was absurd to Ben. But of course, it was Rhys’s idea. He always knew how to make the most ridiculous things feel inevitable.
“It’s not real,” Ben said evenly, his voice betraying nothing. He took a small sip of his drink, letting the warmth of the scotch hit the back of his throat. “Just like everything else we’ve ever done together.”
Rhys turned from the mirror, his expression mock wounded. “Ouch. Is that what you tell all your ex brother in laws?”
Ben didn’t bite. His eyes remained steady, his face an unreadable mask. The years of familiarity with Rhys had taught him how to keep his reactions hidden, how to guard his thoughts. There had been a time, though, when he’d been so much less composed, when Rhys’s teasing, his presence, had been harder to ignore, harder to dismiss.
But those days were long gone.
“You’re not my brother in law anymore, Rhys. Haven’t been for years.” The words came out easily, as though they were nothing. Ben had said them a thousand times in his head. It was supposed to be a reminder to himself that the ties between them were no longer binding. That they were free of the tangled web that had once connected them through Margot, through family, through the past.
Rhys didn’t flinch. He simply stepped closer, his usual cocky smirk softening into something more pointed, more purposeful. He leaned against the edge of the vanity, arms crossed loosely over his chest. The distance between them had always felt like a game, like a constant push and pull. But now, it felt different. Something had shifted, and neither of them seemed willing to acknowledge it.
“Ah, yes. But you don’t stop being family just because someone signs a few divorce papers, do you?” Rhys’s voice was a little too quiet now, a little too serious. “And let’s not pretend you’ve ever been able to walk away from me entirely.”
Ben’s breath caught, though he fought to keep his face neutral. He could feel the truth of that statement weigh down on him, and he hated it. There were moments, too many moments, when it seemed impossible to escape Rhys. Not because of some blood tie obligation, but because the pull between them was like gravity. They were drawn to each other in ways that defied logic, in ways that made Ben’s insides twist with confusion.
He exhaled sharply, looking away from Rhys as if the very sight of him might drive him to act on the frustration churning in his gut. “Why are you really doing this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the question itself was dangerous. “The job, the charade… all of it. What’s in it for you?”
Rhys’s lips twitched, but for a moment, his usual bravado faltered. Just for a moment. Ben saw it, the slight drop of Rhys’s shoulders, the softening of his jawline, but it was gone so quickly, as though it had never been there. The change was subtle, but it was there, a glimpse of something unspoken, something deeper than the lighthearted games they usually played.
“Because it’s fun,” Rhys said lightly, the words rolling off his tongue as easily as a well rehearsed line. “And because, let’s face it, Benji, no one plays my husband quite like you.”
Ben scoffed, shaking his head, though his mind was working in overdrive. He wasn’t sure what irritated him more, the fact that Rhys could be so damned flippant about the whole thing, or that, somewhere deep inside, Ben agreed with him. They had done this before, these little performances, these twisted roles that had never really been as fake as they should have been. They had blurred the lines between what was real and what was part of the act for so long that Ben wasn’t sure where the two separated anymore.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered, standing up suddenly, his legs stiff as though he had been sitting for far too long. He set the glass down with a little too much force, the sound of it cutting through the thick air between them.
Rhys stepped closer, his smirk slipping into something more dangerous, more knowing. “And yet, here we are,” he said softly, his voice laced with a strange kind of amusement. “You could’ve said no, Ben. You could’ve walked away. Told me to handle it myself. But you didn’t.”
Ben’s chest tightened at that, the air in the room feeling suddenly too thick, too heavy. “That’s because you always drag me into your chaos, Rhys,” he bit out, each word a small release of the frustration that had been building. “Every single time. And somehow, I let you.”
Rhys’s gaze darkened then, the playful edge slipping completely away. There was something raw in the way he looked at Ben, something that felt almost like a challenge. “Oh, don’t put this all on me, love,” he said, his voice deliberate, but low. “You let me in because you want to. Because you miss it. The thrill. The danger. Me.”
Ben froze, the words hitting him harder than he had anticipated. It wasn’t the accusation that got to him, it was the truth behind it. Rhys wasn’t wrong. Ben couldn’t deny it. He had never been able to fully walk away from Rhys, not really. They were tied together by something deeper than mere blood or even family. Their lives had always been a series of tangled moments, of blurred lines.
“Stop,” Ben whispered, the word coming out almost like a plea, though there was no real conviction behind it. The truth was, he didn’t want to stop. And that terrified him more than anything else.
Rhys didn’t stop. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence commanding the room, making everything else fade into the background. His voice dropped even lower, a soft whisper that only Ben could hear. “Why? Afraid you’ll actually feel something?”
Ben didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The words were lodged in his throat, the truth far too painful to voice.
And then, Rhys closed the gap.
The kiss was tentative at first, almost exploratory. It was like Rhys was testing the waters, unsure if Ben would pull away, unsure if he was allowed to take that step. But when Ben didn’t pull away, when his lips parted slightly in response, it was as if the floodgates had opened. The kiss deepened, becoming something far more frantic, more desperate. Rhys’s hands moved to grip the sides of Ben’s jacket, pulling him closer, and Ben’s arms instinctively wrapped around Rhys, holding him tight, like he couldn’t let go.
For a few stolen moments, everything felt perfect. It felt real. It felt like they were exactly where they were supposed to be. The connection between them was undeniable, and Ben’s head spun, drowning in the sensation of it all. The years of history between them, complicated, messy, unresolved, melted away, leaving only the raw desire that had always been simmering just beneath the surface.
But then, the moment shattered. Ben broke the kiss, his breathing ragged, his heart pounding in his chest like it might burst.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out, as though saying them would somehow erase the reality of what had just happened. His voice was rough, and he barely recognized it.
Rhys raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk returning, but this time there was a slight falter to it, a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes that made Ben’s chest tighten. “Of course it doesn’t,” he said, his voice light, but it carried a faint hint of something darker.
The silence between them was thick with unspoken words, each of them retreating into their own thoughts. Ben turned away, stepping back, unable to look at Rhys. His hands shook slightly at his sides as he tried to steady himself.
Finally, Rhys spoke, his tone deliberately light again, as if to mask the weight of the moment.
“Well, husband dearest, shall we head to the gala before the guests start wondering where we’ve gone?”
Ben nodded stiffly, straightening his jacket as he tried to push the raw emotions from his chest. “Let’s just get this over with.”
As they stepped out of the suite and into the glitzy world of their con, Ben couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them. The kiss had been the breaking point, the moment they had crossed a line they couldn’t uncross. For better or worse, the boundaries between them were gone.
And for the first time in years, Ben wasn’t sure whether he wanted to turn back.