The Casanova by T L Swan

ELLIOT

I lie in bed and toss and turn. Kate is asleep beside me and it’s late.

My phone beeps with a text and I frown. Who’s that? I pick it up and read the message: it’s from the private investigator that I hired.

We found her.

What?

I sit up in a rush and walk downstairs to my study, close the door, and dial his number. “Hello.”

“We found her.”

“Where is she?”

“Nice.”

I smile broadly. “Does she still have the paintings?”

“You’re not going to believe this.”

“What?”

“She isn’t ninety at all.”

“What?”

“She’s twenty-nine and drop-dead gorgeous.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll send you an image of her right now.”

I open my computer and wait. The email comes through, my heart drops.

A blonde woman, with red lipstick. Beautiful in every way.

Someone I already know that I’m attracted to.

I know this woman, I’ve seen her at auctions before, and I’ve chased her, knowing deep down that I was supposed to meet her. That something was there.

The ballerina.

Panic runs through me.

“I’ve organized for you to meet her next week in Paris,” he says. “I know how long you’ve searched for this woman, I can’t imagine how excited you must be.”

“Yes,” I reply as the world spins on its axis.

No. . . why now?

“I’ll send through the details tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight sir.”

I hang up and walk back into the bedroom in a daze, my heart beating hard and fast.

Is this the sign I’ve been waiting for?

I climb into bed beside Kate and I take her into my arms as sadness fills me.

“El,” she murmurs in her sleep.

I hold her tighter.

“I love you,” she whispers.

I close my eyes in regret.

Fuck.

I let out a deep exhale as I watch the game on the screen. I’m at a bar, sitting at a high bench seat near the back, waiting for my brothers. I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders and fuck, I need to hash it out.

I see them amble through the front doors, deep in conversation, and then make their way over to me. Jameson heads straight to the bar.

“Here he is.” Tristan slaps me hard three times on the back as he falls onto the seat beside me. “What is so damn important that we have to meet you in a bar at”—he glances at his watch—“eleven-fifty in the fucking morning?”

I roll my eyes. “Everything.”

Christopher frowns across the table. “What’s wrong?”

“Destiny is fucking me up the ass, that’s what.”

Tristan raises an eyebrow. “Strap-on, or cock?”

Christopher chuckles as he turns his phone off and puts it on the table.

“Will you shut the fuck up,” I snap. “Trust you to make a joke of my life.”

“It is comical,” he says dryly. “And you are a clown.”

Jameson arrives with a tray of beers, places them in front of us and falls into a seat, looks over at me. “What?”

“My life is a fucking disaster,” I scoff.

He rolls his eyes. “So dramatic.”

“What now?” Christopher says.

“Well, I’m happy.”

They nod.

“And you know that I’m obsessed with Harriet Boucher and have had a private investigator searching for her for over six months?”

“Yes,” they all reply.

“And you know how I’ve seen that beautiful blonde woman at her auctions for years and have never been able to find her afterwards? And that I’ve felt a connection to her as if she is someone I should know?”

“The ballerina?” Tristan asks.

“That’s her.” I take a gulp of my beer; this story is nothing short of horrifying.

They all sit back as they listen.

“I got an email from the private investigator last night, he found Harriet.”

“That’s great.” Christopher smiles.

“The ballerina is her.” Their faces fall. “I’m supposed to meet her in France next week.”

Jameson slumps back in his chair. “Well, I’ll be fucked.”

“And Kate told me that she loved me last night.”

They all blink, shocked.

“So, all along I’ve been waiting for a sign from the universe. I believed I would have that destined meeting or whatever that was. I’ve been obsessed with one woman, and searching for another woman’s paintings. And I find out that they are the same person on the night that my new girlfriend. . . there, I said it . . .” I hold my fingers up and air-quote the word “. . . girlfriend. . . tells me that she loves me.”

Their faces fall.

“And, I think I love Kate. . . Actually,” I correct myself. “I know I’m in love with Kate.”

“Fucking hell . . .” Jameson winces.

Tristan’s eyes widen and Christopher puffs air into his cheeks.

I look at the three of them as I wait for their reaction. “Well, are you going to say something?”

Jameson curls his lip. “You’re fucked.”

Tristan and Christopher nod in agreement.

“Well, what’s your thought process?” Tristan asks.

“I haven’t slept. All night I’ve been going over different scenarios.”

“Such as?”

“What if Harriet is the woman I’m supposed to be with? I’ve known from day one that I saw her painting that she was special. I’ve adored the ballerina from afar and to find out they are the same person is . . .” I pause as I try to articulate my words. “Mind-blowing.”

They all listen intently.

“But then there’s Kathryn. We hated each other for so long. I was never attracted to her. One day it was like a lightbulb went off and I could think of nothing else.” I take a depressing sip of my beer. “She is . . .” I pause. “Just so beautiful.”

Jameson frowns. “You’re the happiest I’ve seen you in a very long time.”

“I am. Since Kate and I got together, we’ve spent almost every night together.”

“Every night?” Christopher frowns. “Like virtually every single night?”

“Yep, I can’t stand the thought of her going back to her house for even one night.”

Tristan holds his forehead as he leans his elbow on the table. “You’re completely fucked.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” Jameson asks. “What are the options?”

“I can stay with Kate and always have regrets and wonder, what if.”

They all wince.

“Or I go to Harriet and try with her, and leave Kate.”

“Can you just leave Kate?” Christopher asks.

“I don’t know.” I sigh sadly. “I know that if I leave Kate now I’ve been the biggest fucking asshole in all of history.”

They all listen.

“I haven’t played games. I’ve been completely myself and haven’t held back at all.”

They all wince again.

“This is why I’m never falling in love,” Christopher snaps. “No way in hell am I giving my balls on a platter to a woman.”

Tristan rolls his eyes. “That statement right there is why you aren’t in a relationship. When you love someone, you give them your heart, not your fucking balls, you dipshit.”

Christopher sips his beer. “My wife will be getting my balls, straight down her throat.”

We all chuckle as we take a drink and then we fall silent.

“So. . . what now?” Jay asks.

“I feel like Harriet is destined. I know you all don’t believe in fate. But I do, I always have.”

“Look, I never believed in fate. I always thought that I would meet some beautiful young woman and it would be easy,” Tristan says.

I listen intently.

“And then I met Claire, and everything I thought I wanted went out the window. Her kids hated me and I had to fight tooth and nail to convince her to love me. Never in a million years did I ever imagine my life as it is now. But I honestly believe I am where I’m meant to be. Claire and those kids were meant for me, and the bigger picture of my destiny was already mapped out. They were my family long before I even met them; perhaps before they were even born it was decided that they would end up being mine.”

I exhale, more confused, and I turn to Jay. “What about you?”

“Well.” He shrugs. “I thought Claudia was the love of my life.” He sips his beer. “Turns out she was just keeping me company until Emily came along. Trust me, she isn’t who or what I thought I would end up with either.”

“Would you change it?”

“Not for anything in the world.”

I turn my attention to Christopher.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Don’t look at me, I’m going undercover to meet my wife. I don’t want no socialite.”

“What?” We all frown.

“One of these days I’m taking a gap year,” Christopher says.

“What does that even mean?” Jameson says.

“I’m going to hand over my credit cards, resign, and grow a beard,” he continues. “Go backpacking for twelve months. A do-over of sorts. I’m going to come back with someone who loves me for me.”

We all burst out laughing.

“You,” I scoff. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard. You in a backpacker resort?”

We laugh harder, imagining him there with the ferals and bedbugs. Christopher is accustomed to luxury; he’d die without it.

Jameson’s attention comes back to me. “What are you going to do?”

“I know I can’t live my life with regrets or wondering what if.” I sigh.

“So, you’re going to go to Paris?” Christopher frowns. “Just like that?”

I stay silent, unsure.

“You’re stupid if you fuck this up with Kate,” he snaps. “That she likes you is unbelievable, the fact that she loves you is a fucking miracle.”

My eyes rise to meet his.

“You have something special with her; grab onto it with both hands and don’t let go.”

“Agreed,” Tristan says.

“I think you need to go to Paris.” Jameson sighs. “You need to know, once and for all. Are you really going to live your life wondering what if? Is that fair to Kate to start a relationship with this already hanging over your head?”

My chest tightens as I look at my brothers and I know that there is no right or wrong answer to this.

I’m fucked if I do, and fucked if I don’t.