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The cobbler’s children have no shoes; the house of my father, an engineering genius, was filled with things that barely worked or had been left half-broken for years. The treadmill in the home gym didn’t run, and the air conditioning was on the fritz. Not surprising, considering he’d barely used the room. Instead, I’d warmed up after waking by taking a fast five kilometre run around the nearby botanical garden and public park just as the sun was beginning to rise behind the Rockies.
Years of eating rich, exotic meals on the road had taught me the importance of staying in shape. I was proud of the fact that I’d maintained the physique I’d had while rowing crew in college, even improved on it a little. But doing so took two to four hours of intense work every day, paid for in litres of sweat.
The gym was stocked with designer stainless steel barbells, gleaming and untouched. But they weighed the same as my familiar iron plates when I raised them overhead.
Grunting through a series of shoulder presses as a nu metal mix pounded through my earbuds, my mind kept drifting back to the sight of Violet lying on the bed in her black panties and tank top.
I pushed the memory away with an audible grunt and stared at the mirror on the wall, concentrating on my form. Beads of sweat ran down my arms, falling in fat heavy drops to the wooden floor. Locking eyes with my own reflection, I told myself not to indulge in thoughts of things that could not be.
But the way the incredible curve of her waist had disappeared beneath the hem of her top. How she looked so peaceful when she was asleep. So open. So available.
With a gasp of effort, I raised the barbells above my head one final time, arms quivering with strain, before dropping them with a clang. To hell with the polished rosewood floor.
I twisted into the lat pulldown machine, sliding slippery palms over the chromed bar and pulling it down until it touched my upper chest. My forbidden thoughts ran like a current as I tried to bury my brain in the burning ache of exercise.
If I was completely honest with myself, I had to admit that I’d long held a flame for Violet. How could I not? No-one could deny she was beautiful, smart, and talented; she’d only become more so after we’d been separated by the divorce.
Living with her in the same house as an adult forced me acknowledge something I’d denied to myself for years. I’d lived in two simultaneous realities since I was a teenager, like the twin lenses optometrists used for testing vision. Through one frame Vi was my kid sister, the girl I’d grown up with, funny, sensitive, and kind. But at unexpected moments my focus would flip and shift, and I’d be painfully aware of just how attractive she was, how she made my heart leap when she looked at me with her wide, trusting, deep brown eyes.
I grunted through another set of reps on the pulldown machine, feeling the burn build deep in my triceps and shoulders.
For the longest time I’d maintained a strict boundary between those two ways of seeing her, concentrating on the first and excoriating myself for the other. Most days around Violet I was able to maintain at least a moderate balance. When I was young I’d convinced myself that my feelings for my half-sister were a crush, a twisted flaw in me that would pass away with time. But that shift had never happened, resisting my best efforts.
Despite our closeness, I’d never spoken to Vi of my feelings. I’d die first.
Sometimes it became confusing. I was never sure if I detested her boyfriends because they were inevitably revealed to be the same abusive asshole, or if I was simply jealous. My heart ached for her after every breakup, but it was impossible for me to determine if I felt that way because I was her brother, or because of something more, or both. And sometimes – rarely, I told myself – she was all I could think about. Like last night.
Mostly, I was okay with it. Dealt with it. It was just some days that were hard. But she would only be here another three weeks. Then the house would be on the market, Vi would be shooting her new season, and I’d be back at work somewhere on the other side of the world.
I groaned through the final three reps on the pulldown machine. Slipping my thighs from underneath the pads, I let the weight stack ride my body upwards after the last rep, slamming the plates closed with a ringing clang. Rising on quivering legs, I walked to the gym’s recumbent exercise bike and slipped into its seat, setting its screen for a paced video that followed the route of last year’s Tour de France.
After thirty minutes my T-shirt was drenched with sweat, squelching against the mesh seat fabric with every motion. Still pedalling, I pulled the wet shirt off and dropped it to the floor. The cyclometer clicked upwards as I followed the virtual race guide through the streets of Paris, lungs gasping for air: 38 kilometres, 40...
“Hey.” Violet’s voice penetrated through the chorus of Sleep Now In The Fire.
My strokes on the pedals stuttered, overextending one leg and momentarily bending my knee backwards. Wincing in pain, I recovered and slowed, turning my head to the left.
Leaning against the doorjamb in charcoal black tights and a midriff-baring crop top, Vi looked like she had just stepped off a photo shoot. Hair pulled back into a ponytail, skin glowing with health, my sister didn’t show the slightest sign of last night’s indulgence. Standing behind her was the blond-haired figure of Stephan, her personal trainer. I hadn’t even heard the doorbell.
“Hey.” I pulled out my earbuds and stood up, shoes almost slipping in the glistening pool of sweat that had formed beneath the machine. “I’m sorry.” I gasped between words, my body still burning oxygen from the race. “I left the place in a bit of a mess...”
I felt a bead of sweat slide down my bare chest. As it dripped I thought I glimpsed Violet’s eyes following its trail, but when I looked back her eyes were on mine. I dismissed it as wishful thinking. Last night had really screwed with my head.
“It’s no problem,” Stephan said. The tanned Swede stepped from behind my sister and moved through the room to rack the weights, keeping his legs straight as he dramatically bent forward from the waist. Vi looked from him to me with a smirk.
I pulled a fresh white towel from a stand and used it to mop up around the equipment as best I could, plucking my wet T-shirt from the floor. “Sorry,” I repeated. Closer to Vi, I lowered my voice. “How are you feeling?”
“Just fine.” She looked up at me and smiled. “Thanks for last night.”
I wondered how much she remembered. Did she assume she had made her way to bed herself? God, I hoped so.
“I – I’ll leave you to it, then.” I touched my sister’s shoulder, nodded at an openly gazing Stephan, and left, legs quivering with exhaustion.
On my way up the stairs to the shower I heard Vi’s muffled laugh behind me, responding to a muttered question. “You wish. No, he’s as straight as the original Adam.”
Standing beneath the hot needle spray of the shower, my body finally started to unwind a little. Dried, warm, and relaxed, I mixed a protein smoothie and sat in the lounge with my feet up and Aurelius’ Meditations in my lap, ignoring my phone pinging in response to Violet’s updated Instagram feed. She walked through the room an hour later, freshly showered, back in her usual shorts and tank top. “I made your post-workout shake.” I pointed. “The fridge.”
“You’re the best.” Taking her place on the arm of my chair, she brought one knee to her chest and sipped the thick, creamy concoction.
I tried to ignore the length of her warm exposed thigh. “Good workout?”
She groaned. “Stephan has me doing double duty on my abs. Lots of crop tops this season, apparently.” She raised her tank top, holding the hem just below her breasts. “Two extra sets today.”
“Well done.”
“You didn’t even look.”
I made a show of inspecting her abdominals, pressing my face to her side and rubbing the tip of my nose back and forth until she giggled and dropped her tank top over my head.
I sat back. “You double-locked the door when Stephan left?”
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