ALMOST

Marion’s decision to kill George had nothing to do with his money, and everything to do with his brother.

She met her husband on one of those luxury singles cruises. She’d gone, hoping to snag a stockbroker or dentist, and couldn’t believe her luck when she did even better.

A strong proponent of the old adage, ‘it’s as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one,’ Marion had convinced herself George was meant for her.

They’d had a whirlwind courtship, visiting exotic places, wandering through a souk, thick with the scent of saffron and sandalwood, harsh sunlight glinting off copper trinkets as vendors shouted at them.

As soon as the ship docked in Florida, they flew to Vegas and got married.

Everything was perfect until her new husband introduced her to Peter. She knew within minutes that she’d married the wrong brother.

Her husband was ten years older than her, though still attractive, in a silver fox kind of way. But he tired easily. and preferred sitting in the library with a book and a glass of good scotch to going out on the town, or even entertaining at home.

His brother Peter, on the other hand, was younger than her—only a bit, ten years at most. And he was everything George was not. His eyes danced with mischief, his voice was warm as melted chocolate, and he smelled faintly of something citrusy that she couldn’t quite name.

Peter came to see them at least once a week. The house seemed to come alive as his laughter echoed off the high ceilings. She soon found herself impatient for the next visit, living vicariously through the younger man.

As he told them about the places he’d gone and the people he’d met, George’s only comment was that it sounded exhausting. But Marion yearned to be a part of this exciting world.

By December, she knew Peter felt the same. The kiss proved it.

Every Christmas George hosted a huge party. He joked that it let him get his socializing for the year over in one shot. Thousands of lights lit their mansion, and three decorated trees were spread throughout the main floor. The aroma of spiced apple cider lightly scented the air.

Marion hung some mistletoe in the foyer. She took full advantage of it as each couple arrived. But that was a cover to hide the kiss she really wanted.

When Peter arrived, she barely glanced at the insipid blonde on his arm. She greeted him with a big smile and pointed upward at the kissing ball.

He laughed. “How can I resist kissing the most beautiful woman here?” But as he leaned toward her, he murmured, “Too bad you’re already taken.”

When he kissed her on the cheek, the music faded, and sensation narrowed to the rough brush of stubble, electric on her skin.