Chapter 4 - Intruder in Silk

Vienna’s POV

I stared down at the mess of clothes. Why was Warren’s navy hoodie sprawled among Desiree’s lace nightgowns, his white shirt tangled up in thongs?

Behind me, Desiree spoke, her voice syrupy.

"Oh, thanks for getting that, Vienna. Appreciate it," she said with a breezy smile. Before I could react, she’d already turned toward Warren. 

"Can you help me inside, big brother? I’m still feeling a bit lightheaded."

She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, leaning on him like she was a war victim. I watched them walk away together.

"I’m not your damn maid," I muttered under my breath as I knelt beside the open suitcase.

The butler must’ve heard me. He gave me a knowing smile and said, "Why don’t you go ahead, miss Vienna. I’ll take care of this."

A blush crept up my cheeks. "Sorry, Charles," I said quickly, managing a sheepish smile. "Let me help you."

Together, we packed everything back into the suitcase. Everything except for Warren’s shirts, which I gathered into my arms.

"I’ll take these upstairs," I said softly. Charles nodded without a word.

I carried the shirts up to the master bedroom and laid them across the bedspread. My fingers hovered over the fabric.

How the hell did Desiree get these? Did she sneak into our room? Did Warren give them to her? It didn’t make any sense.

When Warren walked in, I didn’t look up.

"Hey babe," he said casually.

He walked up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. His lips brushed gently against the curve of my neck.

Normally, I would’ve melted into his arms. But now, I stiffened.

He felt it and took a step back. "What’s wrong, V?"

"What are these?" I asked, my voice sharp as glass.

He followed my gaze to the bed and blinked. "My shirts? What about them?"

"They were in Desiree’s suitcase." 

I turned to face him, arms crossed. My eyes searched his. "Why?"

He frowned. "Oh, that’s nothing. She always wore my clothes growing up," he said. "We’ve lived together since she was six and I was twelve, remember? It’s just a sibling thing."

I narrowed my eyes. "It’s not nothing, Warren. You’re not blood-related. She constantly crosses boundaries with you."

His expression hardened. "You’re overthinking this. You’ve been worrying too much lately."

"I’m not overthinking anything," I retorted, my voice tight. "Her prancing around with your shirts? That’s something partners do, or mistresses. Not sisters."

He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples.

"And by the way," I added, "I never even agreed to her staying here. Because honestly? It feels wrong."

"This is only a temporary arrangement," he said, raising his hands. "She’ll be out of here before you know it. She just needs a place to stay until she’s recovered, finds a job and smooths things over with our parents."

Oh, great. That could take months.

"Warren," I said firmly, "she’s not your responsibility anymore. She’s an adult. And you have a wife now. You have me."

"Vienna, please don’t be like this." His eyes hardened. "Desiree needs me. She needs us."

Before I could respond, the door swung open. Desiree pranced in without knocking. She was sniffling dramatically, scratching at her arms like she had fleas.

"Do you have a cat in this house?" she asked, her voice nasal and accusatory.

I blinked, caught off guard. "Yes… Milo. I’m sure you must’ve seen him around."

She recoiled, eyes wide. "Oh no! I’m allergic. Terribly allergic. We need to get rid of it."

I straightened. "No."

"No?"

"I’m not getting rid of my cat, Desiree. He’s lived with me for 9 years."

She sniffed harder, rubbing under her nose. "You want me to get sick, then? Wow. I always knew you didn’t like me… But this?"

"You’ve been here countless times since I moved in," I said flatly. "You’ve never shown signs of an allergy."

She shrugged. "Yeah, well… I’ve never really hung out in the rooms, have I?"

My eyes narrowed. "Haven’t you? I’m surprised. It sure seems like you’ve been spending time in Warren’s closet."

Her brows furrowed for a moment, confused. Then, her eyes dropped to the shirts on the bed.

"Oh my god," she scoffed. "You’re seriously throwing a fit over clothes?"

"I’m not throwing a fit," I said simply. "I’m just wondering why another woman has been wearing my husband’s clothes."

"He’s my brother, Vienna," she snapped. "His hoodies are comfy. I’ve worn them since forever."

"That doesn’t give you the right to invade his—our—personal space."

"Invade?" she barked out a bitter laugh. "I’ve known Warren for almost twenty years, Vienna. If anyone’s an invader, it’s you. You think you have a right to kick me out of my own brother’s house?"

"I’m his wife, Desiree. We share this house."

"Yeah, well, not for long if you keep acting like this."

The tension between us crackled like lightning. Just then, I heard a sharp intake of breath behind me.

"Warren?" I turned.

His face had gone pale, one hand pressed to his chest.

"Are you okay?" I rushed to his side.

Desiree was faster. "Warren!" she cried, pushing past me. "You promised to take it easy. You can’t keep letting her stress you out like this!"

I froze. "What do you mean?"

Desiree turned on me, furious. "You didn’t know? He’s had heart surgery. He can’t deal with emotional stress like this."

I blinked. "I—I didn’t know. I’m sorry." I looked to Warren, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. My mind was already racing. Heart surgery. Dr. Smith. Was that why they knew each other?

Before I could ask any more questions, Warren’s phone buzzed. He looked down and sighed. "It’s work," he murmured. "I have to take this."

He stepped out of the room without another word, leaving Desiree and me in a thick, uncomfortable silence.

I turned to follow, but Desiree spoke behind me.

"You really think Warren cares about you that much?" she said, voice low and cold. "You’re just a substitute for the love of his life, Vienna."

I stiffened. "Substitute? What are you talking about?"