My Almost Brother Ch. 01-02

This is my first submission here and would welcome all constructive feedback. Pls understand this is a work of fiction and hence I have taken some creative license in adapting places and things to suit the narrative. Any similarities with any person, place, event or thing are purely coincidental. Also pls be advised this is not a one-page jerkoff. The characters and the story in this series will be established first and all 'action' will be in line with the story All rights reserved

Chapter 1: Prelude

Andrew was OK.

Not too bright, but not too dim either.

Had enough confidence to hold his own among a group of English Gentry both, in the field of cricket as well as in front of the bench.

He was a partner of the Law firm Pisckawny, Ruthers & Solloway (PRS for short) of which his Great-Great-Grandfather the Viscount of Geornabry, the Hon. George Rowlinson Ruthers was a founding member.

He had a Bentley which he drove too fast, a library full of books which he was slow to read, and a sufficiently practiced backhand which made him a decent tennis partner. (or so I have been told)

Now at the veritable age of fifty-six, this thrice-widowed bachelor with a sufficient bank balance along with wise investments made by his predecessors needed a suitable lady to spend these riches for him.

So forestalling all other also eligible and still young and good-looking divorcees and widows of good breeding and social position, my oft-divorced mother, who at forty-six still managed to turn heads with her silicone mammaries and sculpted bottoms(surgically enhanced), managed to corral him into submission, while suitably and soothingly instructing him in the worldly and carnal advantages of bestowing a ring on her finger, which he proceeded to do so with alacrity.

In my mother's defence, we were among the premier stock of the English nobility, with recorded provenance from the Battle of Hastings.

Our family did live in a castle. While the original west wall of this tenement had belonged to a castle way back in the Hundred Years War, the rest of it was just a two-storied 'mausoleum of the living dead' of indeterminate age (as my mom called it) having multiple rooms and servant lodgings.

This engagement had happened four months ago, and I was yet to get formally introduced to Andrew and the products of his loins. So, it was decided that on my birthday we would have a very small and tight-knit gathering where the families of both sides could meet and greet.

In this rush to set the context, guess I have forgotten to introduce myself.

I am Dr. Meeghan Taylor Rockwell (yes that double e is in my birth records), thirty years old, and currently in my CMT Training at the University Hospital and attached to the Neurology department. Standing five feet eleven inches without my heels, I have hazel eyes, a toned physique, and flaxen blond hair (which to date I have refused to pollute with hair colour) up to my mid shoulders which I style in waves when I need to be in society but otherwise tied in a simple ponytail when I am at work. I am told I get all that from my dad, who was an Italian prince or something (Mom has kept no photos and doesn't talk about him at all). The Taylor Rockwell name is that of my grandfather. My mother never married my biological father and hence there was no way I was inheriting his name.

I have three other half-sisters, all of whom are younger than me, who are products of the multiple marriages of my mother. My mother showed Jewish-pawn broker-like acumen (pls don't flag this as racist, as I couldn't find any other suitable example) in extracting the maximum alimony and assets from each of her divorces but seemed remarkably hesitant in taking any responsibility for her daughters from these marriages.

All her daughters except me stay with their respective fathers. Why my mother kept me with her and didn't jettison me to her Italian prince, I have never found out. Guess it was either repentance or revenge on that prince, maybe both.

Chapter 2: My birthday

Le Festin Français was incongruently named as it served English food and continental dishes with gusto.

The smoked duck and artichoke had been demolished by the gang and now they had descended with gusto on the pork belly and scallop. Some of the more adventurous younger ones had already progressed to the lemon meringue.

I had refrained from eating anything but had already downed 2 glasses of champagne.

Seated in a large private dining room of the above-named Michelin restaurant, I surveyed the assembled raucous and motley crew.

On my left side sat

Tabby and Libby; the twins from mom's first marriage; both twenty-six and as usual provocatively dressed to a fault. Ludicrous matching spotted prints with open shoulders made them look more Neanderthal than human.

Next sat Sam, who at twenty-three was the youngest of mom's daughters (I always forget who her father was) and was dressed as the exact opposite.

She had on a long tweed skirt reaching almost to her ankles and a coarse white full-length blouse. The only thing missing was a large dangling cross and a nun's habit and she could be just about ready to take confession (she wasn't catholic, but you get the drift)

The opposite party was even worse.

There were eleven children of Andrew, two girls and the rest boys, all whose names I immediately forgot. The eldest of them was thirty-three and the youngest fourteen, which proclaimed Andrew's potency in no uncertain terms. One was a lawyer like his dad, two of them were architects; the girls were both into interior design; another two were into some sort of business together while the rest I just couldn't be bothered with.

Andrew was rather a thickset man with hanging jowls and a walking stick. Guess he was going for the Churchill look.

None of his kids looked anything like Andrew and the eldest of them had already started to lose his hair.

Also typically like the entitled pricks of the English nobility, all the boys had loud braying voices loosened now by alcohol while the girls were a nose-uppity bunch with simpering and nasal laughter which grated on my nerves.

I had somehow survived thirty minutes of the cake cutting, the braying laughter accompanying the Happy birthday song, the giving of the gifts (None of which were to my liking) and now my cheeks were starting to hurt with the forced smile that I had been holding onto all this while. I was looking for a decent way to extricate myself from this crow's cacophony when I received a call for a Code Red emergency from the Hospital

Never in my life had I so welcomed an emergency call-up and having excused myself to Mother and the assembled gang I almost ran out of the building. Mom had arranged this madhouse meeting, and she would pay for it, damn her.

Taking a deep breath outside, I mulled over the fact that never had I accepted how sweet and inviting this pungent, almost sizzling hot summer evening London air laden with fine soot and vehicle smoke could be.

Having previously correctly estimated that I would be thoroughly buggered by the meet-the-family event and would need strong reinforcements at my local, I hadn't brought my car.

I was just about to hail a cab when my phone rang, and I saw that it was Mom.

Knowing well that prolonging the inevitable would only bring more acrimony, I set my face to bitch mode and took the call.

"Don't bother with a cab" Mom's voice immediately came on and I could detect a suppressed smile.

"Your chauffeur is waiting in Charles St. I saved the best for the last. Remember to thank me later"

And she hung up.

To say that I was flabbergasted would be an understatement.

The fact that she had prepared a chauffeur and car in advance for me demonstrated pre-mediation, that she knew I would need to get away early. Now that I thought of it, why did I get a call from a human voice and not a robotic announcement for the Code Red?

With my apprehension at a peak, I proceeded towards Charles St. which was just around the corner.

Lost in my thoughts, I wasn't looking where I was headed.

Mom's best for the last tended to occupy the whole spectrum, right from utterly disappointing to the extremely outrageous.

As I was turning right past the stone gargoyle standing as a mythic guard for the building housing some foreign bank, I bumped into Adonis.

Yes, Adonis.

This was exactly the way I had pictured the Greek God.

Strong jawline, prominent cheekbones and a sharp Roman nose. Deep-set eyes and protruding brows. Flaxen curly hair (was it my exact shade?) contrasted remarkably with his piercing blue eyes.

He was tall. About six and a half feet

And his lips. God! His lips.

Full, soft, slightly plump, with a defined Cupid's bow, with slightly upturned corners. At this close distance, I could make out they were smooth and well-nourished.

Infinitely sensual and insanely kissable.

As if his lips were transplanted from Jude Law and planted on him.

A girl could die kissing those lips.

He was wearing a simple blue shirt which highlighted his fair skin. The rolled-up sleeves and two open shirt buttons hinted heavily at his toned body. His snug-fit denim jeans showed strong thigh muscles with a muscular calf.

A living and breathing god's gift to women.

I was openly and unashamedly ogling this piece of heavenly delight when his lips moved, and words came out.

"Meegan? You are Meegan, right?" (He correctly pronounced it with two ee's)

This god-like creature did talk, and it also knew my name. Wow!

"Who...!" I couldn't progress beyond that one word.

"Karri told me about you! You do look marvellously like your picture."

"Who......!" I still was stuck on that single word. I couldn't imagine a world where the gods would be talking with me.

"Guess Karri did keep her surprise." he chuckled.

"Hi! I am John" he introduced himself.

"I did not imagine that the surprise would be so real for you. I am the one missing from the bunch of Andrew's kids that you just met. I am almost as old as Samuel. He is the eldest of Andrew's lot. I had asked Karri if we could meet up separately. I have my reasons for that. The fact that she kept you totally in the dark, is quite amusing!" and he let out another gentle chuckle.

I could not place the accent.

He wasn't native of anywhere in the British Isles, of that, I was sure.

But neither did he sound American.

I was still puzzled at his accent as I registered his gentle laughter.

And the situation was indeed hilarious. At least to him.

To me, it was mortifying.

I must have looked like the epitome of an intellectually challenged fifth grader, with my jaws dropping to the floor, glazed eyes and dilated pupils and my voice stuck on that one word. (I am not being insensitive here, just telling you how I felt)

Trying desperately to unscramble my brain I seized upon the word that did make sense.

"Karri...? Are you in touch with Mom? And you guys are on a first-name basis!"

"Why the hell didn't she tell me?"

I was monumentally pissed at mom. At least the anger was helping in unscrambling my brain. She had subjected me to thirty minutes of pure torture only to have been cavorting

(Nah! That sounded too salacious, but bollocks to fair wordplay now)

with this god-like specimen of humanity on the sly.

Why was I left out?

And then, as if we had known each other for a long time, gently grasping my shoulders with his firm manly grip, he brought his face down to my level and soothingly replied

"Meegan! Calm down! Let me drive you to your shared flat and we can talk on the way! I have some lemonade in the car, which will help calm your spirits after all the alcohol you must have drunk!"

"I had only 2 flutes of champagne." I was stubborn like a petulant child

"And I need to get to Uni as I have a Code Red call" I added.

"Don't worry about that!" he chuckled once more and started crossing the road.

Keeping in his footsteps I raised my eyebrows to chastise him as to whether he was talking through his arse. (which was a wasted gesture as he wasn't looking at me anyway)

He looked at me sideways and with a crooked smile and dancing eyes, and replied

"That was Karri's plant at the hospital. He was instructed to call you with the Code Red call at the specified time"

That stopped me dead in my tracks with my mind boggling over all the implications of what he had just let out.

Thankfully no cars were plying on that street at that moment or else I would surely have been in a head-on collision.

He turned back and caught the fingers of my right hand with his left, and like a parent leading a toddler across the street, he led me to a black Mercedes parked on the other side.

He unlocked the doors, and, in a daze, I sat in the passenger seat.

I only became aware of my surroundings when I felt the cold plastic of the lemonade cup being pressed onto me.

As he started the car I sucked on the cold lemonade with a straw. It did give me some relief and I could slowly try and start rearranging and categorizing all the information that I had received in the last few minutes.

I tried to tabulate them numerically.

1. I was going to get a gorgeous and super-hot person in my life who was my-soon-to-be-brother (ok! stepbrother)

2. This soon-to-be-brother had been in touch with my mom for some time and so obviously knew quite a bit about me.

3. There was a plant at my workplace that was on the pay to my mom and seems to have been feeding her information about me (obviously! Why else would mom install a plant)

4. Andrew and John did not seem to be on good terms. Not sure why.

5. John did not seem British. But from his accent, I could not make out where he was from

I realized that we had driven quite some way and all this while, John had not spoken a word. He was giving me mental space and privacy to process the information that I had received in the last hour or so.

So, to start a conversation I latched onto the last bit of information on my tabular list.

"You don't seem English, do you? Where are you from?"

"Ya I agree, my accent or the lack of a definite one makes it difficult to place me!" he conceded.

"I am Swedish!" he accepted. "My full name is Johan Friedrich Larsen. I just anglicized the first name"

"Then why John? Johan is just fine" I countered. My anger had not abated yet.

And that reminded me. I had forgotten the most important thing.

I pressed the speed dial on my phone.

"Yes honey" Mom sounded quite calm and composed.

"Don't you dare honey me! You and I are going to have a real hands-on fight soon... you are not getting away this time"

(both of us had had martial arts training and generally, we settled disputes and disagreements in a gentlemanly way, with nice hand-to-hand combat)

I was angrier than I had ever been with her...

"You are angry at what exactly?" This innocent question by Johan had me turning in my seat to look at him squarely. Surprise and disbelief writ large on my face.

I mean... how could he even ask that...?

He turned and looked at me. A tiny smile on him and searching speculative eyes scanning my face forming a question that he never asked. Then nodding towards my phone, he said "Karri has hung up".

That was another thing that I had on my list.

"Since when are you and mom mates?"

"How long did you know each other? It surely looks like a long time!" I added sarcastically.

Johan looking straight ahead said in a low voice "She sought me out after the engagement!"

"What?" I almost screamed.

I mean what the fuck was this? They had known each other for about four months and not a word to me. What the fuck!

"According to Karri, she was doing her due diligence" and momentarily taking his hands off the steering wheel, he drew the quotes in the air.

Now I was flabbergasted. The whole thing was making no sense.

In total confusion, I just blurted out "Are you sleeping with Karri? You two seem close!" I regretted saying that as soon as I said it.

Johan just laughed. A nice, gay, carefree laugh. And that laugh helped soothe my hostile temper and bring it on an even keel.

"Is that what's bothering you?" he asked after his laughter had died down. And with a devilish twinkle in his eye and a crooked smile, he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Are you actually jealous?"

And before my temper could again flare up, he gently grasped the fingers of my right hand with his left and still in a laughing tone, he responded.

"Don't worry, she is not my type"

"You could be hers!" I countered. My residual temper refused to die down.

But he was man enough not to take the bait.

He just replied in a gentle tone

"Now be nice." he admonished

"I need to concentrate on driving. I am still not completely at ease with the way you English drive on the left".

"Then let me drive" I quipped.

He looked at me speculatively and nodded

"That may be the better option. Thanks"

He brought the car to a layby, and we changed drivers.

Once we were seated and belted in our new roles I asked, "Where are we going?"

"I thought you would want me to drop you at your flatshare?" There was a question in his statement.

"No, we better head to the Mausoleum because your 'Karri' (I lay undue emphasis on the word) will turn up there, right"

(I was still bristling with the familiarity between them)

"And she has to answer a ton of my questions!"

"Not tonight! They are flying out. (he obviously meant Andrew and Mom) And remember you have dumped your host duties for today on her unceremoniously!"

"Is it me or you who is her child? You seem to have taken over my role?" I bristled. I was feeling abandoned.

Agreed that Mom and I were not always the best of friends, and we generally had very short calls just so that we didn't get into each other's hair, but then this abrupt entry of a stranger directly into my role was unsettling, to say the least.

"Don't be threatened." he tried to pacify me.

"It's just that I had to interact with her on a steady basis to bring about this surprise for you. Anyways both of us will be leaving quite soon!"

"Leaving? Why? Where are you off to?" I couldn't quite succeed in keeping the anxiety and desperation out of my voice.

It was just today that I had met the man who almost was my brother. I needed more time with him... I wanted... no... needed to get to know him more.

"Tell me about you! I need to get to know you!" It was a very simple and direct demand

"What do you want to know." there was a kind of resignation and acceptance of the inevitable in his voice.

"Anything... Everything... I don't know anything about you. Like why did you meet me separately? Why not with the others at dinner?"

Speaking of dinner, my stomach gave an involuntary growl. He heard that. Looking ahead and trying to keep a straight face he volunteered.

"Guess you haven't had anything other than your champagne. Let's stop on the way somewhere and grab a snack. We can talk there".

So, I drove to a food court, and we got into a diner that didn't seem too crowded.

Of course, right from opening the doors of the diner, paying at the counter and bringing the tray to the table, every pair of eyes in there followed us quite unashamedly; the men with hostility and their women with naked-faced longing.

After a couple of bites on my burger my good humour was back. I cast another look around the diner. There wasn't much change in expressions from before.

Playfully snatching some fries from his tray, I taunted him.

"You know, you should keep a bodyguard around. As they say, if looks could kill...." And I pointed around at the male patrons at the diner.

"I do have a bodyguard. As this was a personal meeting, I didn't bring him along" he conceded.

"You have a bodyguard? What do you do, that you need a bodyguard for?" What was he, some sort of Mafia?

He let out a long sigh and I understood that he was preparing to tell me about himself.

I accordingly put down my half-eaten burger on my tray and looked at him expectantly.

"I am a bastard." he began.

It took me a moment to understand that he was not cursing or self-deprecating but making a statement of fact.

"So am I." my good humour was still holding.

And saying that word aloud and accepting the inevitability of the consequences that had followed both of us in our lives, bound us in some sort of kinship. I could feel myself starting to feel at ease with him.

And then he started his story which felt much about the same as mine but there were some essential differences.

In both cases, fathers had abandoned their kids who grew up with single mothers.

While my mom had timed and executed her subsequent marriages and divorces with clinical precision, his mother seemed to have been married only once

He seemed to be in a much better relationship with his mother and her other kids than I was with mine.

But essentially, we both were loners, relying much more on friends than on family.

When I reminded him to tell me how Mom got in touch with him, he said that I would have to talk to her myself.

And with an obvious effort to steer the conversation away from himself, he asked.

"You did tell Karri about hand-to-hand combat. Do you mother and daughter do that a lot?"

"Didn't expect British upper-class ladies to have hand-to-hand combat as part of their etiquette training"

"If you would like a demonstration, I would be happy to oblige. You see, we English have evolved a bit from those Mr. Darcy and Miss Benette Victorian times. It's not all tea and scones and fox hunts now, is it?" I replied frostily. He had succeeded in riling me up again.

We both had finished our burgers and rose to leave.

He asked for a couple of napkins from the counter girl on our way out and his thank you in response made her blush crazy.

Poor girl. I could empathize with her.

Back in the car, Johan confirmed with me

"We are going to your flatshare now, right?"

As I nodded my head and started the car, he dialled a number on his phone and gave a crisp command.

"Ralf, kom och hämta mig på adressen jag skickar nu"

"Who is Ralph?" That was the only word I had understood from his short sentence.

"My driver" he replied succinctly.

His tone forbade me from asking any further questions.

He wrote something on one of the napkins and handed it over to me while turning on the dome lights inside the car.

"Memorize this number. Don't write it down or save it anywhere. Not even on your phone. Anytime you want to get in touch with me, call on this."

I saw that it was a number starting with +46, the Swedish country code.

"Don't share it with anybody. Best that it remains in your memory"

He made me memorize and repeat the number a couple of times and then opening his passenger window he burned the napkin with his lighter

(So, he smoked! Was that a potential red flag? I was debating with myself)

and let the ashes fly away.

To loosen up the atmosphere which had become a trifle shifty after his phone number stunt, I quipped.

"So, are you some Swedish Mafia Godfather or something? Why this memorizing of the number?"

And again, it was his laughter, which was his response to my frosty comment that permeated the car and like a warm invisible blanket it settled on me. It was very cosy and comfortable, that laughter.

And with faux pompousness, in the dramatic tones of stage dialogue delivery, he orated

"There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio, than are found in your tragedies"

I giggled at his phoney stage voice and corrected him

"It's actually than are dreamt of in your philosophy"

"Oh well! Literature was never my strong point" he acknowledged sheepishly.

"Nice to see that Shakespeare is also known on the other side of the North Sea. And relieved that you are finally not good at something. Restores my faith in humanity"

"Hamlet was a Scandinavian, wasn't he? Of course, we have to study Shakespeare."

"Also why do you say that? How have I offended humanity?" his tone implied a request for a genuine answer.

So, I looked at him square in the face and told him the bitter truth

"Just look at you! You know how God-like you look. Did you at all notice the looks of the people at the diner? Or are you just above all that trifle"

"Look ahead and drive. Don't want an accident" Though he was looking ahead when he delivered this driving lesson, he just could not stop his cheek muscles from contracting into a smile.

"So, before all this mafia business started between us, we were discussing you!" I reminded him. I wasn't going to be side-tracked so easily.

"What else is there to know?" he acted genuinely not knowing.

"Oo, please! You haven't even told me the most important one. Your love life! You didn't think you could fob me off so easily!"

He was silent for some time. I thought he wouldn't answer. If he didn't, then I would not pressurize him. After all, it was none of my business. But I was almost his sister, right? (The first time I had thought out loud those words). I just could not leave it without knowing.

A deep sigh from him made me turn around and look at him squarely, though just a minute ago he had asked me to look ahead to avoid accidents.

His face now was lined, as with intense suffering

His heavy and pain-lined, almost drooping eyes spoke of infinite sadness.

"Her name was Annika Nielsen.... The love of my life... She was killed about 4 years ago... Murdered actually...... It made headlines. Guess that's how Karri's due diligence found me out. I don't like to talk about it"

Well, nobody could say anything after that.

That such a god-looking man had been made to live through such a tragedy, made the pain even more hurtful.

I could not find anything to say after that and while I was still debating with myself as to what I should say or if I shouldn't say anything at all, I found that we had arrived at my flatshare (well it actually was a house share, but we don't want to get into specifics now, do we?)

I parked in front of the independent house which I shared with my three other roomies. The house was a comfortable distance from the Uni hospital.

I noticed that on the other side of the road, a shiny new Honda was parked facing the opposite direction.

Both me and Johan got out of the car. I saw the doors of the Honda open and two men in obvious driver's uniforms approach. One of them was carrying a potted single-stem Hybrid tea rose plant obviously meant as a gift.

They came to Johan, and he took the potted rose from them and came round the car to me.

"I am sorry. Even though it's your birthday today, I could not get you an appropriate gift. I just did not know about your likes and dislikes." And raising his hands he forestalled any quips that I could raise about Karri and him and that he could have asked her about me.

"So, till I get to know you better, hope this single rose will suffice. Let me owe you your birthday gift which I hope I will be able to present to you soon. To new beginnings. Happy birthday".

His speech seemed corny and prepared, and I accepted that like all men he was clueless about gift-giving.

He handed me the potted Rose. His drivers also wished me and then one started back towards the Honda while the other, Ralf, got into the driving seat of the Mercedes.

Holding me gently on the shoulders Johan bent down to kiss me on the cheeks.

I was so unprepared for this that I froze for the first second or so while his lips brushed my right cheek and then I suddenly jerked at this touch.

This suddenness of my action also caught him by surprise, and his responsive jerk resulted in both our lips being planted squarely on top of each other.

I froze.

He froze.

Without thinking of the consequences and just thinking about how to mitigate the mutual embarrassment, I puckered my lips and smacked my lips deliberately on his.

"Ya, I get it. Thanks for your gift and this greeting as well. After all a brother and sister can kiss, right? No problems with that!" my voice had shot up an octave and my palms were clammy. I tried but couldn't continue to look at his face and hung my head in retreat.

"No (a pause)... No problems with that!"

The unnaturally quiet tone of his voice made me look up.

Which was a big mistake, because by the reflected porch light on his face, I could look into his eyes.

His piercing blue eyes now were sad with pain and suffering, but there was a hint of some recognition somewhere. But slowly those eyes grew surprised and inquisitive.

And I was mortified and ashamed beyond measure because I knew exactly the reason for his surprise.

He could see the hunger and longing in my hazel eyes and that was the surprise. Hell, even I could see them reflected in his eyes.

And I was flabbergasted as to how did these emotions arise!

It was just an hour or so that I had known him. So why this desperate longing?

If he had not been supporting me by holding my shoulders, I would have surely collapsed to the ground.

He supported me for a few more seconds till I was able to take control of my leg muscles and regain my composure.

With a slightly forced smile, he let go of me and after a tentative wave, he walked to the black Mercedes and got in the back.

Both the cars started almost simultaneously.

I stood like a zombie on the porch till the cars and the taillights had disappeared in the dark.

The unnatural darkness of the house meant that my roomies had turned off the lights on purpose and would be peering out from the downstairs windows. So mentally chastising myself and squaring my shoulders I stumbled to the door.

I was just about to open the door with my keys when the door opened, and I saw all my three roomies crowding and filling up the doorway.

"We saw everything!" That was Brady.

"Yup! Everything!" Helen chipped in.

"Who was that yummy dessert!" Of course, Afreen. She and her food fetish!

"My Brother!" I responded in a final and definite voice, climbed up the stairs into my room and shut the door to their questions!