There’s silence for a few moments, Jake fiddling with his beer bottle. He’s thinking. I can literally see the cogs of his mind whirling as he chews his bottom lip. I don’t nudge him to speak his mind. He will eventually, and my twin senses know exactly what he’s going to say.

“Why don’t you resent me?” he asks, looking up at me.

And there we have it. I fucking hate the sorrow in his eyes. “Why would I resent you?” I love the clever fucker with everything I have. And more.

“Mum and Dad. They’re so hard on you.”

“I can handle them.” I stopped trying to match Jake’s academic ability long ago. It was exhausting, and the constant disappointment from my parents was hurtful. At least now they have a reason to be disappointed in me. But that’s on them. It would never make me resent Jake.

“And what about when I’m at Oxford?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask seriously. “I’m going to Oxford too.”

Jake’s bark of laughter is warranted. “And what will you be studying?”

“Sexology.”

“You don’t need to go to Oxford for that. Just call Uncle Carmichael.”

I laugh, grabbing Jake’s hand when he reaches for another shot. What the hell has gotten into him? He scowls. I raise my eyebrows. “Enough.”

“Since when did you become such a spoilsport?” Jake asks, but he relents, settling for his beer instead. “Have you met his new girlfriend?”

“Uncle Carmichael’s?” I don’t know why I’m asking. The whole family is talking about it. Mum and Dad looked like they were about to self-combust when Dad’s little brother, Carmichael, rolled up in his swanky Aston to pick me up for a lunch date with his new, younger girlfriend in tow. Sarah. She’s only a year or so older than I am. There are only ten years between Jake, me, and Uncle Carmichael, but still. Even I raised a brow, and not much shocks me when it comes to Carmichael.

Regardless, it’s a moot point. She won’t be around for long. They never are. “I’ve only met her a few times,” I say. “She seemed nice.” Almost too nice, to be honest. Very touchy-feely. It was slightly uncomfortable, but Carmichael seemed oblivious. Or perhaps his open-minded approach to all things didn’t give a fuck. “You should’ve come with us,” I say, giving Jake my attention. “Uncle Carmichael has a way of making everything so fucking right.” Acceptance. No expectations.

“Mum and Dad ranted and raved for a solid hour after you left. If I’d gone too . . .”