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bake all the time.’

      ‘Yeah, but you only bake large quantities of coronary-inducing confectionery when your stress levels are through the roof. You’re very predictable.’

      ‘Predictable?’ Lexi slumped against the sink. ‘That’s highly depressing.’

      Tasha licked the chocolate-coated truffle. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

      Lexi sighed. ‘What’s there to say? I’m a thirty-two-year-old predictable woman who put her trust in a cheating gambler. I’m beyond help.’

      ‘This is true.’

      Lexi glared at her twin. ‘Thanks.’

      Tasha gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘Trusting someone isn’t a flaw. You had a bad experience and got burnt. Shit happens. But you’ll get over it. Time heals and all that crap.’

      Lexi rolled her eyes. ‘You should be a marriage guidance counsellor.’

      ‘It’s a gift, I know.’

      ‘Right at this moment it doesn’t feel like I’ll get over it. I no longer trust myself, let alone anyone else. My judgement is clearly abysmal.’

      ‘Only when it comes to men. In everything else you have impeccable taste.’ Tasha pointed to their latest acquisition. ‘Like that coffee table.’

      ‘Liar. You said it was a piece of crap.’

      ‘The mosaic tiling converted me. I couldn’t see how a fifteen-quid reject from eBay would complement your other eclectic pieces. I was wrong.’

      ‘Eclectic? Careful, Tasha, that almost sounded like a compliment.’

      Tasha folded her arms. ‘I say it as I see it. This place needed a makeover, I was just too lazy to do anything about it.’

      Which wasn’t true. Her sister’s desire for change had nothing to do with needing a makeover.

      They’d inherited the three-storey townhouse when their grandmother had died ten years ago. It was situated within a stone’s throw of Windsor Castle, nestled in the cobbled side streets along with the other quaint shops and eateries. Their grandmother had run Elsie’s Teas & Treats for nearly forty years and she’d been a key figure in their lives growing up. She’d encouraged their individuality, wanting them to be independent, self-sufficient and resourceful women.

      When she’d died, she’d gifted them the building in the hope they’d fulfil their desire of running their own businesses, which they had. They’d divided the space into two areas, with two flats above: one for sharing, the other for renting out. Below, they’d opened Tainted Love Tattoos and Ryan Fine Arts: two contrasting businesses, linked by a shared love of art.

      The set-up had worked perfectly. As twins, they’d always been close, despite their differing personalities. In fact, most people didn’t even register they were identical. It was amazing how changing your hair colour and throwing in a few tattoos could mask the obvious. Lexi’s preference for lightening her hair and wearing colourful retro clothing contrasted with Tasha’s ebony hair and penchant for body art and metal piercings. But underneath the camouflage, they shared the same DNA. More than that, they were best friends. There was no one on the planet Lexi felt closer to than Tasha.

      When she’d married Marcus and moved out of their shared flat, it had been a wrench leaving Tasha, but at least working next door had ensured their close bond remained. And when her marriage had broken down, it was Tasha who’d been there for her, insisting she move back into the flat. It was just like old times, the pair of them living together and being the emotional support they both needed.

      Lexi watched her sister wipe chocolate from her black nail-polished fingers. ‘Thanks again for letting me move back in, Tash. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

      ‘Luckily, you’ll never have to find out. Besides, you were having a meltdown. It was my duty as your loving sister to rescue you.’

      ‘And I appreciate it, really I do. But you didn’t have to let me loose with a paintbrush.’

      ‘Actually, I did. Even I could see this pad needed your style input.’

      Another white lie. The flat had looked fine. The real reason Tasha wanted a change of décor was because of Harriette.

      Tasha had only had one serious relationship before Harriette, a woman called Sara, whom she’d dated for two years. But the relationship had soured when Sara became clingy and jealous of Tasha and Lexi’s close bond. In the end, Sara left, claiming Tasha never put her first. Tasha was heartbroken.

      Tasha had steered away from relationships for a few years, but then she’d met Harriette, who seemed like the real deal. She was funny, kind and brought a lightness to the relationship that balanced out Tasha’s tendency for melancholy. They made a great couple and Tasha adored her. So much so, Harriette moved into the flat and they spent months doing up the place and making a home together.

      But then Harriette fell pregnant and returned to her ex-boyfriend, whom Tasha had no idea she was still seeing. Tasha was devastated. More than that, she felt betrayed, which manifested into rage, resulting in her smashing up the flat, destroying furniture and ripping up curtains and soft furnishings. Hence the need for a makeover.

      Tasha had recovered, but there was a hardness to her now, as Marcus had discovered when Tasha had slashed his tyres. Not that she felt sorry for Marcus. But Tasha wasn’t someone you wanted to get on the wrong side of.

      Tasha leant against the worktop. ‘Besides, this place is a damned sight better than that monstrosity of a mansion in Notting Hill. You never looked right there. This place is more you. Retro-chic.’ She inspected a chipped nail. ‘Marcus would hate it.’

      Lexi grinned. ‘That’s part of the appeal.’

      Tasha laughed, something she rarely did. ‘Talking of Dickwit, have you heard from him lately?’ She reached over for the bottle of orange liqueur Lexi had used for baking. ‘Christ, paint stripper’s more palatable than this stuff. We need something decent to drink.’

      ‘I meant to restock, but I ran out of cash. I’ll pop to the wholesalers on Friday. I’m planning a big shop.’ She untied her blue chequered apron.

      Tasha looked appalled. ‘What have you got planned for Saturday, sorting through your sock drawer?’

      Lexi threw the apron at her. ‘Make yourself useful, there’s a sink full of washing-up.’

      Tasha grunted something unintelligible. ‘Fine, but then I’m heading to the off-licence.’

      Lexi checked the progress of her cupcakes. ‘In answer to your question, my beloved ex is—’

      ‘Hang on.’ Tasha held up her hand. ‘If we’re going to discuss Scumbag, we need suitable background music.’ She went over to the jukebox. A few seconds later The Platters started up with ‘The Great Pretender’.

      Lexi glared at her sister. ‘Are you trying to be funny?’

      ‘Hell, no.’ Tasha came back into the kitchen. ‘If I’d wanted to be funny, I’d have chosen ‘I Could Have Told You’. Ole blue-eyes says it much better than I ever could.’

      ‘And with slightly less sarcasm.’

      Tasha picked up the pink rubber gloves draped over the sink. With her kohl-black eyes and asymmetric bob, she looked the most unlikely of domestic staff. But then, she’d always been a contradiction, a cocktail of sweet and sour … only these days it was more sour than sweet. Heartbreak tended to do that to a person.

      ‘So, news on Scumbag? Please tell me he’s been kidnapped by guerrilla terrorists and is being held at gunpoint somewhere deep in the Amazonian jungle.’

      The timer on the oven pinged. Lexi opened the oven door and removed her cakes. ‘You have a warped mind.’

      ‘Naturally.’

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