Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Max’s struggle, laid bare in the breakfast nook, cuts deep—his voice raw, and his wonderful blue eyes shadowed with guilt, is fighting the same battle I am. He loves me, but not as a sister. The pain of his restraint is a pain I know too well. The only difference is, he doesn’t know the truth. If he knew the truth…. The weight of the truth crushes down on me as I curl my knees to my chest, my arms tight around them, and press my face into the pillow. The ache spills over, and a quiet sob muffled by the pillow escapes me.
Once again, the urge to tell him surges, a reckless impulse to confess that we’re not related, that Dad’s lie stole our chance all those years ago. It would instantly erase his guilt, lift the chain of taboo that binds us. The truth will shred his barely leashed control, the raging fire he’s holding back. I see it in my mind—his hands on me, his lips, the boundaries we’ve fought to keep crumbling in a moment of euphoria.
My body tingles at the thought, and heat starts pooling low, but out of the blue, Jason’s sad little face floats into my mind, and I shut my traitorous thoughts down, hard. I can’t hurt him. I can’t hurt Max’s family, the perfect little world he’s built with Sara and Jason. Jason’s shy, trusting smile, Sara’s generosity, and genuine warmth.
They’re innocent, undeserving of the wreckage my truth could bring.
With a fierce resolve, I clamp my mouth shut and vow to keep my secret locked away. To treat Max as my brother, nothing more. It is the only way to protect them, even if it means burying my heart.
The next morning, Sara’s departure looms. There is already a quiet shift in the house’s rhythm as I come down the stairs. Sara’s suitcases wait by the door, three pieces of matching Louis Vuitton cases. I can hear voices in the living room. For a moment, I stand undecided in the foyer, the morning light streaming through the wide windows. Should I go in?
Then she comes into the foyer. She’s in a soft gray sweater, black jeans, and boots. Her hair is pulled into a neat ponytail. She flashes me a big grateful smile. Jason follows behind her. His gray eyes are solemn. Max comes into the foyer too, his suit crisp, his jaw tight, and I feel his presence like a current, even as I keep my eyes on Sara.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” I say, my voice warm, stepping closer to hug her. Her arms wrap around me, warm and firm. I smell her perfume, then she pulls back.
Her smile is soft but earnest. “Amelia, thank you so much for agreeing to stay. I hardly know you, but for some reason I feel I can completely trust you to look after Jason for me. I know it’s a lot, but… you’re so good with him. And Max,” she glances at him. “Well, I’m so glad he finally has family with him.”
I nod, my throat tight. “I’ll do my best,” I promise, meaning it, even though the thought of being alone with Max sends shivers through me, a mix of longing and fear. Jason tugs at her hand, and she kneels, kissing his forehead. She whispers something in his ear that makes him nod. Max steps forward and puts his hand on her shoulder. I realize it’s the first intimate thing I have seen him do to her, and I quickly avert my gaze, my heart aching. A couple of staff grab her suitcases, and we all head out to wave her goodbye.
As soon as the car drives off, Max says his goodbyes to us and heads off to work. Jason’s tutor is waiting for him, so he goes to his lessons and I have a solitary breakfast before returning to my studio and my painting.
That evening, I find Maria in the kitchen beginning to make dinner even though she has a splitting headache. I decide to send her back to bed and take over. A slab of beef is waiting on the cutting board, so I decide to make a meal I know Max loves—or loved, back when we were young and eating together in the large kitchen. Beef fried rice, a rich and meaty recipe I haven’t touched in years because it hurt too much. Every bite would have been a memory of him.
Soon, the kitchen is warm, and the air thick with the scent of sizzling beef and caramelized onions. I move with purpose, chopping mushrooms with a steady rhythm, the knife’s soft thud against the cutting board. Jason comes in and sits at the counter, coloring a dragon I sketched for him, his crayons scratching softly, his small face focused.