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)
An email catches my eye. It is an invitation forwarded by Lisa for a charity gala downtown. And it’s tomorrow night. Black tie, some swanky hotel ballroom, the kind of event I’d usually skip. But an idea hits me: I want to go out with Amelia, not just hide in this house, stealing moments in the dark. I want to see her in the world, on my arm, even if it’s a lie we’re living. My pulse quickens, a reckless thrill mixing with fear, and I glance at her.
She’s lost in her painting, her lips slightly parted, a smudge of green paint on her forearm. She’s so beautiful it hurts, a deep ache in my bones. I’m desperate to hold onto it, to make every second count before it’s ripped away.
I stand, my chair scraping softly on the hardwood, and cross the room. She looks up, her witch’s green eyes catching mine. A smile tugs at her lips, soft and warm. My heart stumbles, love and dread tangling, and I stand next to the easel.
“Hey,” I say, voice low. “Got a second?”
She sets her brush down and wipes her hands on a rag. “Sure, what’s up?” Her voice is husky, teasing, but there’s a curiosity in her eyes.
I pull my phone from my pocket, open the email, and hold it out, the screen glowing between us. She takes the phone.
“There’s this charity gala tomorrow night,” I say, keeping my tone casual, though my heart’s racing. “Fancy hotel, black tie, the whole deal. I want you to come with me. Be my secret date.” The words feel bold, dangerous, a line I shouldn’t cross, but I can’t stop. I want her in my world, even if it’s just for one night.
Her eyes widen, surprise flashing, then hesitation. She bites her lip, a gesture that sends a jolt through me, and leans closer, her loose top shifting, revealing the curve of her shoulder. “Is that safe?” she asks, voice soft with caution, but there’s a thrill in it, a spark that matches mine. “I mean… people will see us together.”
I grin and recklessly lean in, my hand brushing her arm, the touch electric. “And what if they do? I’m going with my half-sister,” I say, voice low, teasing, though the word sister cuts me like a rusty blade.
“Hmmm…”
“I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise. No one will guess.” My thumb grazes her skin, lingering, and I see her breath catch, her cheeks flushing pink.
She laughs, a soft, nervous sound, but her eyes light up with the thought.
“Go on. Say yes,” I urge.
“Yes, okay. Why not?” she says, voice warm, a smile spreading. “I’ve got this emerald dress in my closet that Sara persuaded me to buy that I’ve been dying to wear.” Her voice catches on Sara’s name, a flicker of guilt in her eyes, but she pushes it away, her smile holding firm. My heart twists, not with guilt. I feel no guilt, only pain that she feels guilty to be with me.
“Perfect. You’ll look stunning,” I murmur, my hand sliding to her cheek, cupping it, my thumb brushing the paint smudge. Her skin is soft and warm, and I want to kiss her, to pull her into me, but I hold back because of Jason.
I smile and she smiles back shyly.
She has no idea how much I need to see her in that dress, to have her on my arm, to pretend for one night that she’s mine. It’s like the promise of more, just one more special and unforgettable moment between us before Sara’s return shatters everything.
Chapter
Thirty-Three
AMELIA
Icannot remember the last time I put this much effort into getting ready. The charity gala is tonight, and I’m nervous as hell. There's a flutter in my chest that’s half-thrill, half-dread. Are we making a mistake? Can we really pull it off and pretend not to be lovers, but siblings?
I dab foundation onto my skin, the cool cream blending seamlessly, hiding the faint shadows under my eyes. My fingers are less than stable as I apply eyeliner, extending the sharp line slightly outwards from the edges. It makes my eyes pop and look a brighter green. I apply mascara next, thickening my lashes. I lean back. It looks good. I should use eyeliner and mascara more often, but it’s such a hassle trying to take it all off before bed. A touch of rose lipstick on my lips and it works as a blush across my cheeks too.
I stare at my reflection.
I look… alive, vibrant, gorgeous, nothing like the drab woman who came to this house. For the first time in years, I’m doing my hair and makeup, not just for him, but for me, and it feels good.
The emerald dress hangs on the closet door, its silk shimmering like a forest at sunset. I go over and admire it once again, almost unable to believe that it is mine. With a purr of pleasure, I slip it on, and the fabric glides over my skin, cool and smooth, hugging my curves with a daring neckline that dips low. For a moment, I worry that it is too much. I don’t want to look slutty, then I remember that Sara had given her nod of approval, and surely she must know the type of look the society her husband keeps expects from women. Quickly, before I can change my mind, I push the unflattering thoughts out of my mind.