Stepbrother's Lust: A Forbidden Mafia Romance

Rose’s POV

I woke up the next morning with one thought already sitting heavily in my mind.

I needed to talk to Mum.

Not later.

Not tomorrow.

Today.

I’d been avoiding her for days, and the more I did it, the worse I felt. Every time she’d come to my room, I’d wanted to stop her. I’d wanted to tell her I was sorry for being distant, that I didn’t mean to make her feel like I didn’t care about the wedding.

But somehow, every time I looked at her, the words disappeared.

I was tired of that.

So after getting dressed, I left my room and went downstairs.

The house was already awake.

Of course it was.

Someone was moving boxes through the hallway while two other people discussed arrangements near the living room. There were flowers on one of the tables, sample cards scattered across another, and at least three phones ringing within what felt like thirty seconds.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs and sighed.

The wedding was getting closer.

Too close.

I spotted Mum near the dining area, looking through a folder while talking to someone on the phone. She nodded a few times before ending the call.

I almost turned around.

No.

I wasn’t doing that again.

"Mum."

She looked up.

For a second, surprise crossed her face.

Then she smiled.

"Rose."

That smile made something twist inside me.

I’d missed it.

I’d missed her.

I walked toward her slowly.

"Are you busy?"

She closed the folder.

"Not anymore."

I sat beside her.

There was a brief silence.

She looked at me.

I looked at the folder.

This was stupid.

I’d spent half the morning preparing myself for this conversation, and now I couldn’t even figure out how to start it.

"Mum, I..."

She waited.

I swallowed.

"I’m sorry."

Her expression softened immediately.

"For what?"

"For being... difficult."

A small smile touched her lips.

"You’re allowed to have difficult days."

"I’ve had several."

"Yes."

I looked at her.

She laughed softly.

"Quite a few."

I lowered my gaze.

"I know I’ve been avoiding you."

She didn’t deny it.

Instead, she reached over and brushed a strand of hair away from my face.

"I’ve noticed."

"I’m sorry."

"You don’t have to apologize for needing space."

"But I do."

Her hand paused.

"I should be helping you."

"Rose."

"I’m supposed to be excited about this."

"You are allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling."

I looked at her.

She smiled.

"Your feelings don’t make you a bad daughter."

My throat tightened.

I looked away before she could see how close I was to crying.

There it was again.

That familiar feeling.

I wanted to tell her.

Everything.

That I felt like something was wrong.

That the wedding didn’t feel the way it should.

That I couldn’t understand why everyone seemed so tense.

That Reagan barely spoke to me anymore.

That every time I saw his expression change whenever someone mentioned the wedding, I wondered what was going through his head.

And then there was the question I’d been too afraid to ask.

Mum, are you really happy?

I opened my mouth.

"Mum..."

She looked at me.

"Yes?"

I hesitated.

"Are you..."

The words stopped.

She waited.

"Are you excited?"

Her smile returned.

"Of course I am."

Something about the answer made me pause.

She looked happy.

She sounded happy.

But for the briefest second, before her smile fully settled, I thought I saw something else.

Something tired.

Almost sad.

Then it was gone.

I blinked.

Maybe I’d imagined it.

"Rose?"

I smiled quickly.

"I’m happy for you."

Her eyes softened.

"Thank you."

She pulled me into a hug.

I hugged her back tightly.

For a moment, I forgot everything else.

Maybe I really was overthinking.

Maybe the wedding wasn’t strange.

Maybe I was.

---

Later that morning, I found myself paying attention to things I’d previously ignored.

Not intentionally.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

Devon was standing near the living room, speaking with someone about the ceremony.

He looked serious.

Not angry.

Just serious.

I watched him for a few seconds before looking away.

Maybe everyone was simply stressed.

A wedding wasn’t exactly a small event.

There were guests to organize, food to arrange, decorations to finalize, schedules to confirm.

Anyone would be stressed.

I repeated that to myself.

Then Reagan walked through the room.

My eyes followed him before I could stop them.

He barely acknowledged anyone.

His expression was already tense.

Someone mentioned the wedding.

His brows immediately pulled together.

It was subtle.

But I’d seen it before.

Several times.

He didn’t say anything.

He simply picked up something from the table and walked away.

I frowned.

There it was again.

Why?

Why did he look like that every time the wedding came up?

It wasn’t just once.

It wasn’t even twice.

It had become almost predictable.

Wedding decorations.

That expression.

Wedding preparations.

That expression.

Phone calls about the ceremony.

That expression.

What was his problem?

Did he hate weddings that much?

Or did he hate this one?

I frowned at the thought.

That sounded ridiculous.

This was Mum’s wedding.

Why would Reagan hate it?

And why did I care so much?

I shook my head.

I needed to stop analyzing everyone’s faces.

Maybe I was becoming paranoid.

---

By afternoon, I was sitting upstairs when I heard footsteps approaching.

I looked toward the door.

Reagan appeared a moment later.

He stopped when he saw me.

For a second, neither of us said anything.

We hadn’t really spoken in days.

Not properly.

And suddenly, the silence felt awkward.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey."

He remained by the doorway.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

Something about his expression made me remember the previous day.

The way he’d looked at me before someone called him away.

I had almost followed him then.

I almost did now.

Instead, I asked the first thing that came to mind.

"Are you okay?"

His eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Why wouldn’t I be?"

I shrugged.

"I don’t know."

He studied me.

"That’s not an answer."

"I know."

His lips twitched faintly.

"Then why ask?"

"Because you seem..."

I stopped.

"Seem what?"

"Different."

He leaned against the doorframe.

"Different how?"

I looked away.

"I don’t know."

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, "You seem different too."

My head snapped back toward him.

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

He shrugged.

"You’re quieter."

I stared at him.

"You noticed?"

His eyes met mine.

"I notice things."

Something about the way he said it made my heart beat a little faster.

I ignored it.

"Well, maybe I’m just tired."

"Maybe."

"And maybe you’re just stressed."

He didn’t respond.

I watched his face.

There it was.

That hesitation again.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You’re doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"That."

He frowned.

"That isn’t very descriptive."

I almost laughed.

"You know exactly what I mean."

He looked away for a second.

"I have a lot going on."

"So do I."

"I know."

There was something strangely gentle about the way he said it.

I didn’t know what to do with that.

I folded my arms.

"Is it the wedding?"

His eyes came back to mine.

The room seemed quieter.

For a second, I thought he might actually answer.

Then his expression closed off.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Because every time someone mentions it, you look like you’re about to punch a wall."

His eyebrow twitched.

"I don’t."

"You do."

"I don’t."

"You really do."

A tiny smile almost appeared on his face.

Almost.

Then it disappeared.

"I’ll try to look happier."

I narrowed my eyes.

"You’re making fun of me."

"Maybe."

I rolled my eyes.

"Forget it."

I turned away.

"Rose."

I stopped.

He didn’t say anything else.

I looked back.

He was still watching me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he simply said, "I’m fine."

I knew he wasn’t.

But I also knew he wasn’t going to tell me.

So I nodded.

"Okay."

He left a few seconds later.

I watched the door after it closed.

I’m fine.

Right.

That was becoming everyone’s favorite lie.

---

That evening, I sat on my bed staring at the ceiling.

I kept replaying the conversation.

Reagan had noticed I was different.

I’d noticed he was different.

Neither of us had explained why.

That bothered me more than it should have.

I rolled onto my side.

Maybe I was making everything bigger than it was.

Maybe Reagan really was just stressed.

Maybe Mum had simply been tired earlier.

Maybe Devon was serious because he had a thousand wedding responsibilities.

Maybe the entire house wasn’t hiding something.

Maybe I was just overwhelmed.

I closed my eyes.

Then opened them again.

Because there was one problem with that explanation.

I’d been watching.

And I’d been noticing.

Mum’s smile.

Devon’s silence.

Reagan’s expression.

The constant tension.

The way everyone seemed to be moving around me while I stood in the middle of it, somehow missing the most important part.

I sat up.

Why did I feel like I was the only person who didn’t understand what was happening?

That thought stayed with me.

I didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

I reached for my phone and stared at the screen.

I could call Mum.

I could ask her directly.

I could call Sierra, though I knew she wouldn’t have an answer because she wasn’t involved in whatever was making me feel this way.

Or I could simply stop thinking about it.

The last option sounded easiest.

Naturally, it was the one I couldn’t choose.

I dropped the phone beside me and sighed.

I didn’t know what was wrong.

I didn’t know whether something was actually wrong.

And I definitely didn’t know what Reagan was hiding behind that increasingly miserable expression.

But I knew one thing.

Waiting for everyone else to explain themselves wasn’t helping.

Maybe I needed to stop waiting.

Maybe I needed to start asking.

I lay back down, staring at the ceiling again.

The wedding was only days away.

And for the first time, I wasn’t just nervous about what would happen when the day arrived.

I was nervous about what I’d discover before it did.

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