The stepbrother I shouldn't want

Chapter 11: Chapter 11: Guilt After the Storm

I woke in the guest room with my heart in my throat and Lucian’s taste still on my lips.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second in the garden, the way he’d cupped my jaw, the desperation in his kiss, the way he’d said my name like it was sacred.

Then the guilt crashed in.

He’s your stepbrother.

The words felt like a slap. I sat up, pressing my palms to my face, trying to push the memory away. It didn’t work. My body still hummed with the memory of his hands, the way he’d kissed me like he’d been starving.

I dressed quickly, avoiding the mirror. I didn’t want to see my flushed face or the tenderness on my lip where he’d bitten gently.

⸻

When I walked into the kitchen, my mother and James were already there, laughing over coffee. Lucian leaned against the counter in a gray sweater, composed, like the night before hadn’t happened at all.

"Morning, sweetheart," my mother said. "Sleep well?"

"Fine," I lied. "You?"

"Perfect." She kissed James’s cheek, then turned to me, something warm in her expression. "James was just telling me how glad he is you and Lucian have gotten so close. Weren’t you, honey?"

James smiled over his coffee cup, and something in my stomach twisted. "I mean it, Eliora. I worried when we first told you two about each other that it might be awkward.

Two grown adults suddenly told they’re family. But watching you both at dinner last night... laughing, teasing each other... it means more to me than you know. You’re good for him."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "I... thank you, James."

"He doesn’t let people in easily," James went on, reaching for the coffee pot. "Never has, not since his mother. But he seems different around you. Lighter."

Across the kitchen, Lucian went very still, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the counter.

"I should go," I said too quickly, already reaching for my bag. "Early shift."

"Of course," my mother said, kissing my cheek. "Drive safe."

James headed toward the study, still talking. The second the door clicked shut behind him, the kitchen fell silent except for the sound of my pulse.

"Eliora," Lucian said quietly.

"Don’t." My voice cracked. "Don’t say anything. I just heard your father call me good for you, Lucian. He thinks we’re... he has no idea."

"I know."

"He trusts us."

"I know that too." Lucian crossed the kitchen, his hand hovering near my arm without touching it. "Eliora..."

"Last night was a mistake," I said, stepping back before he could close the distance. "We can’t do that again. Not after what he just said. Not with him standing three feet away, thinking I’m some good influence on you."

"You don’t mean that."

"I do." My voice shook. "You’re my stepbrother. He just called me family, Lucian. This is wrong. We have to stop."

He was quiet for a long moment. "I know what I am to you on paper. I know what he thinks he’s watching happen between us." His jaw tightened. "But I can’t pretend I regret last night just because it makes his trust easier to carry."

"Then carry the guilt without me," I snapped. "Because I can’t do this and lie to his face over breakfast."

"Then we stop lying," he said. "We tell them."

"Are you insane?" My heart hammered. "We tell your father, who just said I’m good for you, that his stepdaughter has been kissing his son in the garden? Do you understand what that does to him? To my mother? She finally has something good, Lucian, and you want to hand her this the week after her honeymoon?"

He flinched, the fight draining from him. "No," he admitted. "Not yet. You’re right."

"I know I’m right." My eyes burned. "That’s the whole problem. I know exactly how right I am, and it doesn’t make me want you any less. I heard your father say that this morning, and some horrible part of me was still thinking about your hands on my face instead of feeling guilty."

"Eliora." His voice softened.

"Don’t," I said again, though with less force. "I need to leave. Before I say something else I can’t take back."

He didn’t stop me. I grabbed my bag and walked out the front door before either of us could say another word.

⸻

The drive home wasn’t a blur this time. I remembered every red light, every intersection, because my mind kept returning to James’s face, warm and proud, telling me I was good for Lucian, unaware of what that sentence had done to me.

By the time I reached my apartment, my hands were shaking so badly I fumbled the key twice before getting the door open.

I sat on the couch, phone in hand, and typed a message to Lucian, deleted it, typed another, deleted that too. Finally, I set the phone face down beside me and stared at nothing until it buzzed.

Lucian: I keep hearing him say it. "Good for you." I don’t know how to feel about that except that he’s right, and it’s the worst possible way for him to be right.

I picked the phone back up.

Eliora: I can’t keep doing this and looking him in the eye.

Lucian: I know.

Eliora: Then what do we do?

There was a long pause before his reply came, long enough that I imagined him somewhere in that house, weighing an answer he didn’t have.

Lucian: I don’t know yet. But I know stopping isn’t it. I’ve tried since the wedding. It’s never worked once.

I set the phone down again, my chest aching with something too tangled to name, guilt, want, fear, all knotted together.

My mother trusted me. James had just handed me his trust wrapped in gratitude, with no idea what he was actually thanking me for.

And somewhere underneath it all, quiet and undeniable, was the fact that I still wanted Lucian’s hands on my face again more than I wanted any of this to be simple.

We were playing with fire, and even James’s unknowing blessing hadn’t been enough to make either of us want to stop.

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