The stepbrother I shouldn't want

Chapter 35: Chapter 35: The Taboo

Chapter 35: The Taboo

My phone buzzed. I reached for it, still half-asleep.

Priya’s name lit the screen.

"Hey," I mumbled.

"We don’t have class today, genius." Her voice was dry. "The doctor cancelled. Some conference. I called to tell you so you wouldn’t panic, but apparently you’re still in bed at ten." She paused. "Or are you not alone?"

I sat up. "Priya..."

"Don’t ’Priya’ me. You’ve missed three classes this week. You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping." Her voice dropped. "Is it him? Lucian?"

I looked at my door. The hallway was silent. "I can’t talk right now."

"Then when?"

"Later. I promise."

I hung up. Set the phone down.

Three knocks. Soft. From the hallway.

"Eliora," Lucian whispered through the wood. "Please. Let me in."

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

"Eliora," he said again. Quieter. "I’m sorry. For Zara. For everything. I’m sorry."

Silence.

Then footsteps retreating. His door opening, closing.

I got up. Showered. Dressed in jeans and a sweater. Opened my door.

Lucian sat on the floor across from my room, his back against the wall. He still wore the black suit from last night, wrinkled now. His eyes snapped open when he heard me.

He scrambled up. "Eliora."

I walked past him.

"Eliora, please." He followed me down the stairs. "Talk to me."

I went into the kitchen. Opened the refrigerator. Stared at nothing.

Lucian appeared in the doorway. "I’m begging you. Yell at me. Hate me. But don’t walk away like I don’t exist."

I closed the refrigerator. Turned to face him.

"You flirted with her."

"I didn’t mean to." He stepped closer, his hands open. "Eliora, you read it wrong. She was touching me, yes. I laughed, yes. But I wasn’t flirting. I was scared. My father was watching. The board was watching. And I didn’t know how to act normal without being the person I used to be."

"So you chose her. Over me."

"I chose nothing." His voice cracked. He grabbed my hands. "You’re the only one that matters. The only one. Zara is the past. A ghost. She doesn’t see me. Doesn’t know me. Not the way you do." His thumbs pressed into my palms. "When I’m with you, I’m real. When I’m with her, I’m just performing. Playing a part. And I hate that part. I hate who I was with her."

I looked at our hands. At his red-rimmed eyes.

"It’s not about Zara," I said quietly. "Not really."

"Then what?"

I pulled my hands free. Turned away.

"It’s about us," I said. "What we are. What we aren’t allowed to be." I leaned against the counter. "We’re step-siblings, Lucian. Our parents are married. We live in the same house. We sit at the same dinner table." I laughed, hollow. "Every time I look at you, I have to remember not to look too long. Every time you touch me, I have to remember not to lean in. Every time we’re in the same room, I’m counting the seconds until we can be alone, and then I’m terrified someone will find us."

He was quiet.

"We don’t have joy," I said. "We have stolen moments. Dark corners. Locked doors." I looked at him. "We don’t have a relationship. We have a secret. And secrets don’t make you happy. They just make you tired. They make you sick." My voice broke. "They make you hate yourself for wanting something you can’t have."

Lucian stepped closer.

"So you want to stop?" he asked. Quiet.

"I want..." I stopped. Closed my eyes. "I want to walk down the street holding your hand. I want to introduce you as my boyfriend, not my stepbrother. I want to kiss you in the kitchen without listening for footsteps." I opened my eyes. "I want to not feel dirty. Not feel wrong. Not feel like I’m destroying my mother’s marriage every time I look at you."

He flinched. Like I’d hit him.

"You feel dirty?" he asked.

"Sometimes." I wrapped my arms around myself. "When I wake up and remember what we did the night before. When I sit at breakfast and smile at James while I’m thinking about your hands on me. When my mother asks about my day and I lie, lie, lie." I stopped. My throat closed.

Lucian was pale. His hands hung at his sides.

"I don’t feel dirty," he said. "I feel guilty. For dragging you into this. For making you lie. For making you hate yourself for wanting me."

"I don’t hate myself for wanting you," I whispered. "I hate myself for wanting you anyway. For knowing it’s wrong and doing it anyway." I shook my head. "For being exactly what everyone would think I am. The messed-up girl who falls for her stepbrother."

"Stop." He grabbed my shoulders. "You are not messed up. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. The only good thing. And if that makes us wrong, then I don’t want to be right. I don’t care about the labels."

"You have to care," I said. "Because other people do. Because my mother does. Because James does. Because the world does." I pulled away. "We can’t exist in a vacuum, Lucian. We can’t just pretend the rules don’t apply to us."

"Then what do we do?" he asked. "Stop? Walk away? Pretend we don’t feel this?"

"I don’t know." I pressed my palms flat against the counter. The marble was cold. "I don’t know if there’s a version of this that ends well."

The kitchen door swung open.

We jumped apart. My heart hammered.

But the hallway was empty. Just the wind from an open window down the hall, pushing the door.

Lucian laughed. Shaky. "We’re paranoid."

"We have to be." I picked up an apple from the bowl. Set it down. My hands shook. "This is what I’m talking about, Lucian. We can’t even have a conversation without jumping at shadows."

He was quiet. Then he walked to the counter. Stood beside me.

"So let’s leave," he said.

I stared at him. "What?"

"Let’s leave. Right now. Today." His eyes were dark, serious. "Pack a bag. Get in my car. Drive somewhere no one knows us. Where we can be normal. Together. Without the taboo. Without the secrets."

"Lucian..."

"We could do it. I have money. Not much, but enough. We could go to the coast. Or the mountains." He grabbed my hand. "Anywhere. As long as it’s us. As long as we’re not hiding."

I looked at our hands. At his face, desperate and hopeful.

"And then what?" I asked quietly. "We live in hiding forever? We abandon my mother? Your father? Our lives?"

"We build new lives."

"With what? Your father’s stolen money? My student loans?" I pulled my hand free. "We can’t run away from this, Lucian. We can’t outrun what we are."

"Then what do we do?" he asked again. His voice was raw. "Because I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep touching you in the dark and pretending I don’t want to hold your hand in the light. I can’t keep being your secret."

"You’re not my secret," I whispered.

"Then what am I?"

I looked at him. At the man who had posed as a corpse. Who had paid debts that weren’t his. Who had sat outside my door all night.

"You’re my stepbrother," I said. The words tasted like ash. "That’s what the world sees. That’s what I have to remember. Even when I want to forget."

He stared at me. His face went blank.

"So that’s it," he said. Flat.

"No." I stepped closer. Reached for his hand. "That’s not it. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to walk away. I just need to figure out how to be with you without hating myself. How to want you without feeling like I’m destroying everything else." I laughed, wet. "How to love you in a way that doesn’t feel like a crime."

He was quiet. Then his hand turned in mine, his fingers lacing through.

"Then we figure it out together," he said. "Not by running. Not by hiding more. But by finding joy in what we have. Even if it’s small. Even if it’s stolen. Even if it’s just this. Just now. Just us in a kitchen at seven in the morning, arguing about whether we’re allowed to want each other."

I laughed. Surprised.

"We didn’t burn toast," I said.

"We will." He smiled. Small. Fragile. "I’ll burn toast for you every morning. If you’ll eat it."

"I’ll eat it. But you’re doing the dishes."

He laughed. Low. Warm.

We stood there. The kitchen was bright, morning sun streaming through the windows. The house was quiet. We were alone.

For this moment, this hour, this stolen piece of morning, we were just two people. Not step-siblings. Not secrets. Not taboo.

Just us.

My phone buzzed. Priya again.

I ignored it.

Lucian’s phone buzzed too. He ignored it.

"We should get ready," I said. "You have work."

"In a minute." His arms tightened around me. "In an hour. In never."

I smiled. Pressed my face into his neck.

The kitchen was warm. The toast didn’t burn. The world outside didn’t know.

For now, that was enough.

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