Page 51 of Forbidden Love Still Blooms

“Yes, I do.” I point to my breasts. He doesn't look. “You're head over heels for me.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No!”he seethes, rounding on me. His pupils vanish in the wild green sea of his eyes. On instinct I back up, lifting my arms in defense. Jordan sees my fear and his rage melts into slack-jawed shame. “No,” he says, more gently. “It's bigger than that. More complex.”

“Tell me,” I insist.

His smile is a tragedy. I'd take his blind rage over it any day. “You know what it means to have a secret you can't share, Lorikeet.”

Strength leaves my bones. I brace myself on the drafting table, slipping on the paper. Looking at what threw off my balance, I see the stains on the once clean white surface. Little wet spots from my drool. Evidence of what Jordan and I did in this room.

This room …

The rulers along the drafting table are one of many precise tools. I spin in a tiny circle until I survey the balsa wood houses. “You're an architect, aren't you?”

Jordan's jaw tenses. “I was. Not anymore.”

“Why, what happened?”

“It doesn't matter.”

Once again, I study the miniature houses. One of them is familiar, and when I go closer for a better look, I realize it's made of a different wood than the others. It's like an old doll house, the color a rich coffee. It's polished clean, well cared for, just like the home I'm inside right now. It's a near identical match. “You designed this entire place,” I say, turning to see if he'll admit it, even if I know the answer. “You told my mom it was built eight years ago.”

Jordan says nothing.

“You built this place for yourself.”

“No,” he answers, soft as a falling feather. “Not for me. I never meant to live here.”

I crinkle my brow, trying to make sense of this. “I don't understand.”

“Get dressed and go home, Lorikeet.”

“But—”

“Go. Home.” He speaks sternly, but his eyes glisten like he's pleading with me.

“I thought I'd stay and clean up.” That was why I'd come upstairs in the first place, to find Jordan, ask about the mess, if he needed assistance. “I want to help.”

“Didn't you hear me?” He's gone back to hiding behind his plastic mask. “I don't need anything else from you.”

I'm in shock. It's the only way to put it; awash in impotence, searching for a way to change course. How can I get Jordan back on track? How do I make him forget whatever is making him act so depressed that he'll go back to pretending it's just us in the world? Two people driven by nothing but lust. Isn't that enough?

I bury my hands together in a knot at my navel. “You used me.”

He doesn't deny it. That's hurts worst of all.

“I hate this,” I laugh, gesturing blindly around the room. “I hate you.”

Jordan's emotionless act falters. My words pierced him in a tender place, but I don't have the capacity to take them back. I said what I said, so did he.

Snatching up my clothes, I put them on piece by piece hoping he'll stop me. But he never does, he simply stands like a sentinel until I walk out the door. I don't look back as I pass the leftover food, the aftermath of the sickening party.

There's nothing left for me here.

Maybe there never was.