Page 11

Not with the heat surging through me.
Not after my mind loses the ability to function.
Not after I stop caring for once that I was raised only to comply with the future my parents decided for me.
“Who are you?” I ask because Ialwaysask.
He grins against my mouth. “Does it matter?”
Instantly I remember what Ivy said to Hillary, the tears in Hillary’s eyes, the fact that Hillary had been kissing one of them at some point before I arrived tonight.
It’s a blessing when I realize that none of it matters. That regardless of what I do right now, and regardless of who I do it with, I’m still going to marry someone I don’t want.
“No,” I whisper, my heart thudding against my chest when his lips grin against my mouth.
Cupping my face with two hands, he nips at my bottom lip, his voice a growl. “Good.”
My mouth opens, and his tongue dives in.
I let him kiss me without caring which twin it is, because in the end, when I’m married to a man I don’t love and living a life I don’t want, none of this can matter.
Emily
I don’t know what I’m doing.
Or why I’m doing it.
Or even how, for that matter.
I just am.
Maybe it’s to rebel against my pre-ordained destiny. Or to flip the finger to my parents. Or to steal from Mason all the things he doesn’t want and that I don’t want to give him.
He’s a boy...
That’s just the way it is...
And so is the person kissing me now. Can I be blamed when he’s just doing what boys do?
A thousand excuses and explanations roll through my head, one after the other, a parade of them, complete with dancers, and floats and large balloons that people fight to keep under control in turbulent weather.
I’m angry, and I don’t know why it matters now. I’m desperate, which is why my fingers curl over shoulders wider than mine. I’m turned on because I’m letting someone touch me when I know I shouldn’t.
Damon or Ezra.
It can be either of them, and I’m not sure I care right now.
Because this isn’t about theboy. It’s aboutmetaking back what destiny and family obligations have stolen.
A low sound vibrates in his throat when I pull my lips from his and tilt my head. It’s all the permission he needs to run those lips down the line of my neck, to flick his tongue over the taut tendon. I shiver against the new sensation, caring more about rebelling than who this even is.
I should care which twin I’m with.
I want to.
This entire thing started with Ezra, but I don’t really know him. We haven’t talked much beyond the secret moments we’ve stolen, haven’t done more than kiss and touch, his hands greedy and mine demure. I haven’t let his fingers explore places they shouldn’t, haven’t yet crossedthatline.
Except now, when his hands slide up the outside of my thighs and my skirt is pushed higher, my modesty snaps back in place, my heart thumping hard before I finally stop him, my mind screaming the same thought over and over until it volleys from my throat.