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CAROLINE

Eight Weeks Later

T he sunlight streaming through the curtains is far too bright for comfort. They pierce through my eyelids, and I groan as I bury my face into the pillow.

I hate mornings, and I try to avoid setting my alarm clock if I can get away with it. My phone keeps buzzing on my nightstand, though, and I reach for it, fully intending to hit the snooze button and go back to dreamland.

When my gaze falls on the time, however, my heart stops.

10:25 AM.

The wedding ceremony starts at 11.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I sit up straight in bed, mentally brushing off the last remnants of sleep. I fling the covers off and rush to the shower. I may be late, but I refuse to look ugly, not after I fought tooth and nail against this marriage. The least I can do is look my best and not show an ounce of proof that I spent the whole night drinking by myself.

For the first time in twenty-one years, I finish showering in five minutes. Since there’s no time for a full face of makeup, I simply slather on some tinted sunscreen, dab cream blush on my cheeks, and swipe bold red lipstick on my lips. I thank my lucky stars that I religiously apply skincare every night.

The tips of my hair are still dripping wet, but I don’t have time for a blow dry. I almost forget my stilettos as I bolt out the door, mentally running through my essentials—phone, house keys, car keys, and wallet.

Check. Check. Check. And check.

The church bells chime faintly in the distance as my car skids into the parking lot. 11:05. I should be running inside now. I should stand with the other bridesmaids and plaster on my fake smile, pretending I love being here and enjoy watching my dad get married for the fifth time.

With my hands still on the steering wheel, I take deep breaths to summon the courage to leave this car. My pale lavender bridesmaid dress feels suffocating, the lace itchy, the waist too tight, the straps flimsy.

Why am I even here? Why do I bother?

Oh right. My studies. My tuition fees.

My dad, who was never there for me, showed up after high school graduation and declared he was paying for my college. The only good thing he ever did. Mom and I didn’t like it, but we had no choice. She couldn’t afford to send me to college with her meager pharmacist salary.

To be fair to him, he did come through and paid for everything, including my books, apartment, and other miscellaneous fees. I should’ve known he’d eventually come to collect. He would never do anything out of the goodness of his heart. That man wouldn’t know goodness if it hit him in the face.

A few weeks ago, he dangled it over my head and told me if I didn’t attend his wedding—to a woman he recently met, no less—he would cut off all the funds. It didn’t matter that I was graduating in a year, and I wouldn’t need his money anymore.

So yes, that’s why I’m here, even though this is the last place I want to be.

In a futile attempt at rebellion, I slam my car door, regretting the childish act a second too late when my car rattles. Great. Perfect. The cherry on top of the most exciting day of my life.

My heels clack against the pavement as I rush to the heavy oak doors. The guests turn at my entrance, and my eyes dart to the front, where Dad stands, throwing me a glare so fierce it can melt steel. Even all the way from here, I see him clench his jaw, disappointment written plain and clear on his face.

Is it still called disappointment when he doesn’t really expect anything good from me?

With my head down, I slip into a pew and hunch my shoulders, trying to make myself as small as possible.

I only need to suffer for about five hours more, and then I’ll be free. Then, I can rest easy, knowing my school and accommodation are paid for.

“Bridesmaids are on the other side.” A deep baritone voice, oddly familiar, pierces through my internal monologue. I try to place him, but I can’t, not while I’m still warding off the last traces of hangover.

I have no time for socializing or pretending I care about this ceremony or pretty much everyone here. It already takes an enormous amount of energy just to be here. Nevertheless, I force a polite smile and look at the man beside me, freezing when I realize who it is and feeling like the floor has disappeared from under me.

I sway in my seat and shake my head, but it’s not my imagination. He’s actually here. In the flesh.

The guy I met at the club two months ago. The guy who blew my mind and made me come repeatedly on a table in the VIP booth. The guy who occupied my thoughts for the past few weeks. The guy whose touch I still seek.

Oh my God.

Recognition flickers in his eyes, too, and his smile freezes. He searches my face, his gaze on my mouth a few seconds too long, before raising one thick, bushy eyebrow.

“We are all gathered here today…”

He swings his gaze back to the front, but the air has changed between us. It’s thicker, the tension palpable, and we’re both intensely aware of the other’s presence. Too aware, in fact.

Throughout the ceremony, I sit stiffly, my spine straight, and wring my fingers. My breath stutters every now and then, especially when I dart my eyes to the massive, veiny hands resting on his lap. The same hands that caressed me and pulled out sounds from me I didn’t know I was capable of making. The hands that grabbed me, gripped me, and wrapped around my neck.

For God’s sake, I shouldn’t be having these thoughts right now!

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

The moment the cheers begin, I rush to the door. The reception is at the only five-star hotel in the city, and I can clear my head as I drive there.

Who is that guy? Does Dad know him? Is he related to Dad’s new wife?

These questions keep swirling in my head even as I arrive in the hotel ballroom and stand to the side, looking as out of place as a snowflake in a desert. Dad’s instruction was for me to attend his wedding, not talk to people, so I’ll stay here until it’s time to leave. Thank you very much.

Dad is across the room, an arm wrapped around his new wife, his smile broad.

I sip champagne and pretend to be busy on my phone when I feel a presence behind me, a shadow looming in my periphery.

“How many times are you going to check your calendar and calculator? Maybe try not to be too obvious and scroll through your gallery instead.” The voice belongs to him, of course, and I don’t miss the mocking tone.

My pulse quickens as I stand straighter and turn to face him. “I’m sorry. Do you need something?”

He stands there with a smirk, all six-plus feet, broad shoulders, sharp jawline, brown eyes, and high cheekbones. He’s like the very definition of someone winning the gene lottery. Even the messy black, slightly curly hair looks perfect.

His suit is rumpled, and that’s when I feel a certain kinship with him. Like me, he didn’t bother pretending this was the event of the century. Like he was here because he was forced to.

“You know, you were nicer to me the last time.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and tilts his head to the side.

“I’m asking you again. Do you need something?”

“I never got your name.”

I’m about to open my mouth to say something sarcastic because being anywhere near my father always turns me into the worst version of myself. I don’t get the chance, though, as a heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “Oh, good. You two have met.”

Dad and his wife, Raya, beam at us as though cameras are everywhere and they’re shooting a reality TV show. It’s as fake as the mop of someone else’s hair on his head.

Raya knows everyone is watching as she lays a hand on my cheek, which I try not to pull away from. “Hi, Caroline. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” She moves to the other guy’s side and squeezes his arm. “I see you’ve met my son, Callum. He’s your new stepbrother.”

If she told me the champagne was poisoned, she wouldn’t have gotten a better reaction from me. Tendrils of cold wrap around me, and I feel like I’ve just been submerged in ice water. A heavy weight settles on my stomach, and my skin tingles with discomfort.

No. No way. This isn’t happening. It’s a prank. Any minute now, she’ll tell me she’s joking. That everything is one big fat joke.

My knees buckle, and I feel dizzy.

Dad pulls Raya to him and nods. “This is great. We’re one big happy family here. Just as it should be.” They turn toward the other guests, but in his usual fashion, Dad says in a low voice meant only for my ears, “You better behave yourself, Caroline. Don’t do anything to embarrass me.”

“Wow, he seems like a fun guy at parties,” Callum says, his eyes trailing our parents.

“Yeah, I mean, if he didn’t insult me or threaten me, I’d think some alien took over his body.”

“That bad, huh? Ah well. I’ve always been Mom’s biggest disappointment, so I might as well live up to the reputation.” He raises his drink to me and tosses it back, finishing it in two gulps.

“Oh-kay, nice meeting you or whatever.”

I turn to head to the bathroom when he grabs my elbow. It’s gentle enough, but he might as well have electrocuted me with the way my nerve endings crackle with sparks. He backs me to the wall and braces his hand above my head, caging me in and shielding me from prying eyes.

My breath comes out in a stuttering gasp. “What the hell? W-what do you want?”

“You screamed, ‘Yes. There. Please don’t stop,’ in a voice that could be heard all over the city block, but today, you hate me. Tell me, baby girl. What did I do to earn your ire?”

I don’t have an answer for him because I don’t understand it myself. I’m just as attracted to him as the night I met him. Actually, scratch that. He was handsome at the club, but in broad daylight, it’s magnified tenfold. He’s insanely attractive in a way that I might have thought of him as out of my league. When I remember how I behaved around him, it embarrasses me. For some reason, that embarrassment shifts into anger. “I don’t hate you.”

“Yeah? So why does your face scrunch as though I haven’t showered in weeks?”

“I … I don’t?—”

“Is the reason because you haven’t really moved on from me? Because I get it. I think about that night whenever I lie awake in bed. I can still hear the way you yelled my name or how you fluttered around me or how your body trembled as you came. You were, without a doubt, my best fuck.”

“Callum!”

“Those were your words, baby girl, not mine.”

My eyes dart to the crowd behind him, fear twisting my stomach into knots. “We can’t do this, okay?”

Callum gives me a devilish grin and lifts a thumb to graze my lip. “Why not?”

“We’re stepsiblings.”

“Not related by blood.”

“It’s wrong!”

“Says who? Your dad? My mom?” He chuckles. “Ah, the paragon of virtues.”

“Just … we can’t ever do that again.”

“Promise?” It’s a challenge. He can see on my face how much that night meant to me, but he wants me to say it out loud. Probably so I’ll end up looking like a fool if I ate my words. His smile softens as he runs a finger down my bare arm. “Dance with me.”

I can blame it on the weird vibes of this whole affair or my dad, who never passes up the opportunity to drag me down. Or maybe it’s Callum’s smugness. He knows what he did to me, and now he’s acting all high and mighty because of it. If I met him again under different circumstances, though, I might have flirted back. If I didn’t just find out he was my stepbrother, I would ask him to take me home.

But not here, and not now. Not ever. I need to make him stay away from me because I can already feel my resolve wavering because of his proximity.

He knocks me off my axis—something no one has ever done before.

The guests sway on the dance floor, and I scan the room. Without thinking, I sidestep Callum, grab the guy casually leaning against the bar, and march with him to the dance floor, weaving through the throng of dancing bodies.

When we reach the center, I spin around so my back is to the guy’s chest, and I’m facing Callum, who grabs a bottle of beer from a nearby server, his gaze burning through me. Without taking my eyes off my stepbrother, I slide the other guy’s arm around my waist and begin swaying to the beat.

Despite our distance, I can see Callum’s face darken, the bottle arrested halfway to his lips. He doesn’t even try to hide it. The thrill of realizing I affect him this way drowns out every other logical thought in my head. Better judgment is nowhere to be found. My actions thus far have been illogical, childish, and stupid. Why not add more to the list?

I grind my ass to the other guy’s crotch, chuckling to myself when I feel his erection, but I barely have time to enjoy myself because the next minute, Callum is before me, his face a mask of fury. He unceremoniously shoves the other guy and grabs my wrist, not caring that some people have turned to look at what’s happening.

“Callum, what the hell are you doing?” I try to raise my voice above the music, but if he can hear me, he does a great job ignoring my words. I don’t even know where we’re headed, but he’s basically dragging me, and I jog to keep up with his long strides. “Callum!”

He stops so abruptly that I collide with his hard back. Everything he’s done is giving me a whiplash, but when I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, he pulls me into the bathroom. Once inside, the chatter and music are muffled, and it feels like the party is worlds away.

I whirl to face him and jab a finger on his chest. But before I can say anything, he grabs the back of my head and crushes his mouth to mine.

Just like that, my resolve to stay away and have nothing to do with him crumbles into dust.