Shame: A Stepbrother Romance (7 page)

When it feels like we’ve been hugging for hours, he pulls away and looks at me, clutching my upper arms.

“I’m sure we’ll really get along,” he says and leaves my side of the table. He’s handling all this so well, I’m sure I’m not the first step-sibling he’s meeting like this. As far as I know, this is Joe’s third marriage as well.

I plop on my chair and catch a glimpse of my mom’s pursed lips and raised eyebrow. Her face is silently screaming at me. I’m not trying hard enough to be nice, it’s saying. I should try harder, but right now I have nothing but regrets for coming to this dinner in the first place or ever taking a sip of alcohol at the bachelorette party.

The maids start bringing in the first course. It’s tomato basil soup with mozzarella. Thank God there is food and we are here to actually eat, so I’ll have something to preoccupy myself with. Only I wish I didn’t have to eat something as red and messy as tomato soup at this immaculately white table. Especially not when my sweaty hands are shaking like an old woman’s.

“So, Andrew,” my mom says and I know she feels obligated to keep up the conversation as neither Joe nor I seem eager to fill in the role, “Where are you staying?”

“I’ve been staying with a friend, but I’m looking into some apartments in the area,” he says after patting the corner of his lips with a white cloth napkin. Despite his messed-up past, it looks like he hasn’t forgotten his privileged upbringing and already he is fitting in better at this table than I am.

“Oh,” mom says, a little taken aback, “Is that… um, necessary?” She immediately shoots a look at her husband. She knows she is getting involved in something she has no place in, but she’s one confident woman. She’s made a fortune out of batting her eyelashes and pretending to be innocent. “I thought you were staying with us, Andrew. Joe?”

I turn to her. It always happens. I have no idea which Joe she is referring to as our names sound the same. A second later I realize it makes no sense that she’d be addressing me.

Joe’s face doesn’t flinch at all. From what I can tell, he hasn’t forgiven Andrew one bit. Or perhaps he is ecstatic to see him… Who knows with that man?

“Yes, sure,” he says after a while, “You should stay with us, at least until you find something better.”

Nope, he hasn’t forgiven him.

“Thanks, dad,” Andrew says cheerfully and turns to me, “So, Jo, do you also live here?”

“Actually, no,” I say. He’s been here for five minutes and he’s managed to raise the one most awkward subject that we generally prefer not to discuss. “I have my own place.”

“That’s a shame,” he says, “I’d have loved to see more of you.”

I shoot him a warning look. Magnified through my glasses, I’m sure my eyes can burn holes in people, that’s how much anger and desperation I’ve channeled into my look.

“Her apartment isn’t that far off,” mother chimes in, “I’m sure she’d love to have you over.”

“It really is nothing impressive,” I jump in quickly, “Any place around here is more exciting than my apartment.”

I notice Joe slightly raising his eyebrows. I know what he’s thinking. If
any
place is more exciting than my apartment, then why do I insist on living there by myself? In a rare moment of openness, he practically begged me to live with them in this enormous monster of an estate. I doubt it’s because of his new-found fatherly feelings towards me. It’s more that he’d take any chance he can to keep me closer, so he can work on persuading me to join his company. With no other prospective children to hand his company over to, I guess I hold the most potential in succeeding him.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Andrew says smugly. He knows how irritating he’s being and seems to be enjoying it. My only hope is that he doesn’t slip and say something about somehow knowing me from before.

Blah, this dinner is the most boring thing I’ve ever had to attend, and at the same time the most humiliating and awkward, and I just can’t wait for it to be over. The conversation keeps trickling on, completely uninspiring, and if I didn’t need to be on edge about everything that comes out of Andrew’s mouth, I’d have long fallen asleep. I can’t believe I could have instead been sitting by the fire in my book shop with a cup of hot chocolate and a group of good friends, discussing the latest mystery we’ve read.

“…have a few things lined up,” my brother is saying, “Nothing specific yet, but I have to say, since I turned a new leaf, I’ve been doing quite well for myself.”

I need to get out of here. I’ve rushed through the appetizers (in this house pasta counts as an appetizer, while at my home a packet of ramen noodles can count for an entire dinner), so I excuse myself during the pause before the main course and slip out of the dining room.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I’m walking down the long hallway and my feet sink in the thick carpeting. You can’t get anywhere fast in this house. You need to walk for a while and I feel bad for the poor maids whose job entails a constant running back and forth between floors and winding corridors.

I’ve slept with my brother! My brain won’t leave me alone. It’s like a cartoon angel and a devil are bickering on top of my shoulders.

“
He’s not really your brother
,” the devil says, “
Remember how he touched you? You don’t get a thrill like that from a brother.
”

“
You are still related
,” the angel counters, “
Maybe not by blood, but what difference does it make? He’s not someone you could ever be with.
”

“
But he wants you. Did you see how he was looking at you? He wants to fuck you again and, admit it, those nerdy little boys you’ve had? You barely even felt a thing when they put it in. And this? This was an earthquake.
”

“
You were just drunk and everything seemed way better at the time. Plus, since when are you letting sex cloud your judgment? You’ll have plenty of sex in your future.
”

“
Not like this… It will never be the same as this
,” the devil concludes.

“Shut up!” I scream inside my head and I feel like a lunatic. Since when do I have a split personality?

I finally reach a bathroom and dive in, shutting the door firmly behind me as if that would stop my consciousness from following me inside. I take a deep breath and go to the vanity that’s fully stocked with toiletries, though no one probably uses this room. There are at least five other bathrooms around the house. Or ten.

The moment I place my hands on the cool porcelain of the sink and look in the mirror, the memory comes back. Him behind me in the club’s bathroom and me losing my mind. No, I’m never drinking again. I start the water.

The door opens and though it seems surreal, here he is again. Andrew.

“What are you doing?” I say indignantly, “Get out of here!”

“Can’t I watch my little sister freshen up?”

“Hasn’t anyone taught you manners?” I say and think back to his impeccable behavior at the dinner table. He has plenty of manners, he just doesn’t feel the need to use them around me. “Any girl needs privacy in a bathroom!”

“Oh, come on, sis,” he says with a smile and I cringe at the word ‘sis’. Are we really going to do this from now on? Play a little game in which we are really brother and sister? “Even I can’t drop a girl’s panties that fast. I knew you weren’t doing anything… hm, private yet.”

“It looks like you have a problem with boundaries,” I mutter, “I doubt even
that
would have stopped you.”

“Mmm, kinky,” he says and presses his lips together.

I feel like I might get sick, because for a flash second my brain is actually picturing the twisted scene.

“What do you want?” I realize I’m practically growling at him, not my usual calm manner, but I just don’t know how to behave around his smugness and his self-assurance. Why isn’t he at all bothered by what’s happened?

“Just to talk,” he says and stands closer to me, placing his hands on my shoulders, just where my devil and angel stood minutes ago, and staring at our joint reflection in the mirror.

I try to shake him off, but he only grips my bony shoulders tighter and holds me into place. At least he hasn’t pressed himself against my back, but why do I still feel my knees weaken just at the feel of his strong fingers digging into my skin?

I try to concentrate on what I see in the mirror, but it is no less disconcerting. There he is, gorgeous, trim and muscular, with a face that you don’t normally see in real life and is usually a product of retouching in magazines. And then there I am, with my red hair, my freckles, my glasses and my borrowed cardigan. Even if we weren’t brother and sister, we couldn’t work.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” I half-whisper, “I’ll try to be civil and you should do the same. No teasing, no smart talk. We’ll just forget
that
ever happened.”

“Are you done here?” he asks suddenly and I cock my head in the mirror. Is he even listening?

“Yeah, I mean, no. Why?”

“Take a walk with me.”

We take a side door and walk out onto a small deck. Andrew seems to know his way around well. The crisp air outside hits me like a wave and I’m almost about to turn and go back inside, when something warm lands on my shoulders. It’s his jacket. So, now he is a gentleman…

It has started drizzling outside and someone has taken care to wrap all the garden furniture on the deck in plastic cases that seem fitted for just this purpose. The cedar railings and the wood-like deck flooring glisten with moisture and reflect the lights from the park beyond. We take a few steps down to a narrow path between the expertly trimmed hedges and find ourselves at the gate leading to the tennis courts.

Andrew unlatches the waist-high fence door and ushers me onto the wet perfectly striped grass. My low heels sink into the moist turf and I almost lose my balance, but his hand is there to catch me instantaneously, so I find myself leaning onto his massive arm. Walking over this immaculately maintained court makes me uncomfortable. I feel like I’m trespassing, like I would never belong in a house where there are tennis courts, and I’m too conscious of the damage my heels are causing to the grass.

Andrew’s steps, on the other hand, are firm, confident, entitled. He knows whatever he ends up ruining will be taken care of, fixed and replaced before the next morning.

We keep walking in silence until we reach a small hexagon-shaped gazebo in between two of the courts with white latticework covering its sides. I imagine a sunny afternoon and women in sun hats, sunglasses and white tennis skirts taking a break from a vigorous game of tennis, wiping their sweaty brows with fluffy white towels and sipping ice-cold lemonade while discussing their performance. I imagine my mother as one of these women.

Though it looks perfectly maintained even off-season, the gazebo is now lonely and abandoned, the cushions from the white wooden benches stored inside for the winter. It’s still a good cover from the rain and we duck inside. I sit down on one of the bare benches at a small round table and Andrew takes the one opposite me. I can feel the bite of cold through my thin khaki pants and the intoxicating smell of autumn rain, mixed with that of freshly cut grass. To top it off, Andrew’s cologne is wafting up through the fabric of his jacket, making my head spin and waking up my little devil.

“Don’t you think it’s weird we just left the table like that?” I ask. The walk in the fresh evening air has softened me a bit. I’m no longer furious he walked in on me in the bathroom.

“No way,” he says confidently, “Didn’t you see how awkward everything was? I’m sure they are relieved. Plus, at least your mom would be happy to know we spent some time together.”

“But weren’t you supposed to make a good impression on your dad? I mean Joe. I mean…”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to call him anything. I’m not planning on calling Olivia ‘mommy’ any time soon. And yes, I’m going to talk to him, but not like that. Not at a dinner table with a spoon in my mouth. Not when we are not sitting face to face.”

“So, what’s so terrible that you did? Why were you away for so long? You two seemed like strangers back in there.”

“I’ll tell you some day. Not tonight. Let’s talk about that wedding.”

Not tonight. He’s right. We have so many more nights together ahead of us. We are family.

I look over at the wooded area past the last tennis court. It’s where the lights built in the paths finally fade and the park plunges into darkness. I shudder, despite the warm jacket I’ve wrapped around myself.

“You mean let’s talk about something completely irrelevant and keep ignoring the giant elephant?” I say finally. It’s too odd that we are sitting here like real siblings who’ve known each other for ages and have sneaked out from the grown-ups’ table to do something mischievous. Hang out in our secret hideaway.

“What’s there to talk about? We didn’t know, we had fun. Now we know, we forget about it.”

My stomach clenches. What’s wrong with me? A second ago I was mad at him because he wasn’t as bothered by what had happened between us as I was, and now I’m suddenly frustrated with how fast he dismissed it as nothing. Was it nothing to me? Can I just forget about it?