Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94092 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“I have a secret to tell you,” he says, his marvelous eyes locking on mine… and my heart stops.
Chapter
Eighteen
MAX
Iclose the dishwasher door with a soft click, my hands still damp from rinsing the plates.
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I reply as I lean against the counter, my arms crossing over my chest, trying to keep my voice light, to ease the tension that’s been coiling since dinner.
“You know,” I say, a half-smile tugging at my lips, “out of everything you’ve ever cooked, that beef rice was the only thing I could bear to eat.”
Her head snaps up, her clear green eyes wide with astonishment and disbelief.
“What?’
“Yeah,” I nod, my lips quivering with suppressed laughter.
“But you… You loved everything. You told me it was all great.”
“I lied,” he says. “And I was sure I would take this to my grave but I’m just concerned for Jason, in case, you out of the goodness of your heart, attempt breakfast as well tomorrow.”
Her jaw drops to the floor. “What?”
“You’re wonderful, Amelia,” I say. “Just not at cooking.”
“Max!” she exclaims. “How could you say that?” She grabs the dish towel, twisting it into a whip, and swats at me, the fabric snapping against my arm with a soft sting. Her laughter bubbles up, a sound so pure it pierces me, pulling me back to that summer when her giggles filled the Fitzwilliam kitchen.
I laugh, dodging another swing, my hand shooting out to catch the towel and tug it, drawing her closer.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.
“You loved cooking for me so much I couldn’t bear to.”
“Oh my God, poor Jason,” she wails.
“Poor Jason?” I protest. “How about poor me?”
She laughs, eyes apologetic, but then it fades, her gaze locking on mine. And just like that, the air shifts, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous.
I pull the towel gently, and she stumbles forward, her body inches from mine, her warmth radiating through the thin fabric of her dress.
My heart pounds, a wild drumbeat, and I’m lost in her—those green, deep and yet so clear, her lips parted, soft and pink, so close I can almost taste them. My hand moves to her waist, unthinking, my fingers grazing the curve of her hip. She doesn’t pull away, her breath hitching. Day one, and already we’re teetering on the edge. This could shatter everything. I lean in, drawn by a pull I can’t fight, my lips hovering over hers, the heat of her breath mingling with mine. She’s my half-sister, a voice screams inside, but the label is a weak thing against the fire in my veins, the desire that’s lived in me for fourteen years.
A small, uncertain voice breaks the spell. “Daddy?”
Jason stands in the doorway.
My heart stops, guilt crashing over me like a wave, and I step back, releasing the towel, my hand falling from Amelia’s waist. She turns away, her cheeks flushed, her hands smoothing her dress.
I swallow hard, my throat tight with shame.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, my voice rough, forcing a smile as I move toward him. “What’s up? Want some help with your homework?”
Jason shakes his head, his eyes flicking to Amelia. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice apologetic, aimed at her. “I didn’t mean to say the dinner was weird. I just… couldn’t eat it.”
Amelia’s expression softens, and she immediately goes over to him. “I know,” she says. “Your dad just told me that I am a terrible cook. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he replies.
“You’re still hungry, right?” she asks.
Jason nods.
Her smile is kind, and I see the care in it, the way she tries her best to soothe him. It twists my heart, a mix of gratitude and longing I can’t untangle.
I clear my throat, needing to move, to escape the kitchen’s charged air. “How about we go out?” I say, my voice false and bright. “In-N-Out. Burgers, fries, shakes—sound good?”
Jason’s eyes light up, a rare spark, and he nods, bouncing slightly. “Yeah!” he says, and Amelia stands, her smile tentative but real.
“Sounds perfect,” she says, her voice steady, though her eyes avoid mine, and I know she knows it too—the near-kiss, how close we came to crossing the forbidden line.
We pile into the SUV, the night air cool through the open windows. In-N-Out’s neon sign glows ahead, a beacon of normalcy, and we slide into a red vinyl booth. The place is alive with chatter, the sizzle of grills, the tang of fries and burgers filling the air. Jason orders a cheeseburger, his voice louder and happier now, and Amelia gets a vanilla milkshake, her lips curling around the straw in a way that makes my chest tighten. I stick to a double-double, forcing myself to focus on the food, the crinkle of the wrapper, the juiciness of the meat patty, anything but her.
The conversation is light, friendly, a careful dance around the moment in the kitchen.