15. June
June
Ilay staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, where the familiar floral wallpaper of Nana’s house felt like it was growing off the walls, the painted vines tangling around my ankles and pinning me to the mattress.
Julian…
Just thinking his name felt like a crime.
I rolled onto my side, burying my face into the coolness of my pillow, but the phantom sensation of his hands on my skin was a brand I couldn’t scrub away.
He had touched me first. That was the loop playing in my head, over and over.
He was the one who had let his fingers linger as he smoothed the sunscreen over my shoulders, his touch tracing the curves of my body with a reverence so heavy it felt like a claim.
It wasn’t the way a family friend or a guarded protector looked at a girl, it was the way a man looked at something he was starving for, something he intended to devour but was desperately trying to find a reason not to.
And then the kiss. It was a match struck in a room full of gasoline.
For a single heartbeat, the roar of the ocean had gone silent, and I felt a wild, terrifying pulse of electricity zip through my nervous system, lighting up every dark corner of my soul.
I knew he felt it, too. I’d seen the evidence in the way his pupils had dilated when he looked at me, the way his breath caught against my lips, and the way his hand had trembled.. trembled against the side of my face.
But then, the wall. The unyielding frosty shield he had shoved between us the second I tried to lean into that heat.
Why?
I wasn’t a child anymore. I was a woman, and the fire in my blood wasn’t a hallucination.
I hadn’t imagined the look in his eyes or the way his gaze dropped to my mouth when he thought I wasn’t looking.
He’d been waiting for me to grow up. I’d felt that tension simmering beneath the surface for years, a countdown clock we both pretended didn’t exist. Yet, today, when the clock finally hit zero and the world was screaming for us to collide, he’d looked at me like I was a sin he couldn’t afford to commit.
The rejection stung, a throbbing ache in my chest that was a mixture of embarrassment and abandonment. Was I not enough for him? Or was he so afraid of what we were that he’d rather freeze me out than let the fire consume us both?
Down the hall, a floorboard creaked a tired groan.
Nana was likely getting a glass of water, her steady, predictable life a sharp contrast to the chaotic wreckage in my head.
I lived in a world of lace doilies, tea sets, and safety here, but my mind was perpetually back at that manor, caught in the suffocating gravity of those two men.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to manifest a version of tomorrow that didn’t hurt.
The carnival. I wanted to lose myself in the neon lights and the smell of fried dough.
I wanted to find a way to bridge the gap Julian had opened between us today.
I wanted to show him that I wasn’t afraid of the electricity, I was the one holding the wire.
I wanted to see if I could finally make him spark.
But with the thought of the carnival came a flicker of unsettling anxiety.
Please, let it just be Julian, I whispered to the night.
Julian was the rising tide, but Cain was the rogue wave you never saw coming until you were underwater.
He was suffocating in a way that left me grasping for air, always watching from the corners, always knowing what I was thinking before the thought had even fully formed.
If Cain came tomorrow, the tension would be a physical weight.
He would see the bruise on my ego from Julian’s rejection, and he would use it.
He possessed a cruel talent for finding the rawest parts of me and tearing them back open. It was his signature.
I pulled the duvet up to my chin, tucking myself into a cocoon. Tomorrow was a new day. I would be persistent, and I would make Julian admit what we both already knew. I wouldn’t let him hide behind brick wall he was building between us.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, my heart performing a frenzied tap dance in my chest, erratic enough that I could feel it in the tips of my fingers. I gave myself one final once-over, checking every line, every curve.
The old floral dress had once brushed past my calves before I’d taken a pair of scissors to it weeks ago, hacking the hem unevenly to well above my knees.
The faded ivory fabric clung softly to my waist, delicate lace trimming the neckline and sleeves like something stolen from an old church photograph.
Beneath it, cream stockings stretched up my thighs, one already laddered near the knee from climbing the fence behind Blackburn Manor earlier that week.
Worn black cowboy boots hugged my legs, the leather worn and scuffed like they’d seen more dirt roads than daylight.
My dark hair fell in messy waves down my back, still smelling faintly of coconut shampoo. I leaned closer to the mirror, brushing another coat of mascara through my lashes before swiping strawberry gloss across my lips, the colour making me look softer than I felt.
As I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, a flash of yesterday hit me.
The heat of his body. The way his breath had felt against my lips for that split second before he’d pulled the world away.
My stomach did a violent, sickening somersault.
Butterflies were an understatement, this felt like a riot of wings, a swarm of something wild trying to escape my body.
The sound of a heavy, authoritative knock echoed from downstairs, followed by the muffled, cheerful tone of Nana’s voice.
He’s here.
I grabbed my perfume, spritzing a heavy cloud of vanilla before walking through it, letting the scent settle on my skin like a second layer of armour. One last deep breath.
I stepped out of my room and headed for the stairs.
As I descended, Julian’s voice drifted up, that deep steady rumble that always seemed to ground me and unnerve me at the same time.
He was leaning against the doorframe of the living room, looking every bit the perfect gentleman as he spoke to Nana.
I stopped on the bottom step, my breath catching in my throat.
He looked… incredible. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to look better than he did at the beach, but here he was, dressed in a black, form fitting long sleeved shirt that found every muscle in his chest and arms. When he shifted his weight, the fabric strained, a silent testament to the strength he usually kept so carefully concealed.
The nervous lump in my throat felt like a stone. I swallowed hard and managed a small, “Hey.”
Julian turned. His eyes did a slow sweep from my boots up to my face, and for a heartbeat, that familiar, molten heat flared in his gaze, a flash of the man from the beach before the his mask slipped back into place.
“Hey,” he said softly. He stepped toward me, closing the distance before I could think to move.
He reached out, pulling me into a brief, firm hug that smelled of cedar wood, expensive soap, and something uniquely him.
As he pulled back, he didn’t let go entirely, he leaned in and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to my cheek.
The contact sent a shock wave through me. My skin felt like it was humming, the burn of his lips lingering long after he’d moved away.
“You ready to go?” he asked, his voice dropping into that low octave that made my toes curl.
“Yeah,” I managed, my voice sounding breathy and far away. “I’m ready.”
As we walked out to his car, the cool evening air hit my face, but it did nothing to dampen the fire he’d just ignited.
My mind was already racing ahead, wondering if the carnival noise would be enough to distract me from the man walking just inches away.
Or, if under the cover of the crowd, he might finally stop running from me.