chapter 12
I asked him if he was partying, but he said no, he was working, caught in the middle of some dealing. Still, to make myself feel miserable, my brain refuses to believe that he’s always so busy with work, and not with the things people his age usually are.
After that, I stared at all twenty-two photos of him in my phone, one after another, then forced myself to sleep, while imagining things about my adopted brother that I shouldn’t.
I reach downstairs, find Wendy in the kitchen. “Good morning, world’s best chef,” I say cheerfully.
Wendy is Pa and Ma’s chef’s daughter. She took her father’s place last year. She’s around Wen’s and my age, so we bonded easily. She became our friend in no time.
She grins. “What are you doing in the kitchen, my lady?”
A smile blooms on my face. “Today is Zoan’s birthday, and I want to make a cake for him.”
“Ahh, that’s why praises are being spread so early in the morning,” she teases.
I groan dramatically. “Come on, don’t talk like I’ve never praised your cooking before.”
She grins wider. “Not with this much enthusiasm.” She places a big mixing bowl in front of me. “So, our mission is to make an edible cake in one go.”
I nod solemnly.
She hands me a box of flour. “Alright, follow the instructions closely. If you mess up, I’ll handle it. But no guarantees if it’s a big mess-up.”
I laugh and take the measuring cup she passes me. “One cup of flour,” she instructs.
I carefully follow her orders, step by step. The batter slowly comes together, smelling faintly of vanilla and sugar. When it’s finally in the oven, I hover in front of it, peeking through the glass to watch the transformation of what I put in.
“It won’t start talking even if you keep staring at it. Leave it and come here to prepare the icing.”
I salute. “Yes, boss.”
After what feels like ages, the oven finally pings. I dash to it and open the door. Wendy hands me gloves, I pull them on and carefully take out the cake. It looks exactly like the cakes in the videos, so visually, it’s perfect.
I place it on the counter, pick a small piece from the side, and pop it into my mouth.
I grin and give Wendy a thumbs-up. “It tastes more than edible.”
I transfer the cake onto a plate and start working on the icing. After writing Happy Birthday Zoan along with a tiny cartoon of a black-suit-wearing man, I step back to admire my work. It looks like something a child made, but I’m confident it will taste far better than it looks.
I take a picture and send it to Zoan with the text: ‘If you want to eat this delicious cake made by me, come here before 7 in the evening.’
I bite the corner of my lip and press send, holding my phone tightly in my hand. Hoping, wishing, praying he agrees. I haven’t seen him since the New Year party at Uncle Maksim’s place in Russia, and I want to see him desperately.
The message comes back. Just one word, but it stops my rapidly beating heart for a few seconds.
Zoan: ‘okay’
I stare at the four letters, reading them over and over.
Wendy’s chuckle pulls me out of my phone. She’s just put the cake in the fridge. I raise an eyebrow. “What are you getting so happy about?”
“I’m getting happy over your happiness,” I say, grinning. “You’re showing all your teeth with that ridiculous grin of yours.”
I smile. “Zoan will come tonight.”
She nods knowingly. “I figured that from your happiness.”
“I’m going to tell Ma and Pa.”
I leave the kitchen, my grin still plastered across my face. Wen has gone to DC to stay a few days with Uncle and Aunty, so now it’s just Ma, Pa, and me.
They are sitting in theatre room, watching some old movie. I sit down between them. “Zoan will come today.”
Pa pauses the movie. “When?”
“I don’t know the exact time. But before 7 pm.”
Ma grins. “That’s good. Let’s order a cake for him.”
I shake my head and pat my chest proudly. “I’ve made the cake for him. He’s coming specifically for that cake.”
Pa laughs. “Is that cake even edible?”
I pout. “Come on, Pa, I’m not that bad.”
Ma nods slyly. “You are.”
I sigh dramatically. “I took Wendy’s help, and she approved it. I’ve also tasted it, and it’s decent.”
I get up. “You guys resume your movie. I’m going to discuss dinner plans with Wendy.”
And that’s exactly what I did. I discussed the dinner plans, picked my dress, and spent hours preparing dozens of fantasies about what I would do when I saw him.
The only plot twist is, I won’t actually do any of those.
I can’t. I can’t run into his arms and kiss him, he’s my adopted brother, after all.
I can’t bring him into my room and… well, do anything inappropriate.
I can’t sit in his lap and feed him the cake I made for him with my hands.
Yeah, I have a lot of cheesy fantasies, too, but they’ll stay exactly that—fantasies.
And now I’m waiting. The clock has moved from 5 pm to 5:30 pm, then to 6 pm, and now it’s 6:30 pm, and he still hasn’t come. I’m sitting in the window of my room, waiting for the man I love in a very classical, almost cinematic way.
My mind drifts again into dreamland, another fantasy where he isn’t any kind of brother to me.
He is a stranger I met when he came to my house, and I was sitting in a window like this.
He saw me, I saw him, and we fell for each other.
I close my eyes. How easy it would be to have such love.
I wouldn’t have to hide it. There would be nothing to feel ashamed about.
And most importantly, he would love me. If not at first sight, I would do everything possible to make him fall for me.
Not like now, where I can never have him. I can’t even try to make him fall for me, how could I, with my adopted brother who only sees me like a sister?
“Dove.”
My eyes snap open. My head jerks toward the door of my room, and there he is, standing there.
I leap down and sprint toward him. All the useful and useless thoughts vanish, his presence fills my head and heart with joy.
I hug him tightly, inhaling his scent, it’s like the smell of first rain.
He wraps me in his arms just as tightly.
I let myself melt into his embrace, staying there many minutes longer than a sibling hug.
I don’t have the strength to pull away quickly, but I have to eventually.
I can’t stay in his arms forever, no matter how much I want to.
I reluctantly pull away and smile at him. “Happy birthday.”
His lips curl just a little. “Thank you.”
I grab his arm as we walk downstairs. “Why didn’t I hear you coming?”
“Your room is in the opposite direction of the helipad.”
“Have you met Ma and Pa?” I ask, looking at him, staring at his features up close.
His ice-blue eyes lock onto mine. “I’ve been here for half an hour.”
I gasp. “Why didn’t you call me downstairs?”
I’ve missed half an hour.
We reach the living room, where Ma and Pa are looking at my cake, placed on the center table.
Pa looks at me. “This is a masterpiece.”
I purse my lips. “It’s not that bad.”
Pa nods seriously. Clearly making fun of me.
Ma chuckles. “It’s really a masterpiece for your first attempt.”
I grin and crouch down. I take one candle out of the box, place it in the center of the cake, and light it.
I look up, my eyes meeting Zoan’s. For a second, I just stare, then smile. “Blow the candle and cut the cake.”
He bends down and blows out the candle. I clap, grinning. He cuts the cake and extends the first piece toward me. I take it into my mouth. His finger brushes my lower lip, and my limbs freeze. I lick the place where his finger touched, trying to compose myself.
He feeds Ma and Pa small pieces. I then cut a small piece and extend it toward his mouth.
His lips cover my fingers. His eyes bore into mine.
My breathing becomes difficult, like I’m underwater.
And it stops altogether when he licks my fingertips inside his mouth.
I stand there, frozen, waves of heat running up and down my spine.
I don’t remove my hand. He moves his face back.
I drop my hand, taking all my willpower to stabilize myself, then ask him, forcing a smile, “How’s it?”
“Good.”
Ma says, “It’s really good. 10 out of 10 from my side.”
I look toward Pa, wiggling my brows and grinning.
“I told you it’s a masterpiece.” He says.
I glance at Zoan again, silently praying to the supreme lord that my face isn’t red. “Would you like to bring some of your birthday cake with you?”
He nods. “All of it.”
Ma calls for Ava. When she appears, Ma asks her to pack the cake for Zoan and prepare dinner.
“Will you stay here tonight?” I ask him, fingers crossed.
“I have an early morning meeting. I’ll have to leave after dinner,” he says, without much emotion, as if it’s not a big deal.
And it’s not—for him. He always does this. He doesn’t stay for more than two hours. He’s a busy man, who doesn’t have time to waste on his younger sister.
I smile, masking the hurt on my face.
It’s okay, Avira. What will it matter even if he spent the whole night here? You would feel the same way when he leaves tomorrow morning.
I decide to deal with all the ugly feelings after he’s gone.
I sit beside him at the dining table, deliberately so I could touch him accidentally. I guess I’m becoming a pervert slowly. It won’t be long before I’m a certified one.
I try to prolong dinner as much as I can, involving him in conversation. But the time still comes, the time when he will leave me standing there, without even looking back once.
He sits in his chopper, and it takes off. I stare at the sky until it’s no longer visible. Then I walk back into the house with Ma and Pa, straight to my room. I lower the temperature even further, then move under the sheets, covering my face.
All the events of the evening play in my head. A dull pain starts spreading in my chest. In no time, it becomes unbearable, choking me with every breath. I close my eyes. Tears fall onto my temples. I cover my mouth to keep the sobs inside, my body shaking from the suppressed cry.
Why does it have to be him? Why did I fall for my adopted brother?
Zloban (24 years old)
I put the cake in the fridge and walk upstairs. I stop in front of her room, open the door, and step inside. I lie down on the bed. This room doesn’t have her scent, but she has lived here long enough to leave her presence embedded in it.
I rest the back of my hand on my eyes. All the stolen glances and touches of the evening replay behind my eyelids.
I tell myself every time I meet her that I will not meet her again, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop counting down the days until I see her again, nor from going there in person, to touch her, even if it’s just holding her hand for a few seconds. Every second with her is sacred.
I open my phone and turn on the low-light camera in her room. She is sleeping. I zoom in on her sleeping face. She doesn’t look peaceful. Something has been bothering her for many months. The change is subtle and gradual, but I notice it.
She spends long hours sitting alone, thinking—God knows what. I’ve seen her forcing smiles through the camera, and today I saw it in real life.
“What’s bothering you, little Dove?”
Whatever it is, I can’t see it. It’s not physical. It’s not about some boy, nor anyone else. Maybe it has to do with her books.
My thoughts concentrate on a reason I refuse to believe.