Page 10 of Taboo
When she slips out of the door, a tray of used plates balanced in her hands, my breath catches. Jesus, her absence hits me like a physical blow. The room suddenly feels lighter, the air easier to draw into my lungs, but it’s wrong, hollow. I can breathe again, but I don’t want to—not without her here. My eyes sweep the room, checking for watchful gazes.
Everyone is preoccupied.
It’s now or never. If I don’t talk to her, if I don’t reach out, I’ll carry this regret forever, another weight to add to the ones I already bear.
My feet move before I can think better of it, carrying me across the room, the wine glass still in my hand. I set it on a side table. My pulse is a loud thrum in my ears. The hallway is dim, the air cooler, scented with lavender and old wood, a stark contrast to the drawing room’s heat. My shoes are quiet on the deep pile of the runner, each step a decision I can’t take back. The kitchen door looms ahead, half-open, a sliver of light spilling out. I pause, my hand hovering at the door, my heart slamming against my ribs. What am I doing? What can I even say?
I push the door open, the hinges creaking softly, and step inside. The kitchen is exactly as I remember it. Bright with afternoon light streaming through the window. And there she is, leaning against the counter, her head bowed, her eyes shut tight.The tray of plates sits abandoned beside her. Her fair hair falls over her face, a curtain hiding her from the world, and my chest aches at the sight of her—so small, so broken.
I stand frozen, my breath shallow, unable to move, unwilling to break this fragile moment. She doesn’t know I’m here, doesn’t feel my gaze, and for a few precious seconds, I let myself look at her, really look, drinking in every detail like a starving man. The grief and the unhappiness radiating from her hurt my heart.
John’s death means nothing to me—a cold void where a father should’ve been—but for her, it’s everything. She’s lost her anchor, the only family she had left, and now she’s adrift in this big, gray house. Alone. The thought twists a knife in my chest. I want to do something—anything—to ease her suffering, but I’m paralyzed, caught between being the brother I should be and the man who loves her so fiercely, it’s a sickness.
I clear my throat, my voice rough, barely above a whisper. “Hey.”
Her head snaps up, her lovely eyes wide with alarm, like I’ve caught her in a secret she didn’t mean to share. For a split second, I see her raw, unguarded, and it steals my breath. Then she summons a smile, small and strained but real, her lips trembling with the effort.
“Hi,” she says softly.
That smile—it’s for me. I know she’s trying, pouring what little strength she has into it. My heart swells with a rush of relief so strong it dizzies me. I thought she hated me. Thought she’d shut me out for good after the way I left that night, fourteen years ago. Then I was a storm of rage and grief, John’s revelation burning through me. I couldn’t stay in this house, couldn’t face her as my sister when every fiber of me screamed for more. She pleaded with me before I walked out, her voice cracking, begging me not to go, saying we could be siblings, friends, anything but strangers.
I said no.
I loved her too much, too wrong, to pretend I could be just her brother. I thought maybe one day, when I was stronger, when I’d built something of myself, I could come back, see her as family. But now, staring at her here, the blood still rushes from my head, pooling low. A heat I can’t deny. I know it’s a condition I’ll never get over. I’m sick, twisted, but I don’t blame myself. I was tricked into my situation. I was not told the truth until it was too late. The river had already been carved out of stone.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, stepping closer, the words clumsy.
“I’m okay,” she says, her voice steadier now, but her eyes betray her, glistening with unshed tears. “I’m alright.”
She’s lying, but I don’t call her on it. The air between us crackles, charged with a history we can’t outrun. I move closer, drawn by a pull I can’t resist. The kitchen’s bright light casts shadows across her face. Her gaze flicks to mine, hesitant, and I lose myself in those green depths. I don’t think—I just act, closing the distance, my arms opening to pull her into a hug. It’s reckless, dangerous, and the whole world will condemn me, but it feels more true than anything has in years. She stiffens at first, and I brace for her rigid body to push me away, to shatter this fragile moment. But then, she sighs and goes limp, her arms wrap around me, tight and desperate. Her face buries into my neck. I feel her trembling, the soft shake of her sobs against my skin, and my heart fractures.
My hand finds the back of her head, and my fingers stroke her hair gently as I breathe her in—lavender and salt, the scent of her shampoo and her grief.
“I’m so sorry,” I murmur, my voice rough, cracking under the weight of her sorrow. “I know you loved him deeply. I’m so sorry, Amelia.”
Words aren’t enough, but they’re all I have. A feeble offering for the hurt she’s carrying. I can’t imagine how deep it cuts, losing him, being left alone. I want to fix it, to take it all away, but all I can do is hold her and shield her against this cruel world.
We stay like that, locked together, time blurring into a single, endless moment.
She clings to me, her breath warm against my neck, and I don’t let go, even when I know I should. Anyone could walk in. The line between half-brother and something more blurs, but I don’t care—not now, not with her shaking in my arms. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are red, and her face flushed. I’m not ready to let her go. My hand reaches out to brush away a strand of hair from her face, my fingers grazing, lingering on her cheek. Her skin is soft, warm, and the touch sends a jolt of sexual awareness through me.
Wrong, so wrong, but undeniable.
“You look well, Max,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes searching mine.
“Yeah?” A small smile tugs at my lips despite the ache in my chest. “I can’t believe fourteen years have passed. Time hasn’t touched you at all.”
She laughs, a soft, broken sound that lights up the room. “You always were a bad liar.”
My gaze holds hers, steady and unyielding. “You’ve always been blind.”
“I saw you clearly back then,” she says, her smile fading, her eyes darkening with memory. “And now.”
The air shifts with the unspoken, and the space between us becomes electric. We stare at each other, caught in a moment that feels like it could break the world. My blood hums, every nerve alive with her presence, and I know she feels it too—the pull, the forbidden ache we’ve never escaped. But we can’t. Wewon’t… but the real truth is, she won’t. I could never resist her… if she wanted.
She looks down, breaking my gaze, then turns away, and the moment shatters, leaving a screaming void in my chest. I want to grab her, pull her back, but I don’t. How dare I put her in an intolerable position? I will leave, and she has to live here amongst watchful eyes. Suddenly, I’m grateful for Sara and Jason’s presence. They are floats keeping me from drowning in her. Without them, I’d lose control, consequences be damned.
I swallow hard, my voice hoarse. “What can I do to help, Amelia? Anything you want, anything, just say it. I swear to God, I’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen.”
