Page 14 of Taboo
The house feels like a tomb tonight, its grand halls falling cold and silent, swallowed by shadows as the last of the funeral guests departed.
I sit on the edge of my bed, the lavender quilt bunched around my shoulder, the stillness pressing against my ears like a held breath. My black dress has been replaced by an old T-shirt that hangs loose on my frame, its faded cotton a small but familiar comfort against this new sorrow in my heart. The day—Dad’s coffin, the crowd’s murmurs, Max’s touch—clings to me like a cold fog.
Will I really live in this big, cold house alone for the rest of my life?
My phone buzzes on the nightstand and jolts me from my haze. I reach for it sluggishly. It will only be another condolence text from someone who has not bothered to turn up for the funeral. But the number is unfamiliar, the message lighting up the screen. With a frown, I start reading the message which makes my heart jump.
Amelia, I know you might be unsure about Sara's invitation today, but I want you to know I’m on board. I’d love for you to spend time with us. Having family around will be good for you, and I want to do anything I can to help you through this loss. Perhaps it is time for us to get closer as a family. Think about it, please. - Max
I stare at the words, my breath catching, a mix of surprise and uncertainty swirling in my chest. Max, texting me? The idea feels surreal, like a dream I’m not sure I want to wake from. His words are careful, brotherly, but they stir something deeper as always.
He’s not my half-brother, not anything—but he doesn’t know that, and the secret is a stone in my heart, heavy and immovable.
Sara’s innocent invitation in the kitchen shocked me; her warmth was unexpected, but Max’s support shocked me more. I saw the flash of anger in his eyes when she spoke, the way his jaw tightened like he was holding back a storm. I thought he’d want me to reject it, keep the distance we’ve both clung to for years. But this message, this quiet urging, feels like a hand reaching through the dark, but I don’t know if I can take it.
I know what he doesn’t. I know our situation is a pile of tinder. One careless move and it is all going up in flames, and there will be nothing left but ashes.
My fingers hover over the screen, trembling, but I don’t reply. Not yet. I set the phone down, my heart racing, and lean back against the headboard, the wood cool against my back. The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. My gaze drifts to the stack of magazines on my dresser—Max’s face on every cover, a reminder of the life he’s built without me. I am happy for him, proud of the empire he’s carved out of nothing, but I can’t stop this ache in my chest, this pull toward a man I can’t have. Max’s words linger, offering a closeness I’ve craved for fourteen years, even if it’s under a lie he still believes.
The truth Dad gave me—Max isn’t family—should have freed me. We did nothing wrong after all. But it only traps me further, because I still can’t have him. He’s married with a son. Even if I had contemplated telling him before, I can’t do it anymore. Jason is such a sweet and sensitive kid it will break his little heart if I hurt his mother.
I need to think, to clear the fog, so I grab my phone and dial Ellie, my friend since high school, one of the few who have stayed close. She picks up on the second ring, her voice warm but tinged with concern.
“Amelia? Are you okay? Do you need me to come back?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” I reassure her.
I sink deeper into the pillows. The warmth of her voice chases away the cold shadows. “Or maybe I’m not. I don’t know,” I admit, my voice rough from holding back tears. “It’s been… a lot. I... just got a text from Max, and it’s messing with my head.”
“Max?” Ellie’s tone shifts, curious, almost teasing. “As in, your super-hot, billionaire half-brother Max? The one with the perfect wife and kid who had everyone at the funeral whispering?”
I wince at half-brother, the lie stinging more now that I know it’s false, but I don’t correct her. That’s a secret that will stay only mine for a while more. “Yeah, him,” I say, my fingers tracing the quilt’s hem. “His wife, Sara, invited me to stay with them for a bit, to heal or whatever. I thought he’d hate the idea, but he just texted, saying he’s on board. Wants me to come, to be… part of his family.”
“Great. That’s so incredibly kind of them. You should definitely go. Why are you hesitating?”
My chest tightens.
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s complicated. Being around them… will be hard. I don’t know if I can handle it.”
“Hard how?” Ellie presses, her tone softening. “Talk to me.”
I hesitate, the truth too dangerous to spill. “He’s… important to me,” I say carefully, skirting the edge of confession. “Seeing him brings up a lot of old memories. Sara’s so kind, and Jason is so sweet—it’s like they’re this perfect family, and I’m just… me. Alone. It hurts, Ellie.”
Her sigh crackles through the line. “You’re not alone, sweetheart. You’ve got me, and you’re stronger than you think. But if Max is offering support, maybe it’s worth considering. You don’t have to decide now, right? Just… take it one step at a time.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, but my heart’s racing, her words not quite reaching the chaos inside me. We talk a bit longer, her voice a steady anchor, but when we hang up, and I set the phone down, the silence rushes back, louder than before. My hands are trembling as I slide under the covers. I can’t chase away the thoughts of Max—his touch in the kitchen, the way his eyes held mine like I was the only thing in the world.
A restless heat thrums through my body, pooling low in my belly. A slow burn ignites every nerve and refuses to be ignored. My skin feels too tight, too warm, as if it’s straining to contain the ache that’s been building since Max’s touch in the kitchen.
I can’t fight it anymore, can’t outrun the need that’s restlessly clawing at me. My hand moves, hesitant and trembling as it slips beneath the soft waistband of my underwear, the cotton brushing my fingertips like a whispered dare. I have allowed myself this pleasure ever since he left town. The touch is tentative, a graze that sends a shiver up my spine, but as my mind locks on him—Max, not the boy from that summer but the man he is now—it grows bolder, more certain.
He is not my half-brother.
I picture him, vivid and consuming, his broad shoulders filling the space of my memory, his hard jaw shadowed with stubble that I imagine scraping against my skin. Those sapphireeyes, deep and piercing, see too much, stripping me bare even in my fantasies. My breath catches, a soft gasp in the quiet room. I imagine his hands on me—not the gentle, brotherly touch from today, but something fiercer, hungrier… from the past.
His fingers trace the curve of my hips, slow and deliberate, mapping every inch with a possessiveness that makes my pulse race. I see his lips, full and warm, pressing against my throat, his breath hot, sending sparks skittering down my spine. My fingers move faster, circling with a rhythm that matches the pounding of my heart, each touch a delicious pulse of pleasure that builds, tightens, coils.
His body presses to mine, hard and unyielding, the weight of him grounding me even as it sets me ablaze. His voice murmurs my name as only he can. ‘Amelia.’ Low and rough. The sound vibrates through me and settles deep in my core. My hips tilt upwards, seeking more, and the sheets rustling beneath me as I lose myself in him. Guilt hovers at the edge, a dark shadow whispering that this is still wrong.
