Page 25 of Taboo
“Of course,” she says, her smile warm. “Have fun with your dragon.”
“Goodnight, everyone,” I say with a nod, avoiding Max’s eyes, but I feel them burning into me as I slip out, my dress snug against my thighs, and my heart racing.
The studio is a haven, its moonlight glow soft and the bookshelves looming like silent guardians.
“Work, Amelia. Work.”
I switch on the lamps, and warm light spills over the easel. I pick up my brush, and the familiar scent of turpentine grounds me. Max’s stare recedes to the back of my mind as the dragon’s scales gleam under my strokes, each one a labor of love and focus, but for the first time in my life, I can’t concentrate for long. My mind churns restlessly.
Sara is leaving for Nebraska soon, and the thought of being alone in this house with Max terrifies me. I wish with all my heart I could leave. I should never have come to this Garden of Eden. There is a serpent here, and it is tempting me with the only thing I have ever really wanted, lusted for, in my life. I know the apple looks juicy and red, but it is pure poison. But even knowing the fruit is infected with pain and suffering, I’m not certain I can resist its lure.
If only I could just pack my bags and flee back to my gray, empty house, but then I think of the kindness Sara has shown me. It is a small favor she has asked in return. Take care of her son while she is away. Jason’s face fills my head—his timid smile. I think of his nightmare, the way he curled so trustingly against me last night. I want to understand him more, to unravel why he’s so different with me, and so quiet with them.
Staying will be a favor as much for Sara as it is for Jason.
Once my mind is made, I paint until late, the clock ticking well past midnight, my brush moving slower as exhaustion creeps in. The dragon’s eyes take shape, fierce and knowing, mirroring the turmoil in my chest. I return the brush to the jar of turpentine.
Instantly, Max’s face comes into my mind—his shock at dinner, the way he couldn’t stop staring, the heat in his gaze that matched my own. The truth is, it is torture being here, being so close to him and yet so far away he might as well be on Mars.
Chapter
Sixteen
MAX
Sleep eludes me. I feel like a restless beast that can’t settle, leaving me frozen in our super king-sized bed. The clock on the nightstand glows 2:17 a.m., its green digits mocking my insomnia, each tick a reminder of mercilessness, of the thoughts churning in my head—Amelia, always Amelia.
Her transformed presence at dinner, that black dress clinging to her curves, her hair a cascade of golden waves, haunts me. I lie on my back, bare-chested, the cool air from the air-conditioner brushing my skin, but my body burns. How it burns. Sara sleeps beside me, her breathing soft and even, oblivious to the storm raging in me.
The label of half-sister, an iron chain I’ve worn for fourteen years, feels flimsier now, the metal rusted and corroded with the relentlessness of my lust. I think of Sara announcing that she is leaving tomorrow to take care of her sick mother. Strange. All these years she has never even spoken of her mother beyond a mention once, when we first met, that she lived in Nebraska. I actually got the impression they were estranged or something.
Without Sara here…
God!
I frown into the darkness. A close relationship with Amelia shouldn’t raise alarms—not to the staff, not to anyone. We’re family, bound by blood in everyone’s eyes, and spending time together is natural, expected, especially now, when she’s grieving, adrift in the wake of John’s death.
Only I will know the truth, the dark pulse beneath my restraint: I’m not just a brother. That I love her in ways I shouldn’t, a desire that’s lived in me since that summer, undimmed by time or lies. I recall her boldness back then, our first kiss in the attic, her laughter pulling me closer, her hands fearless. Her green eyes are too knowing, too tempting.
She always knew I was putty in her hands.
I can’t lie here anymore. The bed feels like a hot embrace. I slip out, careful not to wake Sara. The hardwood is cool beneath my bare feet. My sweatpants hang low on my hips, and I don’t bother with a shirt.
The house is quiet.
I move through the dark hallway, the light sconces casting faint pools of light, and head downstairs towards the kitchen. I’ll make a hot drink to dull the edge of my restless thoughts. The air here is cooler, scented with the faint tang of lemon cleaner, the moonlight streaming through the wide windows, silvering the marble counters.
I freeze when I see her—Amelia.
She is seated at the breakfast nook, her silhouette soft in the moon’s glow. She has made herself a pot of tea, a delicate porcelain cup of it steams beside her. Her laptop is open, the screen’s blue light illuminating her face, and her fingers move quickly over the keys as she works, her expression serene but distant.
She’s in a loose white shirt, the sleeves rolled up, her newly styled hair falling in gentle waves over her shoulders, catching the light like a halo. My heart stumbles, a wild beat that echoes in the silence, and I’m struck by how beautiful she is, how effortlessly she fills this space, my home, my world.
I clear my throat, stepping closer, my voice low to avoid startling her. “Hey.”
Her head snaps up and her eyes widen with surprise. For a few seconds, neither of us moves, then a small smile curves her lips, softening her features.
“Max,” she says, her voice soft, warm, like a touch. “You couldn’t sleep either?”
