Page 22 of Beautiful Delusions

“They're here,” Kyan murmurs towards Lucas, his fathomless dark eyes continually returning to me. My stomach drops.

“Who's here?” I ask as a woman's laugh comes from inside. Both boys slip their hands into mine, interlocking my fingers. I wonder if they knew I was about to bolt. Guiding me towards the house, the sound of glasses clinking tickles out of the open door.

“Ahh, there you are!” A couple beam as we step into the dining room. They’re currently mid-conversation with Ezra, who is more animated than I’ve ever seen. Holding out his arms, the suited male pats Lucas hard on the back. “Ezra was just telling me about the sport’s rally this weekend. I hope you’ve doubled your drills.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucas chuckles. “Five every morning and extra after lunch, as Coach recommended.” While the men catch up, my gaze drifts. The woman is incredibly beautiful, her long blonde hair flowing behind her like the train of her turquoise dress.

“You must be Sophia! I've heard so much about you,” she draws me in for a tight hug. Over her shoulder, I watch Lucas still embraced by the man, his gray peppered hair the only hint he's slightly older. Straight teeth shine from his full-bodied smile, a distinct lack of wrinkles around his bold, blue eyes. He turns to me after I've been released, his handshake crushing.

“Sophia, these are our parents,” Lucas begins introductions. My stomach is churning as Isabella and Mason Taylor look meover, not showing their scrutiny of my baggy sweatshirt and short shorts. From the walk, mud cakes my Converse, and my hair is a knotted mess. Still, they don't reel back in disgust as I'd expected.

“It's so good to finally meet the girl who's got our boys tripping over themselves,” Mason chuckles. Isabella pats his bicep.

“You must be very special, my dear.” Her eyes twinkle, a similar hint of mischief in them as I've seen in Lucas. I blush, trying to hide behind my hair. Ezra appears then, standing between his adoptive parents and folding his large arms.

“You're embarrassing the poor girl,” he rolls his blue eyes. “Go get showered and dressed. There's a surprise waiting for you in your room,” Ezra jerks his head, effectively dismissing me.

Whether he intended to give me a moment of reprieve or was just being an asshole, I’m thankful for the escape. I run up to the bedroom I’ve been designated, stopping short when I find all of my bags at the foot of the bed. The rest of my belongings have been packed up into boxes and placed beneath the window. Shit, it’s true. I caused Becca to get kicked out of school.

I mean, technically, her thieving got her kicked out.Jazzie sits on the dresser and swings her legs. I turn my back, unable to deal with this right now.

My thought process is slow, my eyes gliding over how much care has been taken to bubble wrap my photo frame and pencil pot. I glance at the bathroom, then back to the bed. I’m not prepared for this, the possibility of seeing my mother. We’ve met twice since I was released from juvie, and in both instances, I came away more determined than ever to not turn out like her.

My feet move of their own accord, and before I know it, I’ve kicked off my sneakers, shed my clothes down to my underwear, and crawled beneath the duvet. My hands claw the covers tighter into my body, whereas I puff up the space around my head likean air bubble. Something I’ve perfected to suit me in times of need. Enough space to breathe, yet tucked in nice and secure while my heart thunders out of sync.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” I rock slightly, huffing to myself. “Why do I have to be so stupid?” A weight settles on the side of the mattress, so gradually, I trick myself into thinking it’s Jazzie. The cover around my head is slowly peeled back, and without looking at me, Kyan strokes my hair.

“How did I know I’d find you like this?” His voice is low. I wriggle forward, curling myself around his back and resting my head on his lap.

“I don’t want you to meet her,” I shudder. Kyan’s fingers are still in my hair, gently working the knots out and smoothing his palm over my head.

“Your mom?” He enquiries after a minute of silence. I nod against his thigh. A deep exhale leaves Kyan before he shifts, lowering himself onto the floor. His head lays on the mattress next to mine, those black eyes boring into mine. “You won’t find others who understand our parents don’t define us like we do.” I wince, remembering the power couple downstairs adopted Kyan and his brothers for a reason.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t think–” Kyan quickly hushes me, his fingers stroking my jaw.

“Our pasts are just that. Memories we learn to live with. If today will prove too painful, then we’ll stay right here. We can hide away until morning.” I smile then, leaning forward. Kyan takes the hint and kisses me, slowly, thoroughly. He captivates my lips with a surprising softness. His tongue teases the tip of mine but doesn’t push beyond that. When Kyan pulls back, tears are lingering in my lashes. If I was worried about falling for him before, that offer, that level of understanding, just cemented it.

“No, we’ll go,” I nod in an attempt to convince both of us. Kyan watches me carefully, ready to argue, but I pull myselfupright. The cover falls to my waist as I move my legs to sit either side of his wide shoulders. Both of our eyes drop to the scar on my arm at the same time. My chest stills, mid-breath. Kyan flicks his gaze to me, a small pull between his brows asking me to trust him. Fingers wrap around my wrist, tenderly turning my arm over so the scar is faced upward. Then, his head is lowering. Those full, gentle lips press to the raised blemish marring my skin. I try to look away, but Kyan won’t let me. Cupping my jaw, he kneels up to meet my gaze.

“Nothing about you, or your past, will stop me from wanting you.” I swallow hard, hearing voices growing closer to the door. Reaching for my sweatshirt, I hug it to my chest, concealing my arm inside. Our reprieve is up, and it’s time to pull my big-girl panties on. Not literally, Lucas would never allow it.

“Are we ready yet?” the man in question pops his head around the door. Ezra just kicks it wide open. Both of their brows raise at finding me in bed with Kyan’s head in the apex of my thighs. I push myself up on his shoulders, clearing my throat.

“Kyan was just advising me on what to wear,” I search for an excuse. Lucas chuckles, stepping inside as Ezra closes the door behind him.

“Yeah, right. If that’s the case, you’d better get naked, Pretty Girl. Apparently, there’s a lesson that needs to be taught about sneaking off without inviting the rest of us, and we’ve got about…” Lucas looks at his Rolex. “Eleven minutes to teach it.”

Passing beneath a balloon arch of rose golds and pale pinks, we step into the converted great hall. Sashes in similar colors have been draped across the walls, beneath high, narrow windows. The atmosphere is alive, a sea of smiling faces and humorous mutterings sounding around the artwork on show. My heart flutters in my chest, but this is fine. Nothing like the unease I had entering the nightclub. This is local and safe, not to mention I have a set of bodyguards glued to my back and sides.

I text ahead to check if Letty and the other girls would be attending tonight. Apparently, they swung by earlier before heading to a live poetry reading upstate. I declined the invitation to join, as much as I’d like to escape the possibility of seeing my mom. Some demons we have to face, and I’d rather do it with the Thorns nearby.

“Welcome.” We’re greeted by a young woman in the same white shirt, black slacks, and braces as the rest of the waiting staff. She pauses long enough for each of us to take a flute of champagne from her tray, then hands me a program from the apron tied at her waist. I flick through the pages, sipping the bubbly liquid. It pools within my belly, combatting the nervous edge I’m forcing myself to keep in check. It’s a good distraction while the boys lead me and their parents towards the first painting in the pop-up exhibition.

The art students present are dressed to impress, their suits and gowns a touch more extravagant than expected. Following the Thorns’ advice, I’ve donned a burgundy leather skirt, a black scalloped vest, and small heels. Kyan had slipped his jacket over my shoulders, allowing me to hide my scarred arm from view. Something he made sure to tell me was only for my comfort.

The boys opted for smart shirts, rolled up to the elbows, collars popped, and dark jeans. Their muscles are deliciously pressing against the shirt fabric, each flex of their shoulders rippling enough to make me bite down on my bottom lip.

Isabella and Mason admire the art pieces, from the smallest painting with painstaking detail to the biggest sculpture of a sunflower. No matter their celebrity status–which doesn’t go unnoticed by the school paper’s photographer–they make sure to stop and talk with every artist. I’m a step behind, listening intently to the questions and answers. Art isn’t a talent I’ve been blessed with, but I’ve often wondered how different life couldhave been if I had such an outlet. A way to turn my anxiety into craft and in turn, rid it from my system.

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