Forbidden: A Stepbrother Secret Baby Romance

by Vesper Vaughn

  Emily smiles. "Jax is usually on top of things like this." I feel another burn of jealousy as I think of him making over other women. She motions over to the settee at the end of the bed. "You want to try some on?"

  I nod and wander over, plopping onto the squashy seat. Emily pulls out ten different shoe boxes with brand names I have only ever read about in magazines. There are endless pairs of stilettos and casual espadrilles and even a pair of black, thigh-high boots with buttons up the side. Even more miraculously, they all fit me perfectly. "You're a regular Cinderella," Emily says, smiling. "So you want to keep them all, then?"

  I gape at her. "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly!"

  Emily nods knowingly. "Jax told me to ask you, but really you don't have a choice. He ordered me to only take back the ones that you either actively hated or didn't fit you at all. And since every shoe you both love and fits you, that means I'm headed home empty-handed."

  I smack my hand on my forehead. "Oh my God, you didn't leave your family to come do this today did you? It's Thanksgiving!" I realize how ridiculous it is for me to remind her. I'm sure she already knows.

  She just smiles. "I was well-compensated. Don't cry for me over it or anything. Besides, any excuse to be legitimately late to a family dinner is one that I will gladly grasp." She stands up and dusts off her hands. "Anything else you need?"

  I shake my head. "Thank you so, so much."

  Emily laughs. "Hey, thank Jax. Happy Thanksgiving, by the way." She's nearly to the door when she stops. "If you don't mind me asking, how long have you and Jax been together?" She looks genuinely curious and only slightly jealous.

  I gape at her again. "What? No. Oh. No. I'm his - he's my. He's my stepbrother."

  Emily's eyebrows raise ever so slightly but she recovers quickly. "Ah. Well, enjoy tonight. It smells divine downstairs." She disappears as quickly as she arrived. I look at the pile of shoes and pick out a pair of spiky black stilettos with ribbons that lace their way up my ankle. I slip them on. I love the effect they have on my legs. As a bonus, my mother will think they are slutty.

  She will just have to get over it.

  I take one last look in the mirror and smile. I feel beautiful. I glance at my cell phone screen. I see four missed calls from Paul. I hesitate. He can wait to talk to me as far as I am concerned. There is nothing he can say.

  My hand is on the doorknob when my phone rings.

  I glance back at it, hoping it's Paul and I can leave him hanging vindictively once again. Then I see that it’s Paul's assistant. I furrow my brow. Curiosity is getting the better of me. I slide my finger across the glass screen. "Hello?"

  "Ms. Bennett?" says a timid voice on the other end of the line.

  "Speaking. Is this Miranda?"

  "Yes," she says. She sounds nervous. "I'm so sorry to bother you on the holiday. It's just. Um, well."

  "Yeah?" I ask, irritated now. Coming downstairs late will only result in my mother ripping me to pieces. I don't have the energy for that tonight.

  "Well. I just -" Miranda sounds like she's sniffling. My annoyance is taken over suddenly by motherly concern.

  "Are you okay?" I ask her. She breaks down into sobs. I know that feeling well; hanging on by a thread until someone asks you how you're doing and you break. "It's okay. Let it out." I walk over to the bed and perch on the edge of it, trying to be patient as I listen to her tears. "Is there someone nearby you can call to be with you?" I ask her tentatively after a minute of her sobs.

  "No, no. I'm okay. I'm so sorry. This isn't about me. I shouldn't be upset when you - you're the one that - oh, God." She breaks into fresh tears.

  Her words send a fresh panic through me. "Miranda, you can tell me. Please." I go through the list of possible emergencies in my head. It has to be about Paul. Is he hurt? Is he dead? No. Surely his assistant wouldn't be calling me for that. Would she?

  She takes a deep breath. "I came into the office today to check in on Mr. Oliver, because he told me that he was going to be here over the holidays. And, well. I saw him - I just. I had to tell you because my dad cheated on my mom and I always said if I had firsthand knowledge of a man, or a woman, really, anyone cheating on their significant other and I had the ability to let the significant other know, I would."

  I shake my head to toss out her words, letting them fall on my lap so I can examine them piece by piece.

  "Mr. Oliver was having sex with a woman. I. I think it's Tracy. One of the assistants here. I didn't get a great look. They were. Well...you know. He saw me and chased me down. He told me if I told anyone he'd fire me. I can't lose my job. I can't, I can't, I can't! But I had to tell you!" Miranda breaks down again.

  I pick up her words with my hands and turn them over, trying to sort them into piles that I can understand. "I'm sorry. I'm going to need for you to tell me that again, please. I'm not certain I understood you. Mr. Ol-my boyfriend. My boyfriend was having sex with another woman? In his office? Right now? Today. Just now. While I am trying to survive a week with my mother and our six-month-old baby."

  Miranda manages to take a few shaky breaths. "Yes. Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry to tell you it, I just couldn't say nothing. I had to call you and let you know. If it were me, I'd want to know. That's all I'm saying. Because like I said, my dad -" And the tears roll forth again. I'm starting to worry she's going to dehydrate.

  I soon find myself comforting her. I thank her as my vision feels like it is going black. I hang up the phone. I look down at her words and scoop them up and discard them. I stand up, brush some lint off of my dress and head downstairs.

  I can do this.

  I can do anything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  JAX

  "Jax, I'd love for you to meet Angela," Cassie says to me in a mock-cheerful voice. I stare at Angela, a whip-thin woman with fake tits and bleached blonde hair. She looks easily eight years younger than I am. Her voice sets my teeth on edge.

  "Hiiii! I'm Angela?" she half-shrieks in a baby voice with a completely unnecessary inflection at the end like she's asking me her name. An involuntary shudder goes through my body.

  I've had enough drinks at this point that my disinterest is hard to hide. "Is your name Angela? You seem unsure," I reply sarcastically. Her fake smile evaporates from her face so quickly it's a little disconcerting.

  Cassie looks like she's going to strangle me. She pulls it together in time so when Angela turns to her for help, Cassie’s back to a plastered-on smile. Cassie grabs my arm, her red, long, manicured talons digging into my flesh. I can feel the sharpness through the weave of my shirt. "Angela, you'll have to excuse us for a moment," she says. Angela looks crestfallen as Cassie drags me with surprising energy into the corner of the room.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snaps.

  "Christ, it's a billon degrees in here," I reply as a non-sequitur. I jab my hand into the stiff, starched collar of my button down shirt and loosen my tie. I look over and realize that the fireplace is on and roaring.

  It’s Thanksgiving in Southern California, but it’s all about appearances. Of-fucking-course. Happy, holiday family gatherings call for a roaring fire.

  Cassie leans forward toward my mouth, standing on her tiptoes like she's trying to kiss me. I try to jerk my face away and nearly fall into the Christmas tree. I realize too late that she's attempting to smell my breath. "How many drinks have you had already? Jax, you need to get your shit together tonight. Your father and I are expecting you to at least pretend to be interested in one of these women here. A woman who is not your stepsister." She says these last words with such incising, hissing venom I'm surprised that I don't see two fangs come out of her mouth.

  I decide the best tactic is to say nothing. Then I realize Cassie won't leave until I do. "I think what Tessa and I decide to do is between us."

  Her eyes narrow into slits. "Your father will be over here shortly. I suggest that he doesn't have to work to find you. Understood?"

  "You're not my mother," I spit
at her.

  Cassie looks like I slapped her. She recovers quickly, though. "That's right. But I am Tessa's mother. And you will leave her alone."

  I give her a curt nod as she marches away from me. I know my father will be hunting for me tonight, but having a warning makes it even worse. This means his machinations are more premeditated than usual. I absent-mindedly lift my glass to my lips and come up empty. Shit. I stare across the room at the bartender. He's so far away. I triangulate the distance between Cassie, my father, and the drink bar. I think I can make it if I hurry. I'm halfway across the room when a hand grabs the back of my jacket.

  "Jax?" whispers a feminine voice.

  Oh fuck. I know that voice. Chills go down my body. They are a mixture of physical longing and absolute dread.

  What the hell has my dad done?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  TESSA

  "Drink," I say, walking over to the pimply-faced bartender set up in the corner of the living room. I'm happy to see it isn't Mr. Judgmental Sommelier from the wedding. My mother has bucked family tradition by having her staff put up Christmas trees inexplicably early. They are decorated with raffia and small, painted gourds with white lights twinkling from within the deepest depths of the trees. The room smells of pine and cinnamon.

  "What kind of drink?" The kid asks me, his face shining with a thin veneer of sweat. There are so many people here that the temperature of the room is easily twenty degrees above what it normally is. I glance over at the fireplace enclosure and see flames blazing. It must be for atmosphere since it is in the low seventies outside. It's just like my mother to make something look good at the expense of comfort.

  "I don't care. Something strong," I reply, tapping my fingers on the table and scanning the room for my mother. She will know something is wrong with me and confront me over it before I can deny that I'm even acting weird. It's like she has ESP.

  "Do you want something sweet or-"

  I cut him off and slam my hand on the table. "Whiskey. Big glass. Quickly, please."

  The kid looks startled. "Yes, ma'am," he replies, hurrying to the glass bottles set up behind him. He proceeds to pour me what most be the most enormous glass of whiskey ever served at a holiday function. It’s too bad the Guinness Book of World Records people can't be here to record it. The vessel is stunningly large.

  "Thanks," I say, immediately taking two large gulps and nearly choking on it. I need to pace myself. It's been too long since I've had access to alcohol like this. I breathe through my nose and the burning subsides quickly. I survey the room which is filled with unrecognizable faces. Then I spot the tall woman I met at the pool yesterday and quickly turn around, hoping she doesn't see me. I dive behind a cluster of cackling women.

  I see that this time my mother has set up ample seating for everyone around the room. Plush chairs are scattered about. It looks like how I picture the Gryffindor common room. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Ron and Hermione cozied up in the corner. It's another few moments before I realize I'm looking for Jax. I stand up on my tiptoes and see a flash of his dark hair piled on top of head from behind one of the Christmas trees. I strain to see what he's doing. He takes a step away from the tree and I realize that a thin, stunning, pale-skinned brunette has grabbed the back of his head. They're kissing.

  I feel like someone's doused me in ice water.

  I am so caught up in my daydream that I run smack into my mother. "Oh, Tessa, there you are!" she exclaims. She’s talking to a distinguished-looking man with white hair. "This is Gregory! He’s Lyle's business partner. He's been dying to meet you!" My mom does a double take when she sees my face; I was aiming for a look of being interested. I’ve clearly failed at that. She knows that something’s wrong with me. I ignore her gaze and turn to Gregory who is staring directly at my breasts.

  I grimace and nod in recognition of him, refusing to open my mouth and speak to such a creeper. My mom's eyes are still boring through me. I can tell that she is attempting to read my mind. Gregory is rambling on about something. I can't focus my brain enough to pay any attention. All I can think about is Jax kissing that woman.

  Then I hear my mother. "Gregory and his wife Sidney have the loveliest daughter - Samantha. She and Paul were quite serious a few years ago. Oh, she is just a doll. I hope you get to meet her tonight. Lyle tells me she’s the love of Jax's life."

  Her words are meant to sting me. Well, she's coming for me at the wrong time tonight, then. Nothing can hurt me right now, not even my mother. My boyfriend and the father of my child is cheating on me. There's nothing that’s going topping that.

  "Well, I need to get back to..." I give up trying to find an excuse and hastily turn around, knocking back another three gulps of whiskey from the tumbler. I push my way deep enough into the crowd that my mother loses sight of me. I make my way into the fresh, crisp air outside the house and breathe in deeply. A quiet night by the pool is what I need right now.

  “Tessa!” It’s Jillian. She’s perched poolside holding a mixed drink in one hand. A young guy in a business suit has his hand up her skirt. She slaps his hand away and totters over on precipitously high heels. She’s drunk. Wonderful. “I was looking for you earlier!” she says.

  I nod. “Mmhmm,” I say skeptically. “I can see that.”

  Jillian looks back at the guy in the suit, who is now laid out flat on a deck chair. “I got a little, teensy-weensy bit distracted,” she says with a look of shame. Tears sting at my eyes. Jillian isn’t so drunk that she can ignore this. “Tessa? Are you alright?”

  My phone rings and I answer it without thinking. “Hello?” I snap.

  “Tessa.” It’s Paul. My stomach drops.

  “I don’t want to talk to you right now,” I say.

  “Oh God, he told you,” Paul said, exhaling.

  “He? Who is he?” I start to say that Paul’s female secretary was the one who told me, but I don’t want to give her away. The poor girl will still need a job when this is all over, and I won’t be the one who gets her fired.

  “I have to tell you something,” he says, hiccupping. Great. He’s drunk, too. I knock back more of my whiskey. I clearly need to catch up with everyone else tonight. “I’ve been cheating on you. For a while now.”

  “Okay,” I say flatly.

  “And I’m sorry,” he says.

  “Okay,” I repeat. He’s getting nothing from me. I’ve already given him far too much as it is.

  “So…will you forgive me? Please?”

  I laugh darkly. Jillian nearly falls into the pool as she attempts to sit next to me. Her drink spills into the water. “Why would I do that for you? After what you’ve done to me? Are you trying to reconcile? Do you still want to be together?” I strangely don’t feel upset. I just feel numb.

  “Uh, no. Actually. I’m getting married. I was going to tell you when you got home,” he says.

  “Congratulations,” I retort. “May you have a long and happy life together.” I hang up the phone and tuck it back into my dress.

  Jillian puts her hand on my arm as tears stream down my face. “What happened, Tess?”

  I tell her everything about Paul. She’s trying so hard to concentrate on my words through her drunken state, and I appreciate it so much. I take a deep breath when the story is finished, my tears already dry.

  Jillian has a pained look on her face like she’s about to vomit her words all over me but is trying to stop them. “Out with it, Jillian,” I say to her.

  She exhales her sentence. “Well it’s not like Paul is Ryan’s dad anyway. Look at the kid. He’s so clearly Jax’s. That’s a relief.”

  I almost shove her into the pool.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  JAX

  Samantha is gorgeous. Still. I'll give her that.

  But I couldn't be less happy to see her if she were currently trying to claw my face off.

  Which she nearly did once.

  Bad analogy.

  "Jax," she says in her rich
, husky voice. She flips her sleek, brunette hair off her shoulder. She's wearing a red dress looks like it’s been painted onto her body. The tops of her breasts are puffing out of the fabric, pressing together and forming a line of cleavage that draws my eyes further down her body.

  I open my mouth to reply to her but no sound comes out. Before I can collect myself, she's up on her tiptoes and shoving her tongue into my mouth, her hand on the back of my head. I nearly drop my drink glass. Then I push her away. "What the fuck was that?"

  Samantha tilts her head to the side. "A hello from an old friend," she replies.

  My hands fly up in exasperation to my hair, smoothing it back. It's a posture that I've taken many times with her. Oh Christ. Sam. "What are you doing here?" I ask her, looking behind me nervously as if expecting my father to pop out from behind the tree. I know the answer as the words leave my mouth.

  "Your father said you wanted to see me but were 'too afraid to call,'" she says, looking bemused.

  A small crowd of rich, white people shove past us as if traveling in a herd. Sam is knocked closer into me, her body pressing up against my abdomen. She looks up at me and bites her lip. There's nowhere for her to go until they pass. When there is finally room to move, I grab her roughly by the elbow and pull her into a hallway off of the living room.

  "Rough with me already, huh? You missed me that much?" Sam laughs at her own joke.

  I feel a surge of attraction pulling me closer to her again, but my brain knows better. I said never again with Sam and I meant it. "I need you to explain exactly what my father said when he called you here, Sam."

  Sam looks around. "Can we go into the cigar room?"

  I sigh. Her intimate knowledge of the house feels almost like a violation considering what happened between us. She follows me into the wood-paneled room where I remember the icy atmosphere of the previous night. Someone has started a fire in here.

  It occurs to me somewhere inside my alcohol-muffled brain that this is odd, but I push it aside. Sam relaxes comfortably into the armchair closest to the fire. "Aren't you hot?" I ask her, pulling my entire tie off and throwing it on the chair next to me. I refuse to sit down. Something feels odd and I can't put my finger on it. But I'd rather be in a position to move quickly if I need to.