by Olivia Myers
I gave Mom a last swipe of powder. “I’m really glad you found someone who makes you happy.”
She squeezed my hand and fought the tears puddling in her eyes. “Thank you, sweetie. You’ll find someone soon.”
Of course she didn’t know about last night. I pushed memories of Trey aside. Maybe I should have left a note with my number. Then I’d obsess about whether he’d ever call me. This way, it could be a beautiful memory. One I’d relive in my bed each night for months.
We joined Eileen downstairs and climbed into the waiting limo. She and Mom chattered the whole way to the hotel, especially about the honeymoon plans.
The hotel had been built when I was in elementary school and had been a big deal at the time. It looked like a large-scale Swiss chalet, an unusual architectural choice for a New York suburb.
We hustled Mom into a special lounge near the ballroom to await the strains of Pachelbel’s Canon. When the music started, I went out to meet my escort for our walk down the aisle.
A man waited for me in the entrance to the ballroom. His back was to me. He wore a black tuxedo and filled it out like it had been made for him. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and long legs reminded me of a certain someone I’d spent an enjoyable couple of hours with recently.
The man turned and I stopped walking. My heart may have stopped beating too.
“Justine.” Trey’s eyes took in my appearance, from my pointy-toed, sparkly heels, up my short pink chiffon dress, to the black curls piled on my head. “Wow, you look amazing.”
My face flushed again.
Eileen rushed up the aisle to us. “Come on guys, what are you waiting for?”
I looked at Trey again. He was clearly dressed as someone in a wedding party and I was supposed to be escorted by Mark’s son. He couldn’t be.
“You’re Trevor?”
He nodded and my expression turned to horror. I’d slept with him last night. With my….
Unlike me, Trey didn’t seem bothered by what we’d done. He smirked.
“Justine and Trevor,” Eileen said. “Let’s go. Let’s get your parents married.”
Trey…Trevor…took my arm and started down the aisle.
I couldn’t believe it. The handsome, sweet, humanitarian I’d slept with last night was Trevor, the greedy plastic surgeon? How was this possible? I wasn’t sure which piece was the most disgusting. Who he really was, in terms of his lifestyle and true self? Or that he was about to be my stepbrother?
Bile rose in my throat and I swallowed it down. No matter what, I wouldn’t ruin my mother’s special day.
“Why didn’t you tell me your real name?” I whispered.
“My friends call me Trey, so I think of it as my real name.”
“Did you know who I really was?” He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have knowingly slept with his soon-to-be-sister. Right?
“Of course not,” he whispered back, smiling around at the people seated in the ballroom as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
Then again, he didn’t have a care in the world. He made scads of money to spend on lavish city apartments and fast cars and trips around the globe. Okay, so I’d made it all up. I had no idea how he spent his money. I could only imagine.
“But we’re not actually related, you know,” he said. “We didn’t do anything wrong last night.”
Last night. I remembered his mouth on mine and heat burned low in my belly. I shook off the memory. Now was definitely not the time.
We reached the minister and Mark. My new stepdad. Trey’s father.
Trey kissed my hand then took his place next to his dad. I stood on the other side of the minister and turned to watch my mother walk down the aisle. My heart expanded at the look of joy on her face.
I glanced at Mark and he only had eyes for my mom. He practically glowed with happiness.
My gaze raked over Trey and our eyes met. He winked.
He was as infuriating as I’d always imagined someone like him would be.
Mom and Mark said “I do,” there was lots of clapping and cheering, and the ceremony ended. Trey took my arm and we pretended to stroll pleasantly back up the aisle. “You really do look gorgeous,” he said.
His words prickled uncomfortably on my skin. He was my stepbrother now. He had no right to say such things anymore. But a part of me was flattered.
For Mom’s sake, I put on a smile for pictures and pretended everything was fine. As soon as the photographer released us, I made a beeline for the bar. I debated taking it easy with white wine or drowning this latest development in martinis.
“A dirty martini?” a familiar voice asked.
I whirled around to find my new stepbrother smiling down at me and looking impossibly handsome in his tux. I wanted to crumple, to give in to his obvious charms.
“No.” I faced the bartender. “White wine, please.”
Trey laughed. Yes, this was all great fun. Finding out the best night of my life should never have happened. And with a plastic surgeon who spent his life doing nose jobs and giving women bigger boobs.
I took my wine and marched away from him. Who needed Trey? There were plenty of other people here for me to talk to. My Aunt Vanessa and Uncle Mike. My cousins. Mom’s friends, Eileen and Chris and Joanne.
Mom and Mark did their official first dance to Etta James’s “At Last.”
The song choice gave me a pang. Did she still miss Dad sometimes? I did. Someday I'd get married and he wouldn't be here to give me away.
“Can I please have this dance?”
Glancing around, I noticed several people watching us. I guess they expected the kids to dance with each other. “Sure. But only because we have to.”
He took me in his arms and whirled me to the center of the dance floor. Of course, he knew exactly how to dance, how to move. And I was all too aware of each movement and its effect on me.
“Do you always do what you think you have to?” he asked.
I sighed in annoyance. “Clearly not.”
He laughed again. “Right. I remember.”
I peeked at his face to see if he was making fun of me but all I saw in his eyes was heat. Taken by surprise, I swallowed and couldn’t tear my gaze away from his.
We continued to move around the dance floor but I had no idea how or where. My steps followed his. He guided me with his hips and thighs, and the gentle pressure of his arms around me. My eyes stayed glued to his and my mind was in turmoil.
When the song ended, I pushed him away and ran. I ran out of the ballroom and through the hotel’s corridors. Outside, I tried to catch my breath. How was this possible? I hadn’t met a decent guy, a guy worth a second look, in months. When I finally did, he was all wrong, on so many levels.
“Have I done something wrong?”
I expelled a frustrated breath. “Why are you following me? Can’t a woman have a moment to herself?”
“Is that all it is? Because it seems like you’re mad at me.”
I closed my eyes and tried to think through the fog caused by his nearness. By the manly scent of him.
“I’m not mad at you, I’m just mad. Last night was…”
“Last night was what?”
“Amazing.” There, I’d said it, for good or bad.
His shoulders relaxed. “I agree. Then what’s wrong?”
“Last night was wrong. We’re related now, Trey. Or should I call you Trevor like my stepfather does?”
He stepped away from me and kicked at the wall. “We’re not related, not by blood. We didn’t even grow up together as stepbrother and stepsister. There’s nothing wrong with us being together.”
Maybe he was right, but I didn’t know how to explain the rest. About him being wrong for me. About his values being the opposite of mine.
“We’re…too different. Anyway, today is about our parents, not us.” I walked away from him and reentered the ballroom to celebrate with my mother.
***
Each step dragged the closer I got to Trey’s building on
Manhattan’s East Side. I wasn’t looking forward to spending an evening alone with him, Mom, and Mark. Like we were a family now.
I shuddered and trudged along the street from the subway station.
His building was like several I’d passed during my years in New York, but I’d never actually been inside one this grand. The marble of the lobby shone and glittered in the lights of a massive chandelier. A red-coated doorman had opened the door for me and another uniformed man stood behind a counter to one side.
I wasn’t used to this kind of luxury. Worse, it made me continue to question my feelings for Trey and the kind of man he really was. I wanted to believe he was the man I’d first met, the man I’d spent the night with.
The thought alone made a blush creep up my face as the elevator climbed higher and higher.
But he was also the rich plastic surgeon who probably only spent time in Africa to assuage his guilt at making more money than everyone else. Did he care about other people?
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. I was on the top floor. Trey had a penthouse apartment in Manhattan.
My world was so different. Dingy classrooms. A tiny studio apartment with finicky heat and no air conditioning. Subways instead of taxis.
A door in front of me opened before I knocked. An older woman with hair pulled back in a severe – and old-fashioned – bun stood in the doorway. “Are you Justine?” the woman asked with an accent. I nodded. She smiled and held out her hand. “I’m Masha. Come in, come in.”
She ushered me in to a palatial living room with a wall of windows looking out on the East River in shadow from the setting sun.
Mom joined me at the windows. “And there’s Brooklyn,” she said, pointing. “Looks pretty from here.”
Before I could answer, Trey came in with a bottle of champagne. Champagne flutes waited on a table in front of him. He gave me a cocky grin. “Like the view?”
I ignored him. I didn’t know if he was being sincere or smarmy that his view was overlooking my less expensive part of the city.
He opened the champagne with only a tiny pop and poured it into the four flutes. Mark passed them around.
“A big thank-you to my son for hosting us tonight for this quiet family dinner,” Mark said.
I nearly choked on my champagne. In my head I knew Trey was now family, but my heart was still trying to deny it.
Mark continued, “I’m so glad Justine could join us. I know this is the end of the school year for you and you must be insanely busy. Your mother and I really appreciate your support.” He gave me a big smile, an older and thinner-lipped version of Trey’s.
I beamed back. I liked Mark and I liked him with my mom. They seemed genuinely happy. I couldn’t have asked for a better second chance for her.
“And I want to toast the newlyweds,” Trey boomed. “May each of your days together be filled with love and laughter.”
We all clinked glasses and sipped the champagne. I didn’t have a broad experience of the bubbly stuff, but it was delicious. Probably expensive.
Soon, we sat at a glossy dark wood table and Masha carried out a variety of cold dishes. Salads of different vegetables, a cold watermelon soup sprinkled with feta, and an orzo salad. Trey thanked Masha warmly and she patted his shoulder as she passed.
Having never had a housekeeper, I had no idea if their relationship was normal or not. She acted like a mother rather than an employee.
I avoided eye contact with Trey and only answered questions when asked. Mom occasionally glanced at me. She knew me better than anyone.
Oh no, I hope she didn’t know about me and Trey. I closed my eyes and breathed.
“Sweetie, are you okay?”
My eyes popped open. “Yes, of course.”
Mom stared at me with concern in her brown eyes. She squeezed my hand and turned back to the next course. Masha had brought out grilled steaks with chipotle butter and asparagus.
“Everything is delicious, Masha,” Mark said.
We all agreed and the housekeeper shone with pride.
Before dessert, I excused myself to use the restroom. I’d been directed down a hall opposite the windows. The walls of this hallway were decorated with African batiks, masks, and paintings. I lost myself in the beautiful objects, reminders of a life I didn’t have.
“Oh, I was planning to show you these after dinner,” Trey said. “What do you think?”
“I think they’re amazing. I guess you’ve bought them on your travels?” Is this why he really goes to Africa? Maybe he’s merely a collector. Purchased with his version of blood money. Boob and nose money.
“Some. Some of these were gifts from people I met, people I healed.” He looked at them with longing and pride. “They help get me through my life here until I can get back there again. They remind me of all the good I can do.”
Was I supposed to believe he’d rather be there working for free?
“You’d rather live in Africa?” I couldn’t keep an edge of scorn out of my voice. It was ridiculous. If it weren’t for his excessive life here, he wouldn’t be able to send our parents to Tahiti on their honeymoon or have this huge apartment.
“Sometimes. I love the city, the energy, the variety of things to do and foods to eat here. But when I’m there, I love the wide open sky and all the stars, and the variety of wildlife, and the welcoming people. Luckily, I can have both.”
Yes, he could have both, and I still couldn’t figure out what sort of man he was. Did he take advantage of all he had, or did he embrace all life had to offer? It didn’t matter. Whether he was a greedy jerk or a saint, he was still my stepbrother.
***
I barely slept that night. Memories of our night together plagued me as soon as I closed my eyes. I wanted to be able to enjoy such memories, but now they were tinged with disgust and confusion.
In the morning I dressed for school in my usual conservative way. Today meant a dark pencil skirt and a light blue silk tank. Only a few more days of school before summer vacation. I had summer fever as badly as my students.
While most of my students couldn’t afford summer camp or even travel outside the city, at least the kids would get a break from school work. At least they’d enjoy some of the usual joys of summer: playing outside until dark, flavored ices, visiting with family.
I didn’t have much to look forward to this summer. Only my regular summer job at the ice cream shop on the corner of my block and some tutoring.
The end of the school day couldn’t come fast enough. I couldn’t wait to get home and kick off my heels and make myself a gin and tonic.
A surprise awaited me on the sidewalk outside the school. A tall, handsome man in a business suit. Damn, he was hot. Everything he’d worn so far made me want to rip it right off him. How could one man look so good in so many different types of clothing? And then there was how amazingly good he looked without any clothing.
He’s your stepbrother. He’s your stepbrother. He’s your stepbrother.
“What are you doing here, Trey?”
He looked me up and down and smirked. “I like the schoolmarm look on you.”
I huffed out a breath and raced for the subway. If he was going to insult me, he could eat my dust.
“Wait, Justine, please. I’m sorry.” His rushing footsteps caught up to me. “I think you have the wrong idea about me. Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”
“I can afford my own coffee, you know.”
His forehead wrinkled. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
I stopped walking. “Why do you care what I think?”
“Well, that’s silly. Aside from the fact we’re now family, clearly I like you.”
He liked me. My gut didn’t know whether to set off butterflies or grenades.
He ignored the Starbucks on the next corner and instead entered a local shop specializing in the old-fashioned kind of coffee. No fancy flavors, no Italian names. Coffee. I was impressed. Maybe he had ideals after all.
&nb
sp; He led me to a booth at the back of the near-empty café, and I waited while he retrieved our drinks. He sat next to me, rather than facing me, but he seemed uncomfortable. He turned sideways to look into my eyes. “Look, Justine. I have feelings for you.”
A noise came out of my throat.
“I admit the other night started as just sex. But I really like being around you and for some reason, I really care what you think of me. In fact,” he glanced away, “I hope you think of me at all. So, I need you to know something about me.”
Emotions swirled inside me as heat burned my skin.
“You seem to believe I became a doctor to make money. I didn’t. Sure, having money is nice and lets me indulge my interests, but it’s not the reason I spent four years in medical school, plus internship, and multiple residencies and fellowships.”
He took a sip of coffee and I imitated him. The bitterness mirrored how I felt about myself.
“You probably know from your mom about my mother.”
I nodded. Mom had told me Mark’s wife died of cancer when Trey was only twelve. It was something we had in common, the loss of a parent.
“Before she died, she suggested I become a doctor. She said she wanted me to do something to help people and she saw how good I was at math and science. She thought I’d make a great doctor, and her faith in me kept me going through the tough times.”
My heart plummeted into my stomach. I’d been so unfair to only see one side of him, even though he’d let me see a different side the night we met. How could I have been so blind?
“Yeah, I like helping people feel better about themselves. Even if changing their appearance doesn’t seem very important in the larger scheme of things. But the real reason I chose plastic surgery was for the reconstructive side. In developing countries, I help burn victims and kids born disfigured. I stitch up people’s wounds so they won’t have horrible scars and be shunned from their communities. It’s hard, to see all I’ve seen. But it’s harder for them, my patients.”
He stared at his hands in his lap. I reached out and put my hand on his. “I’m sorry I misjudged you.”
My gesture seemed too small. I wanted to climb into his lap and hug him, comfort him, show him I believed in him, too.