Flutter

by Olivia Evans

  “Of course.”

  With a small nod, Dylan continued to the terrace. He spotted his grandmother in the back corner. Her head was down, her chin-length curly hair the color of snow partially shielding her face as she studied the book she held.

  “Hello, Grandmother,” Dylan said, leaning down and planting a kiss on her cheek. “You look nice.” Dylan’s grandmother always looked perfectly polished. Her curls always fell in perfect harmony around her face with its tastefully applied makeup. Her clothes, mostly consisting of long silky tops over tailored pants, seemed to make her five-foot-eight frame appear more poised. Proper. Always proper.

  She looked up, her blue-gray eyes widening as a smile crept across her face. “Well, don’t you look like the cat who ate the canary,” she said, her voice filled with mirth as she patted the spot next to her on the outdoor sofa. “Which doe-eyed tart has been batting her store-bought lashes at you this time?”

  Dylan let out a full belly laugh, bending at the waist as he tried to get a handle on his laughter, and he fell next to her on the sofa. No matter how many times he thought he’d heard it all, his grandmother never failed to surprise him with her silver tongue.

  She sniffed and flipped the pages of her book loudly. “Are you quite done?” she asked. If Dylan didn’t know better, he’d think she was chastising him for his outburst, but he did know better, and it almost caused his fit of laughter to start over again.

  “Tart?” he asked, his cheeks red with amusement.

  His grandmother pursed her lips and shook her head. “Would you prefer I use a modern term?”

  Dylan shook his head quickly and held up his hands in surrender. The last thing he could handle was hearing his grandmother call someone a slut or any other word of the like. He might have an aneurysm from laughing.

  His grandmother sighed, her face becoming serious. “I just want you to be careful. You have a bright future ahead of you. Most of those girls’ only aspiration is to become a kept woman. You deserve better than that.”

  “It’s different this time,” Dylan said, his eyes bright. He still couldn’t believe he’d finally stopped being such an idiot and made his move with Presley.

  Dylan’s grandmother flicked her wrist in the air, her expression dismissive. “If you say so.”

  “It’s Presley.”

  His grandmother paused, her brows creasing. “What’s Presley?”

  “The tart,” Dylan answered with a chuckle. His grandmother’s lips parted in surprise before pressing into a thin line.

  “Presley is not a tart.”

  Dylan shrugged and looked away. “Your word not mine,” he mumbled, trying to keep from laughing at her affronted expression.

  “Smart aleck,” she tsked before setting her book to the side. “So you finally decided to ask her out? I didn’t think you’d ever do it.”

  “I was running out of time,” Dylan answered. Most of his friends would laugh if they knew Dylan confided in his grandmother about Presley or any number of other things, but they’d always been close. Since he was a child, she’d been his confidant and fill-in parent when his had better things to do than stay home. Which, truthfully, was most of the time.

  His grandmother hummed and looked away. “Do Alexander and Lilith know?” Dylan groaned and dropped his head to the back of the couch. Just the mention of Presley’s parents caused Dylan’s anxiety to spike.

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “I just asked her out this afternoon. We’re going to take it slow. She knows her father may have reservations.”

  A delicate snort came from his grandmother. “That man is not someone to trifle with. He’s very…driven. I remember when he started working at your grandfather’s company making coffee. Your grandfather said he’d never seen anyone so single-mindedly focused on their career in all his years as Alexander was. It came as no surprise when he left the firm and started his own company. Now, with his sights set on running for governor…” She let out a weary sigh.

  Dylan leaned forward and cupped his grandmother’s hand. He stared into her eyes, a mirror of his own, before he spoke. “I don’t want to think about all that right now. I’m just really happy to have a shot with Presley. I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize it.”

  Lifting her wrinkled hand, she patted his cheek gently. “I’m happy for you. Just be smart. Don’t get in his way. I’d hate to be forced into making arrangements to have his body dumped in the Hudson.”

  Dylan laughed and stood. “I promise. I’m going to water your plants on the top floors and finish my homework. Then I’m going to see Presley later, but I’ll be back tonight. Mom and Dad are still out of town, and you’re closer.”

  “Of course they are,” she muttered before nodding. “Be careful. I’ll see you later.”

  Dylan kept busy the rest of the afternoon before making the short trip across Central Park to Presley’s building. The doorman buzzed him up, having been notified of his expected arrival. Dylan tapped his fingers against his jeans as he rode the elevator to her penthouse apartment. He’d only been there a handful of times, but he doubted much had changed. Stepping out of the elevator, Dylan knocked on the door, smiling when it opened just moments later.

  “Hey,” Presley said, her chin tucked to her chest, a shy smile on her lips. Dylan had never seen her like this before. Normally, she was carefree and confident, not blushing and shy. This new side of her was unique and exciting.

  Dylan grinned and stepped forward until he could wrap his arms around her waist. “Hey.” His eyes swept around the large, open space. It was just as he remembered. White tile floors, white walls, and all-white furniture. The only color in the entire room was the few obnoxious paintings that looked like a five-year-old dumped random buckets of paint onto them. It was all modern, clean lines. Sterile. Just how he imagined her parents’ personalities. It was nothing like his grandmother’s place, which, admittedly, was a bit tacky in Dylan’s opinion, but warm and inviting nonetheless. Grandmother’s home looked more like something out of seventeenth century Italy than a multimillion-dollar townhouse less than a block from Park Avenue.

  Presley tightened her grip around his waist, pulling him from his thoughts as she untangled herself and stepped back. “Are you hungry? Judith made lobster bisque.”

  “With grilled cheese?” Dylan asked, his eyes bright. His expression caused Presley to laugh. He didn’t care. Judith made a mean grilled cheese.

  “What do you take me for? I’m no amateur.”

  “Sweet. Let’s eat so we can hang out.” Dylan dragged the last two words out, his innuendo not lost on Presley, who cut her eyes in his direction when she breezed past.

  “What?” he laughed, jogging a few paces until he fell into step beside her.

  Presley shrugged and moved to the stove to plate their dinner. Dylan pulled back the stool at the island, watching as she stood motionless in front of the stove. He shifted his weight, unsure if he’d misread her altogether. He looked around the large, industrial kitchen, his eyes sweeping over the small glass-top table in the kitchen nook. Everything felt cold. Everything except Presley.

  “It’s weird, okay?” she mumbled, still not looking at him.

  Dylan’s brows dipped in confusion. “What’s weird?”

  Presley pulled in a deep breath and began filling bowls with bisque. “Me. I’m being weird. To be fair, though, it’s entirely your fault.”

  Her voice sounded almost whiny. Like he’d done something to offend her. He felt both indignant and amused. “My fault?”

  “Yes.” Spinning around, Presley walked to the island and set their plates down on the white granite top before falling into the stool across from him. “I’ve never had you use the dimple on me. And even though I’ve seen you charm girls dozens of times over the years, it’s weird being on the receiving end all of a sudden.”

  Dylan swallowed a bite of his sandwich and grinned. “The dimple?”

  Presley let out an exasperated sigh
. “Dylan.”

  “Okay,” he said, fully planning to revisit the whole dimple thing later. She was nervous. Nervous, he could deal with. “Clearly, I need to step up my game. You need to be more distracted by my good looks and witty personality and less distracted by the girl side of your brain that’s overthinking things too much.”

  “I want to be offended, but you’re totally right. I’m just worried we’re going to give this a shot, then when you kiss me, it’s going to feel like kissing my brother and make things awkward,” she rambled.

  Dylan’s face twisted with disgust, which caused Presley to smile. “First, you don’t have a brother. Second, to imply kissing me is going to be anything other than amazing is insulting.”

  “Oh? And how exactly do you know this?”

  Dylan’s stomach dropped as he stood from his seat and walked around the island to her side. Even though he seemed cool on the outside, he was anything but. The alternative, though, to have Presley start overthinking the situation before he even had a chance to show her how good they could be, just wasn’t an option.

  With a boldness he didn’t know he possessed, he stepped between her knees and grinned down at her. His hands trembled as he pushed her long blond hair behind her ear and tilted her chin. Leaning forward, he laid his cheek against hers and whispered, “Do you know how I know it won’t be weird?” When Presley shook her head, he continued. It was all or nothing. “Because in all the times I’ve imagined kissing you over the years, never once was it awkward.”

  Presley’s lips parted with surprise, and Dylan turned his face just enough to drag his lips over her skin until he reached the corner of her mouth. With a soft exhale, he cupped the back of her neck and let his lips linger unmoving against hers. The feel of her skin against his, the warmth of her breath fanning across his face, caused his stomach to tighten. Just as before, he placed a featherlight kiss against her lips before shifting. He paused only a moment once their lips were perfectly aligned before covering her mouth fully. It was everything he’d expected, and in that moment, his suspicions were confirmed. She was the one.

  Presley’s shoulders suddenly relaxed, and her lips spread into a smile, breaking the heart-pounding connection of their lips.

  “Why are you smiling?” Dylan asked, averting his eyes, embarrassed by her laughter. It wasn’t the reaction he’d expected.

  Presley giggled and cupped his jaw, tilting his head until their eyes met. “Because even though I refused to allow myself to think about how awesome of a kisser you could be, I knew deep down it would be amazing if it ever happened. Turns out, I was right. I can’t help but feel a little smug. For both of us.”

  Dylan exhaled, a calm washing over him. “I want to make some cocky comment about how fucking awesome I am, but I’d rather shut up and kiss you again. Does that work for you?”

  “It works perfectly.”

  For the next couple of hours, the two lounged in her room and shared stories about their summer. Presley laughed when Dylan made it clear that under no uncertain terms was she allowed to speak of flings she had while in Italy. Dylan had never been the jealous type. Many girls had tried, and it always blew up in their faces. With Presley, it was different. She was different. Special.

  When he kissed her goodnight and disappeared into the elevator with a promise to see her in the morning, he felt like everything in his life was finally as it should be. He finally had his girl.

  Chapter Four

  Present Day

  A sheen of sweat covered Dylan’s skin. His eyes darted from side to side behind closed lids, his expression contorted with distress. Tossing and turning, he kicked at the sheets twisted around his legs, fighting to wrench himself free from his all-consuming nightmare.

  Dylan groaned and dropped his pencil into his open neurobiology book. When he looked up from the text, the light from his desk lamp caused him to squint. He quickly averted his gaze, his eyes sweeping around the room. Medical books and models covered nearly every inch of the space except for the bed.

  With his phone in hand, he fell onto the bed and closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. Just as he began to drift off, his phone started to vibrate over and over again. He tossed it aside, intent on ignoring it until it started to ring. Growling in frustration, he snatched up the phone and brought the screen to life. Text after text notification filled the screen, each one linked to a news article. He read the headline, then he read it once more.

  “No,” he whispered. His phone rang again, his grandmother’s name flashing across the screen. He lifted it to his ear as the world around him moved in slow motion.

  “Dylan! Dylan, are you all right?” his grandmother asked, her voice filled with distress.

  “Tell me it's not true. Tell me this is some kind of sick, cruel joke.”

  “She’s gone, Dylan.”

  “I’m sorry,” a voice whispered.

  Dylan’s eyes snapped to the other side of the room, a scream trapped in his throat as he scrambled to the other side of the bed. Presley stood quietly in the doorway, a tattered hospital gown hanging from her frame.

  “You’re not real,” he choked, his eyes filling with tears.

  Presley’s face turned hard. “No, I’m not. I’m dead, right?”

  The scene changed. No longer was he trapped in the bedroom of his townhouse at Penn State. Now he stood next to his grandmother in a familiar cemetery. He shivered as the wind whipped the pelting rain across his face. Murmurs of condolences and soft cries echoed around him. Whispers of pity for Dylan, their high school classmates believing the lie perpetrated by Presley’s parents. She’d fallen in love while in Italy and forgotten all about Dylan. It was an easy lie for their friends to believe, comforted by the idea that someone had done to him what he had done to so many. A car accident. That’s what the papers had reported. It was all a lie. She’d finally gotten her wish.

  A warm hand wrapped around Dylan’s, the sweet smell of his girl suffocating him. “They fooled everyone,” she whispered, the sound of her voice causing Dylan’s knees to buckle. He shook his head, the world blurring around him as tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “I didn’t know,” he choked, the overwhelming rush of agony and guilt crippling. Presley began to fade, her image distorted and dark. “Wait!” he shouted, blinking away the rain battering down on him. He wiped his face, his body going rigid when he looked at his hand. Blood dripped from his fingers, the taste of rust and salt seeping into his mouth as it trickled down his face from his hair. He looked around in disbelief as the world around him became washed in red.

  Presley took a step back, her once-white hospital gown now the color of crimson. “Don’t go!” He reached out, just brushing her fingers before sinking into a pool of water. Gasping, he broke the surface, choking for air. He frantically shoved his hair out of his face and looked around, his breath catching when he realized Presley was sitting in front of him, her knees pulled to her chest. “Where…” His voice died in his throat as he realized where he was. It had been six years since he’d been in Presley’s bathroom, since he’d seen the aftermath of her first suicide attempt and the bloodstained water that had yet to be drained, yet he knew it instantly.

  He sat across from Presley in the bathtub, watching in horror as she dragged the blade across her skin. He grabbed for her hand, trying to stop her, but his fingers fluttered through her like a ghost. “Stop! Presley, stop!”

  She looked up from her wrist, her eyes filled with tears. “You left me there,” she whispered, twin tears rolling down her cheeks. “Why did you wait so long to come for me?”

  Dylan shot up from the bed, gasping for air. He scrubbed his hands over his face, inspecting each finger for a trace of the blood that had covered every part of his nightmare. It wasn’t the first time she’d haunted his dreams, but never like this. The sound of her voice asking why he’d taken so long to find her caused a shiver to crawl up his spine. Presley was alive. She’d been alive the entir
e time.

  All his pain and misery had been for nothing. It was all a lie.

  His temples began to throb again, just like they’d done each time he tried to make sense of the situation. How could her parents have lied about their daughter’s death? Had she really tried to kill herself? Was any of it true, or was it all a sick, elaborate lie?

  “Fuck,” he groaned, cradling his head in his hands. Those weren’t the only questions he had. The probability of their paths crossing in this way was slim to none. Fate didn’t have anything to do with this. Over the last twenty-four hours, he’d replayed every conversation he’d had with his grandmother about moving to California. She’d been the one to suggest it. The one who introduced him to Dr. Burton, which led him to Dr. Edmonds. But Dr. Edmonds knew his grandmother as well.

  A sinking feeling began to spread inside Dylan’s chest. She knew. His grandmother knew Presley was alive, and she had arranged everything. How long had she known? He glanced at his bedside clock as he grabbed his phone off the nightstand. It was just a little after four a.m., which meant it was seven a.m. back home. He pressed the call button, his body beginning to tremble as he waited for his grandmother to answer.

  “Dylan?”

  He pulled in a deep breath and released it slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  There was a long pause before his grandmother released a weary sigh. “Because you weren’t ready to know.”

  The confirmation she knew Presley was alive and kept it from him was like a shot to the chest. He felt betrayed. “You had no right to make that kind of decision for me. No right to keep something like that from me. Do you have any idea how much I have missed her?” Anger and hurt crashed over him in waves as tears burned his eyes. “How many times I’ve thought about doing what she did just so I could hold her again?” His grandmother gasped as a choking sound tore from her throat. In all his life, Dylan had never spoken a cruel word to his grandmother, but she’d also never hurt him like this.