Romance: Stepbrother Passion

by West, Lara

  “Earth to Ella? Are you ok?”

  I pretend not to hear and put down the journal, stunned.

  “Mario!” I shout, swigging the rest of the champagne. “Another.”

  “Okay, I guess that answers that question,” Mel says rolling her eyes. “Did something happen between you and ‘Mr. Manhattan’ that I don’t know about?”

  “Mario! The wine!”

  “Ella!” Mel persists, yanking on my arm.

  “Here we are!” Mario says, placing the glass down in front of me. “Shall I keep them coming?”

  “Yes. No. I’ll let you know,” I stammer and take a large gulp.

  I look at Mel whose concrete stare has become demonic enough to get anyone to spill the beans.

  “What happened?” she persists.

  “Okay I’ll tell you...”

  When I finish telling Mel about the night before college she is both angry and bewildered.

  “I can’t believe you never told me. After all these years, Ell.”

  “I was too embarrassed to tell you. I denied it for a long time. And if I told you, it meant it was true. It didn’t exactly end well,” I say honestly.

  “But I’m your best friend. How many times have I told you about guys who’ve screwed me over?”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  Mario brings out the salmon bagels and Mel and I sit quietly for minutes, capers and bits of red onion dangling at the ends of our forks.

  “So are you going to see him?” Mel asks perkily.

  “What? No.”

  “Seriously? Not even for coffee? I mean did you not see his picture? He’s like even more breathtakingly handsome now. Like Christian Gray but way hotter, if that’s even possible.”

  “You know you haven’t changed one bit since high school. Forever the little harlot, and you’ve never even read 50 Shades of Gray.”

  “True. But still, we’re talking about the guy that made you a woman. You have history with this guy. You should definitely see him!”

  I return to playing with my bagel, the memories of Dylan flicking through my mind with Bad Moon Rising stuck on repeat.

  I cannot believe that he lives in Manhattan now and is a defense attorney!

  Well, this is a big place.

  The likelihood of us bumping into each other is highly unlikely, right?

  Right??

  Chapter Six

  Today was meant to be my day off, but Mel had called up runny nosed and husky at the crack of dawn, begging me to open up the store.

  I had originally planned to go apartment hunting, my drab little hollow over in Park Slope, Brooklyn, long overdue for an upgrade. It would be nice to live closer to the store, somewhere in the heart of Manhattan.

  But I guess that will just have to wait.

  Saturdays are usually extremely busy and today has been no exception.

  Tourists, locals, children, you name it, they were here. Luckily my casual staff showed up on time this morning, otherwise it would have been a total headache.

  However, come late afternoon the store had virtually emptied so, being the somewhat carefree boss that I am, I gave everyone the rest of the day off on the proviso that they do not go too wild at their individual frat and sorority parties.

  Talk about in one ear and out the other.

  As I finish up totaling the register I hear the bell jingle on the door, the sound of footsteps already making their way toward the counter.

  “Sorry,” I say without glancing up. “We’re closed.”

  It is rude and unprofessional but in all honesty I am too exhausted to care. And this is New York. Being blunt is acceptable.

  “Now,” says a deep sultry voice. “Is that anyway to treat your ex-stepbrother?”

  What?

  When I hear that voice I become 18 again.

  I do not want to look up, anger flooding through me as I recall the note left on the pillow, the only goodbye he had thought I deserved.

  “Ella,” he says softly, finally drawing my gaze. “It’s been a while.”

  “Ah, can I help you?” I ask, pretending not to recognize him.

  Although in truth it is not entirely inaccurate. He does have shorter hair now, a typical businessmen kind of style that makes him look even more striking.

  Unfortunately.

  “You don’t remember me?” he chuckles.

  “I don’t think so. Did we go to NYU together?”

  In reality, it is a stupid game to play.

  Who wouldn’t remember their stepbrother?

  And especially a stepbrother who took your virginity?

  “You really want to play that game? All right, I’ll bite. No, we went to high school together. Your Mom kind of married my Dad once. Does that ring any bells?”

  I pause for dramatic effect.

  “Dylan?” I ask, faking the surprise. “Wow. Gosh, it’s been what…like ten years?”

  “Indeed it has.”

  “What are you doing in New York?”

  He pauses. “I’m a defense attorney. I work at Preston & Smith on the Upper East Side.”

  “An attorney? That is a…shock.” And the white lies just keep coming. “So, have you been living here for long?”

  “No, only a few months. I’m surprised you didn’t already know?”

  “Oh? What makes you think that?”

  “The media have been having a field day with it. It’s in all the papers.”

  “The papers? Really?”

  “Yeah, the whole convicted felon thing is a pretty rare profile for an attorney. But that’s another story. You really haven’t read anything about it?”

  “No. Honestly I don’t read much,” I say, unconvincingly.

  “And yet you own a bookstore?”

  “I mean the news. I don’t read or watch it much…um, can you excuse me for just one sec?” I feel myself blush and grab a stack of discontinued books, making for the storeroom.

  Just keep it together Ella.

  You are not that 18-year-old girl anymore.

  Get a hold of yourself!

  I return to find Dylan wandering through the shelves, pinching myself several times so that I know that this is once again real.

  He is really here.

  “It’s a nice place,” he says, surveying the raised wallpapered ceiling. “Antique bookcases, local artwork, coffee spot, monthly book launches and poetry nights. No wonder you’re the number one ‘must see’ bookshop in Manhattan on TripAdvisor.”

  “Thanks.” I smile faintly; curious as to how he knows all this. “You’ve certainly done your research.”

  He grins and walks back over to the counter.

  “I have. I would’ve got in contact sooner but I’ve just…” Dylan hesitates and stops in mid sentence. “I’ve just been so busy at the firm. Client meetings, court dates, you know how it goes.”

  I nod, but I cannot help but think that it is not what he had wanted to say.

  As the silence lingers between us, I try to think of topics of conversation.

  The weather?

  No.

  His Dad?

  Hell no.

  Potential wife and kids?

  Absolutely not!

  “I really should lock up. It’s been a long day,” I finally say, walking toward the door.

  Dylan follows, only a few steps behind. “Of course. I tried to get here earlier but…something came up.”

  There is that hesitation again.

  “That’s fine. Well, it’s been…interesting to see you again anyway.”

  “Likewise. In fact that’s partially why I’m here. I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me sometime? It would be nice to catch up properly.”

  “Dinner? I don’t know. I…”

  “Next week perhaps?” he asks, cutting me off. “You choose the night. I’ll make sure to keep it free.”

  “Ah, um, next week might be hectic,” I say, trying to come up with a better excuse. “I have a lot of new stoc
k coming in which usually means a lot of late nights.”

  “Friday night then?” he persists, the cavernous russet eyes trying to work their magic. “Surely you can take one night off?”

  “Maybe,” I stammer.

  “I’ll take maybe,” he says beaming confidently, halfway out the door.

  I study the other contours of his face: his impeccably chiseled cheekbones, his perfectly straight nose, his unblemished skin and “come hither” lips.

  “Okay,” I whisper, spellbound, and just loud enough so he can hear it over the drones of the city. “Friday it is.”

  Chapter Seven

  Mel is already at the coffee machine when I arrive bright and early on Monday morning.

  “So how was the ballet?” she asks as I saunter over. “Get laid?”

  I laugh pitifully. “Ha ha funny. But no, I didn’t go.”

  “What?”

  “I cancelled. I just wasn’t feeling up to it.”

  “What do you mean you ‘weren’t feeling up to it’? Are you fricken serious? It was The Nutcracker. You make yourself feel up for it!”

  “Um, you didn’t go either.”

  “That’s because I literally felt like death. I cannot believe that you bailed on Cole! I had already pegged you for wife number two.”

  “Firstly, marrying Cole? That’s insane. Secondly, I can still go see The Nutcracker. It’s showing all month.”

  “Um, not with those seats you can’t.” Mel smiles and slides over a steaming cup of coffee.

  “Oh no,” she then says more apologetically. “It’s not because I made you work on Saturday is it? Shoot. I knew I should’ve just sucked it up.”

  “No. It was fine. I bailed because…” I am about to mention Dylan but then I notice the bouquet of purple roses at the far end of the counter.

  “What are those?” I ask, turning back to Mel.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot. Those came for you by courier about 20 minutes ago. Someone is keen to impress!”

  “Did they leave a note?”

  “Nope. It’s probably in there somewhere.”

  I leave the coffee and walk over to the bouquet.

  Weird.

  Who would be sending me flowers at all let alone so early in the morning?

  It is barely nine o’clock.

  “I assumed they were from Cole,” Mel sings out.

  “I doubt it,” I say, shrewdly. “I don’t think he takes blow offs very well.”

  As I begin to search for a note I feel my cell phone buzz in my pocket. It is a text message from an unknown number:

  Good morning Miss Wilde. I hope you like the roses. I remember your Mom saying they were your favorite once. Looking forward to Friday night – DM

  Damn.

  Not only is he seductive but he is now also charming?

  He is not playing fair.

  “So you DO know who sent them?” Mel suddenly says, popping up beside me. I jump and nearly drop the phone.

  “Mel! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

  “Who is DM? Another secret?”

  “No, I was going to tell you about it, before I got distracted by the roses...”

  “Right,” Mel drawls sarcastically.

  “I was. I promise.”

  “Okay. Spill the beans then!”

  I take a deep breath and prepare myself for Mel’s theatrical reaction.

  “When I was closing up on Saturday…Dylan dropped by.”

  “Dylan? As in…oh my! He’s DM?”

  And the Mel-o-drama begins.

  Mel starts jumping on the spot.

  It is humiliating even without customers in the store.

  “Mel, take it easy,” I say, waving my hands at her.

  But she completely ignores me.

  “What happened? I want to know everything! This is so crazy. We were only talking about him at lunch the other day. It must be fate!”

  “It is not fate,” I say flatly. “He looked me up.”

  “Even better,” Mel smiles coyly. “So what did he want?”

  “I’m not sure. We just talked briefly and then he asked me out to dinner. He wants to ‘catch up’.”

  “Like a date?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I wasn’t sure what to think. But now after the roses…maybe. And we were family once, remember?”

  “For what? Like a week? This is totally a date. Guys don’t send flowers unless they’re really into you. Or want to sleep with you. Either way it’s awesome. You’re dating like the hottest guy in Manhattan!”

  “Cut it out. We’re not dating. Oh, and he’s a former felon, may I remind you.”

  “Yeah but a HOT one! Speaking of, how did he become an attorney with a criminal record?”

  “I’ve been wondering the exact same thing.”

  “Well, who cares anyway? It’s all in the past. He’s respectable now. Rehabilitated or whatever. People change.”

  “No they don’t,” I laugh condescendingly.

  “Oh come on, Ell. That took effort coming down here to see you. Wait, where’s his firm?”

  “The Upper East Side.”

  “Get out. Do you think he lives around there too?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well you’ll find out soon enough. So when is this dinner?”

  “Friday.”

  I do not why I am allowing Mel’s exuberant enthusiasm for my love life to continue. She should know that Dylan is not to be trusted.

  “Do you know where yet?”

  “No.”

  “Ooh how romantic. A surprise! I’m super jealous. Do you think he has any cute and single attorney friends? I’m not fussy on the single part.” Mel winks scandalously.

  “You’re unbelievable,” I scoff, walking back to my coffee. “Now come on. We have a bookstore to run you know!”

  Chapter Eight

  Dylan is half an hour late.

  I am sitting in The Lion, one of the swankest restaurants in New York, and marveling at how Dylan managed to get a table at such late notice. Above me artwork hangs like a showcase, eccentric images at their finest and all dripping with price tags that I know are well beyond the thousands.

  An antique fireplace also sits poised at the edge of the room, a beautiful piece of heritage marked with long glass windows on either side, the gold shimmering lights of the city blinking beyond. Even the wooden candelabras fixed with naked bulbs are intimidating.

  “Another cosmopolitan madam?” the perfectly tailored waiter asks.

  “Yes, thank you,” I say stiffly, glancing down at my second empty glass.

  I heard a dating expert say on Good Morning America once that you should only have one drink on a first date. One is enough to get the blood flowing and help you relax.

  But two or more causes you to flush, making you look at your absolute worst. I am terribly underdressed in generic skinny black jeans and an emerald blouse, with two well-known celebrities canoodling on one side of me, and another movie star on the other.

  Flushing is the least of my concerns.

  “Ella, my apologies for being so late,” Dylan unexpectedly says, coming up behind me.

  I turn too quickly and catch his lips that were meant for my cheek.

  “Oh gosh. I didn’t mean to do that,” I gasp, turning brighter than even ten cosmopolitans would cause.

  “That’s perfectly all right. It’s not like we’ve never kissed before,” he replies with a wink.

  I laugh feebly.

  What am I even doing here?

  “Well I see you’ve already started on drinks. Ah Maurice, your timing is excellent,” Dylan says as the waiter returns with my third cosmopolitan. “Gin. Bombay Sapphire. And the selection of oysters to start.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  I watch Maurice carefully rush off to fill the order.

  “You come here often then?”

  “Yes, I’ve entertained a few clients here.”

  “Of course you have,” I chide. “Of the female
variety too no doubt.”

  I feel the cosmos taking effect.

  Dylan looks at me oddly.

  “If I didn’t know any better I would think you’re already drunk, Ella.”

  The comment offends me instantly.

  “Well, if you had been on time I wouldn’t be drinking. Why were you so late anyway?”

  He pauses in the same way he did at the bookstore.

  “I… was still with a client. The meeting ran overtime. Once again I apologize. But as for the you being drunk part, there’s sparkling water on the table.”

  “Yes, there is. But I’m sitting in a room with A-list celebrities and wearing the wrong attire because you said to dress ‘comfortably’. And you’re wearing a suit that clearly looks Valentino. So I think you’d be drinking too.”

  It comes out louder than intended. Even the celebrities stop kissing to stare at us.

  “Touché,” Dylan laughs, taking my hand. “It really is nice to see you again, Ella. You haven’t changed one bit.”

  Is he serious?

  I am nothing like I was ten years ago!

  “I’ll have you know that your observations are completely inaccurate. I don’t even know why I agreed to this in the first place.”

  “Wow, you really don’t like me much do you?”

  “It isn’t exactly easy to,” I snap, trying to loosen my hand from his grip.

  “Then why did you come?”

  “Who knows? Foolish curiosity I guess.”

  “Curiosity about what?”

  “Your motives.”

  “My motives? You think I have a motive for tonight?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Dylan pauses and lets go of my hand. He sits back in his seat, peering into my eyes like he is searching for an answer to something.

  “I never stopped thinking about you,” he utters softly.

  My heart leaps in my chest.

  Did I hear him right?

  “What did you just say?”

  “The day you left for college, when I came back to the pool house knowing you were long gone, it left a pit in my stomach, Ella. But I thought leaving the note was the right thing to do.”