She chuckles,amused. “Okay.”
chapter 17
Avira
After dinner, we all settle in the garden on the circular cushioned seating built around the low, woven fire pit. But we haven’t lit it, it’s not that cold, especially for Daddy and Zoan. We only light this fire pit in December and January. This spot is in the part of the garden that merges with the forest.
Ever since Zoan and Leo took ownership of these hills, they’ve made them wild. Back when our parents lived here, the entire stretch from the entry point of the hills to our mansions had been beautifully planned, there were cultivated plants of all sorts: grains, vegetables, and fruit trees. But now, they’ve transformed this space into purewilderness. The front garden blends into the wild area, you don’t even notice where the grass ends or when the density of trees begins.
The night air makes me shiver, so I snuggle close to Daddy. He rubs my cold arm absently while continuing his conversation with Zoan and Mama about some project they’re working on in Canada.
I never understand how Mama finds these things so fascinating. The mere thought of listening to business talk makes me want to yawn. Yet, she’s deeply invested in Daddy’s businesses. Sometimes I wonder if being a good wife means helping her husband with his work. If that’s true, then I’d fail miserably, because Zoan’s work is far beyond my comprehension.
And again, I’m thinking about becoming my adopted brother’s wife.
I still remember the first time this thought struck me. It was while I was writing my book Peace and Blood. I had subconsciously based the main characters on us, and during their wedding scene, I imagined marrying Zoan. That moment had filled me with such happiness. And from then on, in every book, every time I wrote about the marriage of my protagonists, I couldn’t help but imagine us.
Now, the picture of me in a white dress and him in a black suit with a yellow tie feels like a permanent print asif it’s already happened. But in reality, it’s just an imagination I’ve replayed far too many times.
I know it with absolute certainty, if I marry, it will be Zoan. And if not him, then no one at all. That determination hardens with every passing day, especially now, as I watch him speaking with my parents under the dim, warm garden lights, his features sculpted by shadows and glow, looking otherworldly handsome.
And surprisingly, the guilt is gone. I was not bluffing when I said my sister can motivate me enough to fight a world war.
I hear them still babbling about appointing some oddly named man to their new branch in Canada, unless they’ve changed the location they’re discussing and I simply lost track.
My eyelids grow heavier, head resting against Daddy’s warm chest. My focus drifts to the sound of waves crashing against the cliff, the deep roar of the ocean below us. Since childhood, I’ve often wondered what would happen if the hill we live on crumbled into the sea.
I feel a kiss pressed to my forehead, followed by something warm and soft draped over me. For a fleeting moment, I think it’s Daddy. But then the familiar scent hits me, the earthy smell of rainy ground, and I know it isn’t him.
I force my eyes open and catch his hand before he can pull away. He turns his head, meeting my gaze.
“You kissed me,” I murmur.
He doesn’t answer.
“I know you just kissed me. Here.” I touch my forehead where the warmth still lingers.
“Go back to sleep,” he says, trying to pull his hand free, but I tighten my grip.
“Kiss me again. I’ll let you go and won’t bother you for the whole night if you do.”
His jaw clenches, the muscles going taut along the line of his clean-shaven face.
He leans closer, bends down. First, it’s his warm breath brushing against my skin, then his warm lips. They linger on my forehead, and I close my eyes, goosebumps prickling across my arms, racing over every inch of me.
When he pulls back, I whisper, “One more.”
He kisses the same spot again, slower, longer this time. I know if I touched it, I’d find it burning. Even my brain feels as though it’s heating up inside my skull, every thought reduced to that single point where his lips pressed against me.
Zloban
She opens her mouth when I move up, but I press a finger against her lips—harder than necessary—just to feel their cushiony softness.
“Now sleep.”
I lift my finger and leave her room. There’s only one way of dealing with this demon, and that’s by staying away from her.
This isn’t the first time I’ve kissed her, but it’s the first time she caught me, and the first time she demanded I repeat it. Every such slip I allow only tightens the pull she has on me, winding my nerves like a rope drawn to the breaking point. I don’t know how long I’ll endure before the tension finally snaps my restraint.
