She wouldn’t know that we call them that, or at least I do.Jett calls them the Half-Knights.Asshole, though I haven’t heard him use that in a while.Either’s he softening because of Cari, or he’s realizing that our half-brothers are like us; people just wanting to get on with their lives, despite the Knight name, and our father.
“The … the uh … other brothers.You remember my dad had an affair and …”
“I know, Zee.You don’t have to talk about it.Matteo is one of the Italian Knights.”
I nod.She rests her hand lightly on my arm.It’s just a small gesture, but its unexpected, and it pulls me straight back to the past, back to the Knight Estate and how she used to comfort me, how she was always there.
How she changed my world.And how, one day, we slipped into something deeper when an attraction we’d been struggling to fight, became impossible to ignore.We were standing too close, the air between us strangely still, and she looked up at me, her eyes flicking briefly to my lips before lifting back up.For a second, neither of us moved, suspended in that fragile moment, on the edge of something we didn’t quite understand.
Then we stepped closer.The awareness of what we were about to do sent a jolt through me—nervous, thrilling and terrifying all at once.I could feel her hesitation, the way she almost pulled back, and then didn’t.
Our lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, barely more than a brush.But it lingered.Deepened.Her mouth moved against mine, shy at first, then surer, and something warm and precious blossomed in my chest.I remember thinking, even then, that there was no going back from this.
“Are you all close now?”she asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“We all meet every so often.We all work in the same offices, and they live in an apartment block and we live in another.”
“Your dad didn’t put you all up in the same block?”
“No.”Something gnaws under my skin, like an itch I can’t scratch away.Jett used to say it’s because dad wanted to divide and conquer us.I didn’t dwell too much on that, but now, I’m starting to wonder why.Maya watches me in silence, and gives me what looks like a sad smile, almost like she feels sorry for me.
“It’s complicated, and chaotic, being a Knight,” I confess.
“I can imagine.You seemed to have a hard time dealing with things back then.”
“Having you around helped.”
“Did it?”She sounds curious rather than doubtful.
“It did,” I say quietly.“You didn’t ask for anything.You didn’t treat me differently.You just showed up one day, and you were … just there, you made everything brighter.”I stop, not wanting to get too heavy but she absorbs that, really listens to it.Her expression softens and her curiosity feels genuine, not opportunistic.It always did.
“I didn’t know how else to be,” she says.“You were just…you.And you looked like you needed someone who wasn’t impressed.”
A corner of my mouth lifts.“You were never impressed.”
“No,” she agrees, a small smile there now.“But I cared.”
She did.She really did.As I did about her.The word settles between us, tethering us back to our youth.Jesus.I have missed her so much.It took her showing up in my life again for me to fully acknowledge that.And I do, in this very moment, I see it with such clarity, it shakes me.“It’s messy, and not always pleasant, not knowing who you can trust, who’s with you for you, and not because of your family name.”I find myself opening up to her again.Letting her into my thoughts, showing her who I am.
“Does that bother you?”
“It used to, but lately, I find myself wondering if what I had in the past mattered, and I don’t think it did.”I pause, scared that I’ve said too much.Scared that I’m referring to my past relationships, because I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be with her.
“You still reflect a lot?”Maya’s questions are often thoughtful.She delves deep, wanting to know the answer to questions that make me pause and think, and in turn, I find myself wanting to ask her things.About her mother.About how she’s really doing.
But I don’t.I stop myself, every single time, because this is supposed to be professional, but sitting here at the kitchen island, on bar stools, the marble cool beneath my palms, her knee so close to mine that I can feel the heat of her through the thin space between us, I feel the line between us blurring, and I’ve promised myself never to cross it.
We’ve both finished eating now.She sets her empty carton down and studies me for a second.I’m scared that she’ll look deeper and decipher my thoughts in an instant.I wear my heart on my sleeve most of the time, because I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings.That’s why I need to get the hell out of here, especially when the quiet stretches out between us, heavy and intimate, all the things we can’t be.
I shift back on the stool, meaning to put distance between us, but instead my hand slides along the island and her fingers brush mine.The touch is accidental, at least, that’s the lie I tell myself, but neither of us pulls away.Her breath catches, soft but audible.It’s like a spark to my senses.
My gaze drops to her mouth, then snaps back to her eyes, but it’s too late.She’s caught me staring.And then she surprises me.She makes the first move.Her fingers lift to my jaw, brushing lightly against my skin.Her thumb grazes my lower lip, then she waits and watches, unsure of what to do next.Maybe waiting to see what I’ll do.
I suck in a breath, because my body’s doing it again, responding to her before my mind can stop it.“Maya—”
She doesn’t let me finish.She stands up, moves between my legs.
Fuck.A few inches closer and she’ll—
