“Don’t leave me,” I whisper, my words slurred with exhaustion.
“I won’t, Peach,” he whispers back, his lips brushing my forehead. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”
And with that, I let the darkness take me, feeling safe and warm in his arms.
“Calvin…” I whine. “You need to put your phone down so I can put the face wash on your face.”
“Hmm, I know, Peach, just one more second,” he says, still glued to his phone.
It’s Sunday morning, and we just finished breakfast on the balcony. Now, we’re in the bathroom and Calvin is sitting on the toilet lid while I stand in front of him. I couldn’t help myself; I begged him to let me do my skincare routine on him while I film us. Of course, I’m not planning to post the video. I just want to have it, to keep something tangible, some proof that this moment… that we happened.
Because deep down, I know this won’t last. Whatever we’re doing is bound to stop eventually. I might be a terrible sister, but even I can’t keep this up when Abigail comes back.
His face is flawless, with smooth, glowing skin that’s impossible not to touch. All I want to do is cleanse it, moisturize it, and fuss over his thick, soft beard that I can’t stop running myfingers through.
But, despite my efforts, he’s been glued to his phone since we stepped into the bathroom, working even on a Sunday. I pout and wait for him to finish. “And here, I’m done,” he says, putting his phone on the counter next to us. I say nothing as I pick up my Youth To The People cleanser. “Fix your face, Peach. I just had to shoot off a few texts to my assistant, that’s all.”
“On a Sunday?” I can’t help but deepen my pout. I want all of his attention all day, every day.
“I work every day, baby, and you can’t be mad,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me flush against him. “I haven’t gotten any work done since you stepped into my life.”
I smile at his declaration, my heart doing that stupid skip it always does when he says things like that.
“I know I have no right to demand your attention,” I say softly, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “But… maybe give me Sundays?”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I surprise even myself.
Because as much as we pretend otherwise, hiding behind secret glances and stolen touches, the truth sits between us like it always does.
He doesn’t belong to me.
He’s not mine.
Not my boyfriend.
Not my anything.
He’s my sister’s fiancé.
He’s off-limits.
And yet here I am, asking for Sundays like I have any claim to him at all. But sometimes the heart forgets its place and dares to want anyway.
“Hey, look at me,” he demands so I do. I lock eyes with the brown ones I’ve come to want more than I’d like to admit.
“Give me a kiss,” he says softly. I lean down, pressing my lips to his. It’s not a long kiss, no tongue, no urgency, but it’s enough to make my heart race.
“You want my Sundays? You get my Sundays… well, you and my mom. I try to have dinner with her every Sunday,” he says with a small smile.
I frown, tilting my head. “Your mom? I thought she lived out of the country.”
I know Calvin and his brother were born and raised here in Boston, but when my parents asked Abigail why Calvin’s mom couldn’t come to the wedding, she told us his mom lived in Europe.
“Out of the country? Nah, my mom lives twenty minutes away. Would you like to meet her?”
My frown deepens as confusion sets in. Did Abigail lie to us? Or was she lied to?
Calvin reaches out, his thumb smoothing the lines on my forehead. “Worry me,” he says.
