Brothers of Paradise Series

She tosses the book on the sofa table and swings her legs off my lap. The blanket slips from her body as she dances into the space between the two armchairs. The silken fabric of the slip she’d slept in flows like water over her lithe form.

“And we’re going to do it again, one day.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes.”

A few clicks on her phone and soft music fills the space. She spins slowly, in front of me, her eyes closing. Every line of her body swaying in tune to the music.

Still watching her, I reach for my old Canon, lying on the sofa table.Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

A soft smile settles on Ivy’s face as she dances, arms stretched wide and above her head, twirling on the linen rug. It’s easy to see the dancer she could have been.

The model she is.

And the woman she’s becoming.

I take a few pictures of her moving, the calm settling through my body. There’s something about capturing the world on film that has always made sense to me.

“What are we doing today?” she asks, hips flowing from side to side in tune with the music. The easy smile on her face doesn’t falter. “Besides dinner with Parker, Lily and Hayden?”

“Anything we like.” I put my camera down, motioning for her to come closer. She does, hips still swaying, and laughs when I catch her around the waist. Her legs settle on either side of me. “Have I told you recently how much I like you?”

Her eyes glitter. “Yes, but you’re welcome to tell me again.”

I press my lips to the smooth skin of her neck. Dressed in nothing but the silk slip, there’s plenty of it on display. “I like you,” I murmur, moving down her collarbone. Teasing the spaghetti strap down her smooth shoulder.

“I like you too,” she breathes, her fingers settling in my hair.

“A great deal, actually.” My hands tighten on her hips, keeping her in place. Meeting her earnest, beautiful gaze with my own. “I might even be in love with you.”

A soft smile breaks across her dear face. “You love me?”

“I’m afraid so,” I admit, catching her lips with mine. The kisses we exchange go on forever, soft and slow and so sweet they make my chest ache.

“I love you too,” Ivy whispers. And I know I’ll never see a more beautiful sight than that, her eyes shining with emotion. Emotion she’s not afraid of me seeing, a trust that I’ve managed to rebuild. It’s the greatest gift I’ve ever been given.

She laughs when I stand with her in my arms, all the way to the bedroom, where the sound turns breathless and hot.

It’s a long time until we speak again, and when we do, the silk slip she wore is discarded on the floor. She’s draped across my chest, my fingers trailing her spine.

“Ivy,” I murmur.

“Yes?”

“I was thinking of speaking to my father today.”

She looks up at me. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“How come?”

I consider that. It’s a good question. “Somewhere over the past months, my anger has… I don’t know. Not disappeared, perhaps, but shifted. It doesn’t do me any good. He is what he is. I am what I am. Talking to him doesn’t mean I give in, or that his pride is bigger than mine.” I shrug, running a hand through her hair again. “You were the one who said a planned rebellion was an oxymoron.”

She smiles, slightly abashed. “I did say that.”

“And you were right.”

“Do you want me to be there? I will, if you want me to.”

I press a kiss to her temple. “Yes. Thank you.”

This time, I can’t see her smile, but I feel it against my skin. It’s a wondrous thing, to be in love with your best friend, and to have her love you back.

We drive to my parents’ house in the old Mustang I’d bought over a decade earlier, when I’d still been a teenager with my head deep in Bukowski and parties and entitlement. It feels aged now, but appropriately so.

The giant house is as it’s always been, and yet subtly different. Autumn leaves litter the lawn, a sign that the gardener hasn’t been there for a few days. There’s no Atlas running out to meet us, and though it’s been more than a decade since the dog died, I still expect it. Memories interpose on one another to form a kaleidoscope, a mirage, years past and hence blending.

“You okay?” she murmurs, her fingers gripping mine tightly.

“Yes.”

My mother is delighted with our visit. It’s the first time we’re back since my father’s party, and she takes the opportunity to show Ivy around. More than anything, I think she’s happy I’m in a relationship. She’s mentioned my lack of one more than once before.

“Your father’s on the back porch,” she tells me.

I wonder if she knows, somehow, what I’m here for. If she suspects, or if she’s just letting me know so I can better avoid him. No matter. “Thank you,” I tell her.

As she retreats with Ivy, I hear her voice as it trails off. “Of all my children, Rhys is most similar to his father. Now, my youngest, she has…”

I carry the offhand comment with me as I walk through the kitchen and out to the back porch. For so long, I’d wanted to be nothing like him. Determined to make my own path.

Like he had, once. His arguments with my grandfather are the stuff of family legend.

Dad’s reading his newspapers in the same chair he’s claimed for near on two decades with the ocean as his only companion. The button-down is rumpled, boat shoes on his feet. Face settled into a familiar scowl.

I lean across the porch railing beside his seat, eyes focused on the ocean beyond. “Hey, Dad.”

It takes him a few moments. The sound of a newspaper behind neatly folded and set down on the table.

“Rhys,” he says.

I nod toward the waves. “It’s calm out.”

“It is, yes.”

“I think I’ll take the boat out later.”