Brothers of Paradise Series

His hand on my knee tightens slightly, fingers slipping under the skirt to softly caress my leg. I deepen the kiss-how can I not? His taste and warmth is everything I need. Everything I’ve missed, for years and years. Kissing Hayden was never just kissing. It’s life-giving.

Warm lips coax my mouth open and I welcome his tongue inside. He’s kissing me sweetly, our bodies barely touching. I can feel my heart opening.

Hayden…

For so long, I’ve dreamed of this. Of him, back in my arms. Of his lips against mine and the soft, warm gaze of his eyes that only I get to see. How hands that are hard and calloused can become tender, the feeling of his body when he’s close to release but fighting it. Fighting it like he does everything in life.

Except he left.

I break the kiss and put a hand on his chest. “Hayden, we can’t.”

He leans back. There’s fire in his eyes, and I realize just how tightly leashed he kept himself, to kiss me so gently for so long. “Why not?”

“I just can’t.” I shake my head and stand up. I struggle to get my shoes on and try to close my heart. It can’t open to him again-I can’t handle the pain. It would kill me this time.

“Lily, I didn’t mean to push you away.”

“I know. And we’re friends. We still will be. Thanks for the wine, and for the… for the dessert.”

“Yes, of course. Anytime.” Hayden’s eyes search mine. I can tell he’s curious as to the sudden change in me, but I can’t explain it. I just know I’m in dangerous territory.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and I don’t know for what. For kissing me? For leaving? For coming back?This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Who was I kidding, thinking I could handle being just “friends” with him?

“I’ll see you around,” I say, and practically run for the door.

Lily

Lily, 18

Rhys is sprawled on my bed. His head is in a book, which is nothing new, but his hair is. He’s shaved it short, all the long tresses gone. Something changed in him after he left for university.

“Can you explain to me again why the cousins from Maine are invited?” I ask him.

“Why, because it’s Lily Marchand’s eighteenth birthday party, of course!” I know he’s not mocking me-he’s mocking Mom.

“But I haven’t seen them since I was thirteen.”

“It’s to humor Aunt Elaine. You know her and Dad don’t see eye-to-eye.”

“I know. But why use my birthday party for it?”

He flips a page. “Family politics.”

“I hate it.” I put the final pearl pin in my hair. It’s in a massive updo, the way I know my grandmothers-both of them-prefer. But I’ve let some soft curls fall down, framing my face and my neck. A small act of rebellion.

My dress is gorgeous, though. Deep blue, with a low back and a twirling A-line skirt. It took me nearly five months to sew.

I hear Rhys flip yet another page. His ability to read and simultaneously keep up a conversation has never stopped making me envious. “I haven’t seen Hayden around,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, fiddling with my zipper. “He’s working at the docks this summer, on the fishing boats.”

“Well, he can’t be at work all the time.”

I shrug. “I don’t know his schedule.”

That’s not entirely true. I see him leaving the beach house in the mornings sometimes, and I occasionally catch him returning. It’s the only glimpse I have of him, now.

It’s been over a month since the graduation party and we still haven’t properly spoken. I felt silly, a girl who threw herself at him at a party, dressed up to the nines, only to be reprimanded and turned away.

But as much as his rejection hurt, not talking to him might almost be worse. In the beginning, I’d avoided him because of my own hurt pride. I’d put myself out there and he’d turned me down, plain and simple. And when he’d tried to talk to me… Well, I’d turned away. The idea of him explaining it to me again-how we couldn’t be together-hurt too much.

So I know it’s on me now, to start a conversation-but how do you begin? If there is a roadmap back to our casual friendship, I certainly don’t have it.

“Is he coming tonight?” Rhys asks.

I smooth a hand over the silk of my dress. “I think so.”

In truth, I have no idea at all. He might stay away entirely.

But I hope he doesn’t.

“A drink?”

I shoot the well-meaning waiter a small smile. “Can’t. I’m not twenty-one.”

He looks sheepish. “Sorry, miss.”

“No worries.” I’d like nothing more than a cool sip of the champagne my dad’s serving tonight, but I know that the approximately sixty guests would crucify me for it.

The bad thing about being the guest of honor? Everyone has their eyes on you.

Jamie threads her arm through mine. “Come on, Lils. You don’t have to stand by the front door the whole night. Let someone else welcome the guests.”

We walk through the house to the backyard, where soft music drifts from the live band my mom hired. They’re good, I have to give it to her. Canapés are served, and I manage to nab one of the small quiches with tomato relish on top.

Jamie grins at me. “Thank God your mom hired the same caterers as for their wedding anniversary. Remember their desserts?”

“Are you kidding? I still dream about them.” I pretend to swoon. “Oh, you fair chocolate eclair.”

“That’s why I came, you know,” she says, eyes glittering with humor. “For the desserts. Sorry, Lily.”

“I should be offended, but that’s why I came, too,” I say with a grin.

A strong arm wraps around my shoulder, and I look up to see Henry. He’s freshly shaven, hair pushed back neatly. He looks older every time I see him-the kind of person who was never really meant to be a child in the first place.

“Hey, Lilypad.”