Chapter 44: Locked in a Kiss
It was already too close.
Julian had given up most of the bed without being asked, edging himself toward the outer side until there was barely any room left to surrender, and Isabella still moved in nearer as if she meant to erase even that last sliver of distance. She lay turned toward him, her face only inches away, watching him with an attention that felt deliberate enough to pin him in place.
Her eyes were clear and dark, shaped like something soft and elegant until you looked too long and realized how much they could hold. They were bright under the dim bedroom light, almost liquid, and the way she watched him carried an allure that made him think of some old storybook creature, beautiful enough to make you follow it straight into danger.
"So you're really this self-aware, huh?" she asked softly. "Or is it that your big sister just isn't charming enough anymore?"
Julian panicked at once. "No. No, that's not it. You're really pretty, Isabella. You have plenty of charm. I just… I'd feel weird staring."
She laughed under her breath, amused by how fast he rushed to correct himself. "I already told you it's fine. If you want to look, then look." Her voice stayed light, teasing, but then it shifted just enough to make his chest tighten. "Or is it because there's a girl you like now, and that's why you won't look at me?"
His heartbeat seemed to stop for a second.
She had always been too kind to him. Too patient. Too understanding. With Isabella, it often felt as if the parts of himself he kept hidden from everybody else could be set down without being laughed at or brushed aside. The thought he never dared say out loud wavered at the edge of his throat, and before he could talk himself out of it, he nodded.
"Yeah."
The smile on her face vanished so quickly he almost thought he had imagined it. For the span of a breath, something cold and sharp flashed at the corners of her eyes, something violent enough to make her look like a stranger. Then it was gone. The warmth returned as neatly as if it had never broken.
"The girl from last time?" she asked.
Julian, oblivious to that brief crack in her expression, nodded again. "Yeah."
Her tone grew softer in a way that made it more dangerous, not less. "That's funny. When I asked you before, you said there wasn't anyone. Lying to me now? That makes you a bad kid."
"I just…" He looked down, embarrassed. "Back then, I didn't think I liked her that much."
"Does she like you?"
"I don't know."
That was the truth, even if Margaret had done enough to make the answer feel obvious sometimes. He still did not dare interpret any of it too directly. It was easier to stay uncertain than risk being ridiculous.
Isabella smiled again, but there was something thinner in it now. "When you were little, you used to say you liked me too. You said you wanted to stay with me forever. You're awfully fickle, Jules."
It was obviously meant as a joke, and somehow that made it harder to answer. They both knew those were the kind of things children said without understanding them, but Julian had never liked denying his own words once they were spoken. Even if he had been small, even if he had not known what he was saying, it still felt wrong to brush it off completely.
His silence stretched a second too long.
"All right, all right." She reached up and smoothed his hair back from his forehead, the gesture affectionate enough to cover everything sharp beneath it. "I'm kidding. I'm old news anyway. It makes sense that you'd rather like some young, pretty girl."
"That's not true," he said immediately. "You're not old at all. You're… honestly, you're even prettier now than before."
Her smile deepened, real enough on the surface. "You really do know how to sweet-talk people."
She kept her hand in his hair a moment longer, studying him. Julian had grown into his face. The softness of childhood was gone now, replaced by sharper lines, and with that change had come a new shyness, a new self-consciousness. He was careful with her in a way he had never been before, always managing the distance between them even while trying not to hurt her feelings.
How pathetic,she thought. Teasing a boy like this, leaning on the sense of responsibility he couldn't refuse. Since when had she fallen low enough to play tricks like that?
"You really did grow up," she murmured. "You used to love curling up in my arms and making me hold you while you fell asleep."
Julian's face warmed. "People grow up. That's normal." After a pause, he asked, more quietly, "Actually… why do you take such good care of me? Sometimes I feel bad, just accepting all of it like I'm entitled to it."
She turned her eyes toward the window. Outside, the night sky was clear, scattered with stars sharp enough to look close. Someone had once told him the dead watched from places like that, still keeping an eye on the people they had left behind.
"Because your dad asked me to," she said. "He wanted me to help look after you."
Then she glanced back at him, and her voice softened again. "But mostly because I like you, Jules. You've always been such a good kid. Quiet, hardworking, never asking anyone for more than you need."
Like.
It was the third time a girl had said that word to him, but this did not feel like what Hannah had meant, or what his heart threatened to make of Margaret. This felt almost like something warmer and sadder than romance, something close to family.
"I don't know if I work that hard," he said. "I mostly just do what I have to do."
"How are your grades?"
"They're okay. Above average, I guess." He hesitated, then added honestly, "Margaret's helped a lot. She's been tutoring me."
Margaret.
Tutoring.
For one instant, Isabella's teeth pressed together hard enough to ache. Every time that girl's name came out of his mouth, irritation lashed through her with humiliating force. It felt obscene, like watching something raised by her own hands turn away and wag its tail for somebody else.
She forced the feeling down, forced her face smooth again, and lowered the hook with practiced gentleness.
"Have you ever thought about studying out of state?" she asked. "That's an option too. I could arrange it for you. You'd get to see more of the world."
Julian stared at her. The idea had never felt real enough to consider. Studying out of state meant money far beyond anything he could casually imagine, and more than that, it felt too far from the life he knew. He was curious about places he had never seen, sure, but curiosity was not the same as wanting to tear himself up by the roots.
"I don't think so," he said. "It's good here. If I left, everything would be a hassle for you, and I wouldn't even know how to get used to a place where nothing felt familiar. I'd rather stay here, honestly. Besides…" He gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "Maybe I'll run into Margaret again."
The moment the words left his mouth, Isabella grabbed him.
It happened so fast Julian barely had time to react. One second he was lying near the edge of the mattress, and the next she had dragged him back across the bed and crushed him against her, one arm around his neck, the other braced hard against his back, his face pressed into the warmth of her chest while her cheek settled against his hair.
"You're way too close to the edge," she said. "You were about to fall off. Let me hold you a little longer. Don't talk. I'm tired."
The shift was so abrupt that his mind lagged behind it. Her sleep shirt had a loose neckline that had slipped too wide, showing too much pale skin, and the warmth pressing against his face made him realize with a jolt there was almost nothing between them beneath the thin fabric. The rich scent of roses surrounded him, sweet enough to make his head swim.
He tried to pull back, but there was no point. She was holding him too tightly, with a force that did not match the softness of her voice. It felt less like comfort than confinement, as if she meant to keep him there until he stopped resisting and forgot he had ever wanted space at all.
Julian could not see her face. He did not notice the hard rise and fall of her breathing, or how violently her composure had shattered the moment he refused her suggestion and brought up Margaret again. Isabella was hiding her expression from him because she did not want him to see what had replaced the gentle mask.
She was furious.
It had been years since rage hit her like this. Betrayal. Rejection. Lies. Julian looked so obedient on the surface, so easy to guide, and all at once she could feel how badly that illusion had slipped out of her hands. Heat surged through her in ugly waves. It made her want to crush him down into submission, to force that wandering part of him to bend until it remembered who he belonged to.
Her hold tightened.
It kept tightening.
"Isabella," he gasped, panic finally breaking through confusion. "I can't breathe."
She did not let go. Her voice had changed now. The warmth was gone from it entirely.
"You used to listen," she murmured. "You used to be so good. How did you turn into this? I should've taught you better. I never should've left."
"Isabella…"
His chest burned. Instinct took over where reason failed. Julian shoved at her with both hands, desperate enough to stop caring how rude it was, and with a burst of effort he finally tore himself free of her arms.
For one frozen second, she only stared at him.
The woman sitting in front of him no longer looked gentle at all.
Then she moved.
Her hand clamped down on his shoulder. Her other hand caught the back of his head. She hauled him toward her and kissed him with nothing soft or practiced in it, only raw, reckless force. Her lips were warm and impossibly soft, but the way she kissed him was all instinct and desperation, clumsy enough to feel almost violent. Julian tried to turn away, tried to stop her, but her grip only tightened, as if the moment she let go, something irreparable would happen.
He clenched his teeth to block her, breath breaking in his throat, and pain shot through his shoulder where her fingers dug in. The resistance that had seemed possible a second ago faltered under that sudden shock. The kiss deepened at once, turning urgent and invasive, stripped of restraint, as though whatever remained of her reason had already burned away.
When he looked at her, her eyes were the worst part.
They were still beautiful. They were still unmistakably Isabella's. But the clear brightness in them had gone dark by slow degrees, like ink spilling through clean water until there was nothing untouched left.
She pulled back just enough to look at him and spoke in a voice gone low and cold.
"Julian, you should have listened." Her fingers remained locked on him. "You don't get to be this disobedient."
A beat later, with something wounded and possessive twisting through every word, she added, "Big sister's angry with you."