My mother’s wedding day.
I should be thrilled she’s getting hitched to the man of her dreams. And don’t get me wrong, part of me is truly happy for her. Mr. Fraser—I mean Rick—is a great guy. I like him. A lot.
But I like his oldest son, Ryan, even more.
In twenty minutes, I was supposed to walk down the aisle, but I couldn’t pull myself out of the old tree house. This was our spot. Every day for five months, Ryan and I met here after school. We’d do homework, watch the sunset, and look at the stars through the hole in the ceiling. It was the first place we kissed.
And now we wouldn’t be kissing anymore. Because he was going to be my brother.
I glanced down at my watch to gauge my time.
In theory, we now had nineteen minutes left before our parents did the deed. It would probably take me five minutes to track him down, which would give us approximately fourteen minutes for one last make-out session.
Of course that equation didn’t factor in travel time to and from the tree house. Which would probably only give us about three minutes of actual face time.
Would it be worth it?
Hell, yeah.
The rope ladder creaked and Ryan called out, “AJ? Are you up here? They’re looking for you in the house.”
My heart dipped. Of course he would know where to find me. I smiled.
“Hey,” I said. “I was just saying goodbye to an old friend.” And daydreaming about playing one more round of tongue twister with you.
“We don’t have to say goodbye,” Ryan said. He held out his hand and I accepted it. He pulled me into his arms and wrapped me up in a hug.
I could hear his heart racing. Or was that mine?
He framed my face with his hands and pulled me to him.
I sighed into Ryan as our lips met. It startled me when a tear slipped free and trailed down my cheek.
My heart and head were fighting. I had wanted this—but now the kiss made my chest hurt even more. “No.” I forced myself to push him away.
Hurt shimmered in Ryan’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I headed toward the door.
I climbed down the ladder and Ryan followed just as the band began to play. We walked silently toward the outdoor wedding. I guiltily scanned the small crowd of people to see if anyone knew we had just been kissing in the tree house. Only one person seemed even remotely interested in where we had been, and that was Lindsey Rockport.
She shot me a look, and then gazed adoringly at Ryan.
Well, he was free now. She could have him.
My chest ached at that thought, but really what could I do?
I glanced at Ryan one last time before I took my place next to my mom. The look on his face broke my heart.
Maybe that kiss hadn’t been worth it after all.
#
It was a fairly cool evening for August in Mississippi as I stood next to Mom trying to concentrate on the ceremony. I took in the details of her pale pink dress, trying my hardest to look at Ryan while our parents spoke of love and forever.
Her gown was a simple slip that sparkled in the sunlight. Unfussy and elegant. Just like the woman who wore it. Unfortunately, there was nothing else simple about this wedding. At least not for Ryan and me.
I wasn’t mad at Mom for marrying Rick—how could mad at her for finding the love of her life—but I was heartbroken. And while today may be her happiest day, it was one of my worst days ever. How could she expect me to just switch the way I love Ryan? Did she think changing her name would be like waving a wand that would magically help me change my feelings for him from boyfriend to brother? Especially now that we’ll be under the same roof?
I felt Ryan’s dark brown eyes burning into me and tried to be discreet as I glanced over to where he and his brothers stood up for their dad. I hoped he wouldn’t catch me.
But I was busted.
My face warmed under his scrutiny and my heart skipped a beat.
Breathe.
Totally unfair. This time last week, we were cuddled up in our tree house, getting our groove on. Okay, not really. But finally, after five months of dating, I had let Ryan have a little boob action. And we even toyed with the idea of some under the zipper action, until his stupid younger brother, Rayden, poured a metaphorical bucket of cold water on that idea when he barged in to tell us our parents were getting married.
“Oh my God! You’re feelin’ up our sister!” he’d said with a cackle. “We are officially a Mississippi cliché. Awesome.”
“Get out, Raytard!” Ryan had yelled chunking a pillow at the fourteen-year-old’s head.
It had been hard finding out that we were being yanked apart as a couple but would be glued together as a family. I had always imagined Ryan in my future. But I had thought we would grow old together, not grow up together.
So here I stood with my two sisters in the backyard of the antebellum mansion our melting-pot family would call home, wearing my pretty dark pink sundress and staring across at my new “brothers” (the oldest of whom I still wanted to jump, by the way) while our parents vowed to love each other for eternity.
I wonder if Mr. Fraser, er, Rick, realized that eternity was not just a metaphor in our case.
After all, vampires tend to live for centuries.
© Melissa Francis. All rights reserved.