Stepbrother Dearest(68)

I instinctively turned around and moved back, pushing Chelsea away from the window. I think I was trying to protect Greta’s feelings in that moment but didn’t know why I bothered. What the fuck did she expect me to do, sit around and pine for her alone while she married Mr. Wonderful? Still, I knew seeing Chelsea appear out of nowhere like that must have been a shock.

“Are you okay?” Chelsea asked. She hadn’t seen Greta.

“Yeah,” I said dismissively.

Needing to be alone, I walked to the bathroom and shut the door to gear up before I had to face the music.



***



She was sitting at the far corner of the dining room table when we got downstairs. She wouldn’t look at me.

I hate when you do that, Greta.

Sarah got up and hugged me. I gave her some brief greeting, told her I was sorry about Randy, but the entire time I was thinking about what the fuck I was going to say to Greta. I glanced over at her, and now, she was looking at me. I stood back as Chelsea hugged Sarah and gave her condolences.

I needed to bite the bullet.

I walked over to her and barely got her name out. “Greta.”

She hopped up nervously like my saying her name had lit a fire under her ass. She stuttered a little. “I…I’m so sorry…about Randy.”

Her lips trembled. She was discombobulated—a mess, I told myself. I didn’t want to admit that she was even more beautiful than I remembered, that new highlights in her hair brought out the gold in the hazel tone of her eyes, that I’d missed the three small freckles on her nose, that the way her black dress hugged her breasts reminded me of things I needed to forget now.

I couldn’t move, just stood there taking her in. The familiar scent of her hair was intoxicating.

My body flinched when she reached out to hug me. I had really tried not to feel anything, but here in her arms was the epicenter of it all. Her heart was beating against my chest, and mine immediately responded by matching the rhythm. Our hearts were communicating in a way that our egos wouldn’t allow with words. The heartbeat is the purest form of honesty.

I put my hand on her back and could feel the strap of her bra. Before I could even process what that did to me, Chelsea’s voice snapped me out of it as Greta ripped herself away from me. The space between us felt infinitely vast.

I couldn’t believe this was really happening: my past colliding with my present. The one that got away was face to face with the one who got me over it.

Greta’s left hand was bare; there was no diamond. Where was her fiancé or husband? Where the fuck was he?

Engrossed in my thoughts, I didn’t even hear what they were saying to each other.

Clara saved the day when she walked in with food, and Greta went to help her.

Greta reentered the dining room and started placing the silverware down around us. She was so tense, and pieces kept slipping and clinking around as she fumbled with them. I wanted to joke and ask her when she started practicing playing percussion with spoons. I didn’t.

When she finally sat down, Greg asked, “So, how did you kids meet?”

Greta looked up from her plate for the first time as Chelsea explained how we met at the youth center. When Chelsea leaned in to kiss me, I felt Greta watching it, and the mood became very uncomfortable.

The subject changed to my mother, and Greta was back to pretending she was engrossed in her plate.

My body stiffened again when Chelsea asked her a question. “Where do you live, Greta?”

“I live in New York City, actually. I just came into town a couple of days ago.”

“I” came into town, not “we.”

I wished I had a camera to capture the look on Greta’s face when Chelsea suggested we visit her in New York.

The mood got quiet again, and I’d snuck some glances in when she wasn’t looking. When she caught me, I shifted my attention back to my plate.

“Elec never told me he had a stepsister,” Chelsea said.

I wasn’t sure whom the statement was directed toward, but I wasn’t touching that subject with a ten-foot pole. Greta still refused to look at me.

Sarah spoke up. “Elec only lived with us for a short time back when they were teenagers.” She looked at Greta. “The two of you didn’t get along too well back then.”

For some reason, the uncomfortable look on Greta’s face got under my skin. She was still looking down and not acknowledging her mother’s statement, not acknowledging me. An unexplainable need for her to acknowledge to me, to acknowledge what we had, overtook my better judgment. I reverted back to my old ways for a moment and started to taunt her to get her attention.

“Is that true, Greta?”

She looked frazzled. “Is what true?”