Stepbrother Thief(19)

I slip my foot into the bootie and slide the zipper up to the top, sighing at the feel of soft suede against my skin. When I get the other one on my foot and stand up, a rush of calm settles over me. It sounds stupid, I know, to let shopping have this big of an effect on me, but it's not about the shoe really, or the act of purchasing it. I just … when I'm dressed up like this, I feel as if I'm put-together, like I'm in control of myself. I think of my clothes as a uniform for life, a weapon. If I look good and feel good, then nobody can wield that insecurity against me.

“What do you think?” I ask Aveline, but she's not looking at me, instead opting to do another quick scan of the store behind me.

“Those look great on you,” the sales associate says, some young chick with perfect highlights and a silver nose ring. “I could box them up and have them waiting at the counter for you when you're done with your shopping?”

“Oui, ça marche,” I say and then realize I've switched back to French again. “Yeah, that works. Thanks.” I sit back down and start taking the shoes off.

“Wonder why Gill gave me shopping duty today,” Aveline muses, crossing her arms over her ample chest. “He keeps looking at you like he's got something to say. You two have a big blowup or something?” And here it comes, the subject that never seems to go away.

“Or something,” I say, spotting the panties and bras across the store and deciding that they're far more important than shoes—though I'm not done with those yet either.

“Must be a pretty big something, the way he fucking stares at you like that.” I squeeze the bundle of clothes in my arms a little too tight and end up stabbing myself with a wooden hanger. I am a beautiful person who deserves nice things. The past doesn't have any bearing on my future, not unless I want it to. I can and will succeed in life.

“A silly misunderstanding is all,” I reply, even though that's about as far from the truth as I could possibly get. Misunderstanding? What Gill did was no misunderstanding—the letter he left made his intentions, and his actions, pretty goddamn clear.



I'm so nervous, I can barely even stand up straight, using the wall in the hallway to keep myself upright. Gill's right by my side, biting his lower lip and locking his fingers together behind his neck. He's nervous, too, even if he won't admit it out loud.

“Come on, Regi,” he says, dropping his arms by his sides and reaching out to take my hand. I stare into his blue eyes as he pulls me to him, tucks me against his chest with a sigh. I try to resist, too nervous to stay still for long, but as soon as I feel Gill's body heat, smell his scent, I relax.

I can't help it; I'm in love.

“We can do this, ma belle petite fleur.” I roll my eyes, but a smile takes over my face anyway. Gill's fluent in French since he used to live in Toulouse with his parents as a kid. He spends half his day coming up with stupid pet names for me; he knows that one's my favorite. “Nobody's going to care.”

“So you think,” I say, knowing my mom has a tendency to overreact sometimes. I know it's just because she loves me, but I've got to admit, coming to her to confess my sins is a little daunting.

“We'll never know unless we try,” Gill whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. My heart flutters in my chest and I have to force myself to breathe. Being with Gill … it's like his presence is all I need to stay alive, like food and water and air don't mean a thing. Somehow, over the past few months, I've fallen completely head over heels for him, for his dry humor, his wry smiles, all of that passion and dedication that rests inside his heart.

Gill kisses my head again, and I stand up straight, looking him over in his black hoodie. I keep feeling stupid for noticing, but … Gill's getting muscles from all that working out he does. He's starting to look less like a teen and more like a man.

I swallow hard.

How stupid of a thought is that?

I take a deep breath and tuck my hands inside the front pocket of my dress. It's a cute little blue and white striped number that makes Gill's eyes widen when he sees me wearing it. I like looking nice for him. Hell, I just like looking nice. It feels good, you know? I don't want to be one of those vain bitches at my school or anything, but I want to feel like I can stand up to them, too.

“Let's go,” I say.

Gill and I make our way down the stairs, navigating our new Parisian apartment with ease. Ten weeks in and the transition isn't as bad as I thought it would be, not with Gill by my side. I feel like I could do anything with him, move anywhere. I could pack up right now and scrape together a living in the Australian Outback, on the top of Mount Everest, in the middle of a Louisiana bayou, complete with alligators or crocodiles or whatever it is that lives there.