Stepbrother: Impossible Love (12 page)

By the time I got outside, the sun had already set. Going by the sounds of laughter and chit chat, along with the DJ playing David Guetta’s latest hit, I figured things had gone back to relative normalcy. Lanterns hung along the side of the wooden walls, casting light upon the hundreds of people, now dancing away in the clearing.

The DJ was where the banquet table had been, and as the song ended and Pharell’s “Happy” came on, I looked for my mom.

Finding her among the crowd, mingling with some people I supposed must have been important, she caught my eye and excused herself before coming over to me.

“Where on earth did you go?” she asked me. “I needed you.”

“I’m sorry mom. I really am. I just had a lot of questions, after Jack’s outburst.”

“That’s understandable I guess. You missed the cake cutting.”

“Oh mom, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I saved you some cake. I know how much you like it.”

“Are you ok mom? You’ve never encouraged me to eat cake before in my life!”

This at least elicited a laugh from my mother.

“I’m fine, sweetie. I was just worried about you. Don’t worry about those lies Jack told.”

“That’s the thing mom, I don’t think they’re lies.”

“Well I love John, and he loves me. Don’t think for a second that there’s anything wrong with us. If I felt like I was in danger, I would leave. Ok?”

“Yeah. Thanks mom.”

“Now, get out there on the dance floor, show me those moves you’ve got!”

With that I did the robot awkwardly towards the dance floor, my best Tina-Fey-in-30-Rock impression, making my mom laugh like crazy. John came over a minute later.

“There she is, my new daughter. Would you do the honour of giving me this dance?”

“Oooh, how can I say no to a man with such manners?” I asked, giving him my hand with an exaggerated gesture, like I was in a Jane Austen novel. I was definitely not what one would call a “good dancer”, and John quickly picked up on it, so we just moved slowly, more like stepping in tune to the music than dancing. He had one hand very lightly around my waist and held my left hand with his right.

“I hope you didn’t believe anything Jack said during the speeches,” John told me. “It is true that Laura left me, and I was too ashamed to tell the truth. I shouldn’t have done that, but I never hit her. She left me for another man, one of the men that worked in the house. Jack has always blamed me for his mother abandoning him.”

“That must be so hard,” I replied. I had seen Jack in the house. I knew he was telling the truth. But I wasn’t going to make an enemy out of John if I didn’t need to.

“Yes. Though when you have children of your own, you’ll understand that the pain they feel is much worse than any effect they may have on your own life. It just saddens me that he still feels so much anger towards me.”

“I’m so sorry,” I replied. I wasn’t. I couldn’t get the idea out of my head that the hands that were touching me right now – completely appropriately, nothing creepy or weird – were hands that had beaten on his ex-wife until she couldn’t take it anymore and took off in the middle of the night, leaving her only son behind.

I wanted to run away from this man. All those times he had been so nice to me, to find out that he was one of the most horrendous human beings I knew, I wanted to spit in his face. But no, I wasn’t Jack. I’d be nice. I could put up a front. I just had to avoid him from now on. Maybe he’d even give me the money to rent an apartment next semester.

Those thoughts and more ran through my mind, and before I knew it, the song was over. My perfect excuse.

“Thanks for the dance, John. I think I’m going to take a break,” I told him with a smile, and he bowed at me and went to find someone else to dance with.

“I think I’m going to call it an early night,” I told my mom.

“Ok darling, that’s fine. A lot of people have already left anyway. You’re still going to be there for brunch in the morning?”

“Of course, mom. Eleven o’clock, in the dining room?”

“That’s right. Good night, sweetie.”

“Good night mom. Congratulations.”

And with that I went back to the house, took off all my clothes, and had a shower so hot that when I got up the mirror was completely steamed up.

If that was how I felt just knowing what John Alcott had done to Jack’s mother, I couldn’t imagine how Jack felt every time he saw the man.

The next day my mom and John left for their honeymoon. Jack decided he’d move out two weeks later, when they got back from their trip to the Maldives.

We had a lot of long talks in his room. Long talks about what was going to happen next. How safe my mom was with him. I thought back to the time when my mom slipped on the ice. Had she really slipped and fallen? Or had she fallen victim to something far more sinister? Was there more to the fact that she started covering up, wearing long sleeves?

We also spoke about us. We had decided to make our relationship public. We’d start with close friends only, but we weren’t going to hide anymore. If people wanted to talk behind our backs, fine, they could talk. Jack and I were in love, and nothing was going to stop that.

When my mother got back from her honeymoon, I was a lot more vigilant about things. I paid far more attention to my mother. How she acted, how she looked. Whether there were any noticeable bruises on her.

One day Tina and Annie had come over, and we decided to have a study session for our June exams in the bright sunlight outside. After all, it was a gorgeous day, so why not.

I had told them both all about the wedding night, of course. They were shocked to hear about Jack’s story. And they had the same worry that I did, that my mom would have the same problem.

We had found a nice little patch of grass, surrounded by rose bushes. Anita brought us out some fresh lemonade and little cookies to munch on, and we started working on our separate courses.

“I swear, Art History is going to be the death of me,” I complained as I tried for the millionth time to understand the difference between Rafael and Michaelangelo’s paintings. “I mean, I know I should be able to tell different artists apart, but the Renaissance stuff just looks so much alike.”

“The key difference is that Michaelangelo is incapable of drawing women,” Tina answered for me. “Rafael is great at it. But if you look at the women Michaelangelo paints, they’re just men with orbs where the boobs go.  I’m not even going to refer to them as boobs, they’re just orbs. It’s almost like he’s seen pictures of what women should look like but has never seen one in real life.”

I opened my textbook to his “Garden of Eden” and laughed.

“Oh my God Tina, you’re so right. Thank you!”

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for. Now if only you could help me with the accounting class that my mom really, really wanted me to take as my business elective.”

“Not a chance. There’s a reason I didn’t go into anything that had to do with math. Sorry.”

“Hey,” Annie interrupted. “Is that Jack over there?”

Sure enough, my brother was heading towards us. I wondered what he was doing here, I hadn’t seen him on the property at all since our parents came back from their honeymoon.

“Hey girls,” Jack greeted us as he noticed us.

“Hey Jack, what’s up?” I asked.

“Not much, going to get some stuff from the cabin down by the stables.”

“Oh, cool.” I had almost forgotten about Jack’s secret little cabin. I suspected he might have kept a lot of his pot-related things there, seeing as no one else ever seemed to give the cabin more than a cursory glance, since first impressions made it look abandoned.

“Well, see you around. I’ll text you later, Jules.”

With that my brother left, and Annie turned to me.

“How is he doing since the wedding?”

“He’s ok. I haven’t actually seen him here since my  mom and John got back. I guess what he needs is important.” I hadn’t told them about the fact that he admitted to me that he sold pot to his friends.

“The two of you are really close now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. We’re actually… we’re dating, actually,” I admitted. After all, Jack and I weren’t hiding it anymore, so I may as well tell my friends. The way both their jaws dropped at once, it obviously wasn’t what they’d expected to hear.

“You’re… dating?” Annie asked.

“Yeah. We have for a while, since before our parents got married.”

“Well, if you’re happy, I’m not going to judge. Besides, it’s not like you’re blood relatives or anything,” Tina commented, grabbing her laptop to check on some notes.

“I guess so,” Annie replied. “It’s still a bit weird to me. I don’t think I could do it. But I’m happy for you, Julianne. It’s great you’ve found someone. Especially someone who’s so damn hot. I kind of suspected, but it’s still different to have you admit it. I guess I’ll probably get used to it.”

“Thanks, guys. It means a lot to me that you’re not being super judgemental about this.”

Annie shrugged. “You’re one of my best friends. Of course I’m not going to be super judgy. It’s your life.”

“Exactly,” Tina chimed in.

I smiled as we went back to our books. Maybe this whole ‘going public’ thing wasn’t going to be as hard as I thought.

Before I knew it, exams were over, and I’d completed my first year of University. I’m pretty sure I slept for about a week straight after my last exam, I couldn’t understand how people who did all three semesters a year did it. I was mentally and physically drained, and needed some time to recuperate.

Afterwards, however, I found I had a lot of time on my hands. I was actually tempted to get a job for a while, just to have something to do during the day, but I handed my resume around at a few places and got no bites – I suppose everyone else at Oxford had the same idea – so I quickly gave up on that plan.

Instead I spent my days online, checking Instagram and Facebook, reading about all the world events I’d missed during the month or so that I did nothing except eat, sleep and study, and all that sort of thing. I went out and rode Perdita a few times. There was a stablehand who came by every day employed by John who would saddle her up for me, and he promised to show me how to do it myself one day.

I also started spending more time with my mom. We’d go shopping in London, or just out for lunch, or to get a coffee. I wanted to make sure she was ok. I knew that Jack was telling the truth, and unfortunately, reading about domestic abusers online, I also knew that the odds he would do the same thing with his second wife as he had with his first were pretty good.

“Mom, there’s something I have to tell you,” I told her early on, just after exams had ended. I still hadn’t admitted to her that Jack and I were dating, I was pretty worried about her reaction. Most of our friends knew, now, and while Jack had severed relationships with a couple over their reaction, my two friends were fine.

“What’s that, sweetie?”

“Jack and I… well, we’re dating,” I told her. There. I had just said it. No beating around the bush, no hints, nothing.

“You’re dating? Like, a couple?”

I nodded. “Yeah. We have been for a little while now. We’re pretty happy, actually.”

“Well. I’m not sure I approve, Julianne.” My mom’s lips pursed together. “After all, I’m married to your father. I know you’re not related by blood, but you are related by marriage.”

“I know, you think it’s wrong. Can’t you just be happy for me?”

“I am happy for you sweetie, I just think you should reconsider. People will talk, you know.”

“I know. We know. We’re ok with that.”

“Well, if you’re ok with it, then I won’t stand in your way.”

“Thanks, mom.”

* * *

We continued our little chats, our talks, our coffees, but I noticed that my mom purposefully never brought up the topic of my boyfriend, of Jack. I knew that she wouldn’t say anything, but she didn’t really approve.

A part of me wondered if she was right. People would talk. I hoped that when the next semester started and people found out, it wouldn’t be too bad, but I didn’t care. I was in love.

And the love of my life was about to take me somewhere special.

Jack told me one morning in August he was going to surprise me. I was ordered to bring my passport and my purse, and that was it.

He came to pick me up in the Lambo at the very early hour of 7am, and I knew we were doing something special. Jack was
never
up before ten if he could avoid it, and I always made it a rule never to call him before 11, just in case. It was a Friday, and we drove through the London traffic, parking in a private garage near St Pancras station.

The next thing I knew we were lining up for the train, getting into our first class seats.

“Where are we going?” I asked, but I was pretty sure I already knew the answer, given the big Eurostar logo on the side of the train.

“To a city far more romantic than London. Don’t worry, I’ll have you back home before your bedtime.”

For two and a half hours Jack and I talked, our hands intertwined as we looked out at first the English countryside, then the darkness of the chunnel, then I got my first ever look at France. It was similar to England, but different somehow at the same time. The style of the homes were different, the terrain was flatter, it wasn’t quite as rolling, and it seemed older. Like people had been living here for a lot longer, like the buildings had a lot more to say, like the earth had held a lot more people on it.

We passed through the odd town, but slowly everything got more and more developed, until we sped into Paris.

I had purposefully skipped breakfast on the train, and seeing as it was only 10am, there was still plenty of time to eat in this city known for its food.

“Should we stop somewhere for breakfast?” I asked Jack, and he nodded.

“Yeah. We just have to take another couple of trains and then we’ll find somewhere.”

I followed Jack as we went from Gare du Nord to Louvre, taking one RER train and one metro. I didn’t pay total attention to which stations exactly, but I grew up in New York. If I could read the subway maps there, I knew I’d have no problem in Paris if I needed to.

As soon as we stepped out of the station Jack led me a few blocks away from the giant glass pyramid, and found us a cute little boulangerie, where we ordered chocolate croissants to have for breakfast.

It was hands down the greatest thing I’d ever eaten.

“We’re definitely coming back here before we go so I can stock up on these,” I declared as I savoured another bite of the melt-in-your-mouth pastry. “I can’t believe I lived so close to these things this whole time in London and have never tried one.”

Jack laughed. “Yeah, if there’s one thing the French kick our ass at, it’s cooking. And especially pastry. Whenever I come back from Paris I take one look at neenish tarts and just go “ugh, really?””

With breakfast finished, we walked hand in hand back towards the glass pyramid. The lineup was already getting pretty long, but instead of joining it, Jack led me down a set of stairs into an underground shopping mall with a food court, where we joined another, much smaller line to enter.

“This is the secret lineup most tourists either don’t know about or don’t care to find,” he told me as I put my purse through the X-ray scanner. We bought our tickets, got a map of the museum, and the next thing I knew I was in the most famous museum in the world with the best man in the world.

Jack was happy to let me lead the way.

“You know a lot more about this stuff than I do,” he told me, handing me the map. “We’re not going to get to see everything in one day, believe me. I’d just pick a wing or two for now, and then we’ll grab lunch and go up the Eiffel Tower this afternoon.”

“You’re amazing,” I replied, planting a soft kiss on Jack’s lips.

“You’re pretty good yourself,” he replied.

For two hours we went through the Italian section of the Louvre. I explained the differences between pre-Renaissance and Renaissance painting, while Jack dutifully listened. Whether or not he was just pretending to be interested I don’t think I’ll ever know, but I liked that he did at least pretend.

The highlight, of course, was the Mona Lisa. Barely more than a foot high, it’s definitely not the huge painting many people imagine. Jack pushed through the throng of people, guiding me towards the front of the groups of hundreds of people, all trying to get a glimpse of the painting that once hung on the walls of Louis XVII. With his muscles and tattoos, people always moved out of the way for him.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” I whispered, and I could feel Jack nodding as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

“It sure is. She has a pretty ethereal look about her.”

When I finally couldn’t take it anymore – my feet needed a break, and my stomach was starting to rumble – we left the Louvre. Wandering through the streets of Paris, we ended up finding a little out-of-the-way bistro filled with a number of office workers on their lunch break, and figured that was a good bet.

It turned out the expensive private school education worked out pretty well for Jack, who was able to order us lunch in – what sounded to my inexperienced ear – perfectly fluent French. We were motioned to a table in the corner by the window, which was perfect, and a few minutes later the most succulent chicken dish with gratin vegetables was brought out to us, and I was pretty sure I could live in this city for the rest of my life.

With lunch finished we took yet another train, crossing the Seine and getting on the C line of the RER before ending in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.

“Stairs, or elevator?” Jack asked.

“Are you kidding? Elevator.”

“I only ask because the line for the stairs is always about a quarter as long,” Jack told me with a grin. I struggled. I hated waiting for things, impatience, especially in lines, was one of my weaknesses.

“Fine, stairs it is,” I replied. I needed to work off those croissants and chicken anyway.

Funnily enough, the 700 steps weren’t nearly as bad as I thought they were. By the time we got up to the second floor I was barely breathing heavily, and any discomfort I felt was immediately gone when I saw the view.

The stairs took us progressively higher, to the first floor, then the second, and then there was an elevator to go all the way to the top.

Jack and I didn’t dawdle on the lower floors, and quickly lined up for the elevator. The line moved pretty quickly, and only a couple minutes later we were being whisked up hundreds of feet above Paris.

If I thought the view from the lower floors blew me away, I had no idea what was waiting up top. It felt like we could see for miles. Cars looked like toys, the people milling around in the Champs de Mars gardens in front of the tower looked like ants.

Jack came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me as we looked down at the city.

“It’s gorgeous,” I told him, leaning back against his chest. I could feel his hard pecs against the back of my head, and closed my eyes, inhaling his scent. God, I loved this man.

“Certainly is. If I’m honest, I prefer Paris to London. The people here know how to live. They have the
joie de vivre
as they say here.”

“I can see that, yeah. It’s really nice, for sure.”

We stayed like that, Jack holding me in his arms, I’m not sure how long for. Time had no meaning, standing up there at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Nothing else mattered, except the two of us.

After the most romantic early dinner I’d ever had, we had to get back to the train station to catch the last Eurostar back to London. I made sure to stop by another boulangerie on the way back, where Jack bought me a whole box of croissants of different flavours to take home and enjoy for breakfast over the next couple of weeks.”

“I promise I’ll bring you back here sometime soon, and we’ll stay the night,” Jack told me as we settled into our seats on the train.

“That’d be nice. Thanks for today. It was amazing. Best day of my life,” I told him, and I meant it. No one had ever taken me to Paris before, even just for the day, and it had been incredible. I couldn’t wait to go back, and I wanted to go back with Jack.

When we got back to London there was no way I wasn’t spending the night with my boyfriend. We went back to Jack’s apartment, where a little bit of kissing quickly turned into a lot more. After all, isn’t Paris known as the city of love?