Stepbrother, Mine
Stepbrother, Mine
(Taboo #1)
by
Mandy Lou Dowson
Mandy Lou Dowson
Copyright © 2014 by Mandy Lou Dowson
Published by Mandy Lou Dowson
All Rights Reserved
Cover design by Linda Boulanger of Tell Tale Book Covers
Book design by Mandy Lou Dowson
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exceptions is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Mandy Lou Dowson
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Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Pt 1, Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Pt 2, Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Pt 3, Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
About the Author
Acknowledgments
As always to the family and friends who support me unconditionally, you will always have my heart.
To the bloggers, readers, reviewers and followers on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and everywhere else, – especially those of you who signed up for the early ARC to review! – you guys ROCK! I love reading your reviews – they always put a smile on my face.
To my Street Team, my She-wolves, my Beta Babes, you girls are the stalkers – whoops, I mean supporters that I cherish most. You're always there for me if I need an opinion or a bit of support. But mostly, you don't let me slack off, and that's why I do what I do.
Honorary mention to author, Kristina Canady, who slammed the parts of this book that needed slamming and made me write it better. Thank you, my lovely.
To all the authors I've met along the way who've given me advice, I thank you. Without you, I would be truly clueless.
Shall we proceed? Great. Read on!
Part One
Chapter One
August 2004
Sophie
The day dawned with no hint to the life changing event about to happen. As a matter of fact, it was a glorious sun-shining day, full of streamers of light and birds chirping outside her bedroom window. To look around, you wouldn't think it was such a momentous occasion. You'd never guess that today was the day her life would change forever. Sophie found herself disappointed by the very normality of the weather. Shouldn't it be storming out there? Flashes of lightening and great big booms of thunder would at least set the tone for the events of the day as she imagined them.
Sophie stretched, the lethargy of sleep still clinging to her limbs, and snuggled deeper into the soft cotton of her sheets. “Today,” she told Mr. Stuffington, gazing into his black, button eyes with a soft smile. “I get a new brother.”
Being an only child had its benefits. She had first dibs on the TV, naturally, and had never wanted for anything, whether it was a new pair of shoes or a school trip. But then again, for every pro there was a con – and Sophie figured the con of not having any siblings was that she was a bit socially awkward.
Being sweet sixteen and never having been kissed sucked. What was even lamer was the fact that it was looking ever more likely with each passing day that she'd soon be sweet seventeen and still never been kissed. Children with siblings had a distinct advantage over those without – they learned to socialize early in life, and thus avoided the awkwardness of being a teen nobody. She had one friend – Serena – who was just as awkward as she, and together they were the perfect pair of misfits.
Mr. Stuffington seemed to smile back at her, the threads of his stitched mouth frayed with age. He'd been a gift from Uncle Troy – who was himself only five years old at the time and wanted to spoil the new baby with the gift of his own favorite teddy bear – when she was knee-high, and he'd weathered the years as well as could be expected. She tucked him into the gap between her pillows and star-fished in the wide bed, wondering what it was going to be like. A brother.
Her mom had met Harry a little over twelve months ago, and with Logan still living with his mother, and too far away for regular visits, she had yet to meet him. He was two years older than her at eighteen, and he'd recently decided to go to college here to be nearer his father for a while. Of course, it didn't hurt that Harry had offered to fund his college education.
Their relationship had been a bit strained over the past couple of years – if she'd overheard correctly – and Harry had offered to pay Logan's tuition fees for the chance to get reacquainted with his one and only son. She could remember the phone call her mother made to her friend Marla.
“He's just angry,” she'd said. “He'll come around. Eventually.”
How intriguing. Her new brother sounded like a bit of a shit, if she'd gotten the gist right, and had a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. She wondered if he'd changed much from his picture – the one Harry kept in his wallet showing a gangly fifteen year old with short dark hair and a wide smile as white as snow. In the slightly worn photograph, Logan sat in profile gazing out over the waters outside Harry's beach house, and his pose reminded her of Rodin's famous sculpture of The Thinker – except, with a smile that he no doubt used to beguile girls everywhere.
A whoop from downstairs announced the arrival of Marla – sans champagne, Sophie hoped. The last thing her mother needed on her wedding day was a bubbly tummy from too much champagne. Although, come to think of it, she'd enjoyed a sip of it this past Christmas and decided that she'd quite liked it, so she rethought her opinion. Champagne for breakfast. How luxurious.
Her alarm clock went off with a shriek, making her sit up in fright. Reaching out a hand, she thumped the button in annoyance. It was ten a.m. Three hours until go time. Yawning widely and plucking her pajama bottoms from her butt, she stood, enjoying another stretch before making her way down the curving staircase.
“I swear to you, Marie. No lie. It was this big!” Marla stood in the hallway, her hands a foot apart in front of her face, with a wicked smile and a bottle tucked under each arm. “Good morning, sunshine!” she trilled, spying Sophie skipping down the steps. “All set for today?”
“Yup! I just need to grab a quick breakfast and then I'm gonna shower and get ready.” Her mother had bought her a beautiful gown in a deep red that set off her dirty blond hair perfectly and brought out the green flecks in her hazel eyes. The shoes, she wasn't sure of, but at least their height would serve to make her appear older than sixteen.
“There are eggs on the stove, sweetie,” her mother informed her with a soft smile, tightening the belt of her terry robe. Her eyes were already shining with good humor, and her hands shook only slightly as she retrieved a bottle where it had started to slip from underneath Marla's arm. “And bacon wrapped in foil by the microwave. Help yourself.”
“Aren't you having any?” She hoped her mom wouldn't skip breakfast, as she had been lately. Diets were one thing, starvation quite another.
“I had some,” Marie dismissed the question with a wave of her free hand, the diamond ring adorning her ring finger sparkling in the morning light. “Go ahead, sweetie. Eat up. There's a long day ahead of us.” She dragged Marie into the living room, where she showed off her wedding gown with a smile.
Marla shrieked again, letting them all know exactly what she thought of the off-white, empire line gown with a sweetheart neckline. It was adorned with a delicate lace pattern around the hem, and beads of pearl were sewn into the bodice. It was a beautiful dress, fit for a queen. Or the world’s best mom, Sophie decided.
The kitchen was a disaster area –curling tongs lay on top of a pile of diamond studded pins and an assortment of brushes and boxes of cosmetics were lined up by the sink. There were dirty dishes on the counter-top. After taking a few minutes to clean up, Sophie settled down to a plate loaded with eggs and bacon, and a tall glass of orange juice.
“Here, my lovely,” Marla winked, topping up her glass with bubbly champagne. “Now that's a breakfast drink!”
“Marla!” her mom admonished, swatting at Marla's reaching fingers which were headed towards Sophie's last remaining strip of bacon. “Don't give that to the child.”
“Child? Marie, you need to reassess that idea. Look at her!” Grasping hands pulled Sophie from her chair and twirled her around in presentation. “Girl, you're all grown up and fine as hell.”
Sophie blushed to the roots of her hair. “Um, thanks?”
“You're welcome. Now scoot! I need to do your momma's hair.”
Marla ran her own salon – which was lucky for them as she was fond of telling her mom. Who else would arrive at ten a.m. on a Sunday morning to do hair and make-up, with two bottles of bubbly, to boot?
Sophie shook her head in amusement as Marla plonked her mother down on a chair and attacked the pile of pins, brandishing the tongs like a weapon. “This will be my finest masterpiece,” she told them with a grin. She set the tongs to heat and brushed Marie's hair while dumping the pins in a small pile on the table. “Fetch me a glass of that, will you sweetie?”
Sophie half-filled a flute of champagne and handed it to Marla, who downed it in one swallow. “Let's get to work.”
“No more bubbly for you,” her mom admonished, wagging a finger at Sophie as she drained her own glass of spiked juice. “I don't want you feeling sick at the ceremony.”
“Leave the girl be, Marie. It's a day for celebrating!”
With a relenting sigh, her mom gave Sophie 'the look'. The one that said, 'you better heed me, child'. Sophie grinned and drifted out of the kitchen to take a shower. By the time anyone noticed one more glass worth's of champagne missing from the bottle, she'd locked herself into her small en-suite with a laugh.
“Sophie Ellis!” her mother shouted after her. “That's it until after the ceremony, do you hear?”
With another laugh, Sophie sipped from her glass and turned the shower on full force, removing her pajamas as she waited for the water to heat. When steam billowed from the stall, she climbed in, closing the glass door behind her.
Today was going to be epic.
~
“Oh my God, Mom. You look...you look...”
“Amazeballs, right?” Marla suggested. “She looks fantabulous, fabtastic and entirely edible, if I do say so myself.” She leaned against the island in the kitchen with a soft and gooey smile, her eyes twinkling in happiness. “Harry is gonna die!”
Her mother stood before her, nervously swigging from the neck of the champagne bottle, draining the remaining few drops. “Are you sure the pins aren't too much?”
Sophie clasped her mom's hands to stop her fidgeting with her hair. “It's perfect, Mom. I mean it. You look like a queen.”
“Sweetheart,” her mother whispered, pulling her in for a hug. Before she could wrap her arms around her mother, Marla erupted with a screech.
“No! No hugging. No touching. No ruining your look!”
“Alright, alright,” Marie relented with a rueful smirk. She smoothed the material of her dress, and took her satin shoes from their box, stepping into them and gaining a couple of inches in height.
Sophie took after her mom as far as height went – both of them were lucky to reach 5'7” with heels, and today, Sophie's heels were much taller than her mom's modest kitten-heeled shoes, giving her a good two inches' advantage.
She stood back and took in the full picture of her mother once more. The dress emphasized her small waist and brought attention to her generous chest without being trashy. It fell in a soft cascade of satin to the floor, where the small train extended a couple of feet. On her head sat a tiny tiara, encrusted with diamonds. Here and there the diamond pins glinted and winked, and her neck was decorated with Gran's small strand of pearls. The only other bling her mom wore was the solitaire diamond on her finger, which Harry had to have worked his tush off to buy.
“Marla's right,” she told her, tapping the toe of one shoe. “You do look amazeballs.”
Her mom affected an attitude much like her zany friend and cocked a hip. “I know, right?”
Giggles accompanied Sophie the whole way back up the stairs to fetch her forgotten clutch bag. She took a moment to assess herself in the large mirror on the hall-way wall. The deep red of her gown cinched her waist tight and showed off her own sizable chest, the creamy slopes peeking over the low neckline as if to say, 'here we are. And you thought we'd never grow in'.
Her legs were entirely encased in the chiffon material, only the toes of her nude colored sling backs peeking out from underneath. Her arms were bare, and even though her mom had asked her to wear the matching chiffon wrap, that was the only thing Sophie had refused to even contemplate, maintaining that wraps were old-fashioned and grandmotherly. After much discussion, her mother had capitulated the point and asked her to bring a coat instead. In case it got chilly, she'd explained. But what could her mom do if she conveniently forgot it?
Sophie leaned in closer, gazing in amazement at the job Marla had done on her make-up. I look so grown up, she thought, taking stock of the sweep of eyeliner, the curve of her cupid's bow as she pursed her lips and the bat of her lashes as she winked at her reflection.
“Soph!” Marla's shriek echoed up the stairs. “Move, girl. The car is on the way.”
“Coming,” she called back, blowing herself a kiss in the mirror, feeling the buzz from the champagne settle in her stomach. Today really would be epic.
~
Logan
His shirt collar felt as though it were choking him as he propped a foot on the nearest tombstone – a squat round thing, the etchings long since faded from view. A piece of moss, dislodged by his dress shoe, floated to the ground below as he watched, pulling deeply on a cigarette clasped between his lips. It was a beautiful day for a wedding, he had to admit. And though the little boy inside him was angry with his father for never having married his mother, he also had to admit, it was good to see the old man happy. Not that he'd ever say it, of course.
The last handful of years had seen them both drift further away from each other until they'd become little more than strangers – the odd phone call here and there had been all that had kept them connected. That had all changed when the old man had suddenly offered to pay his tuition to a top university, in return for him settling closer to his father and new stepmother. And stepsister, don't forget. He frowned. A new stepmother being almost more than the could stomach, the thought of a stepsister tagging along made his skin itch.
He'd been an only child for so long that he had no idea what to do with a sister. Maybe he should pull her hair and call her pizza-face. He shrugged. He'd figure it out, and besides, it wasn't as if he'd be a regular visitor in any case. His studies would take up most of his time, and he was sure he'd find other ways to entertain himself. College life. He grinned, pu
lling again on his cigarette before lowering his foot and crushing it into the fallen piece of moss. Damn, he really had to quit smoking.
The wedding bells had begun to ring, and for a moment he thought about taking off. He wasn't supposed to arrive until later, when the reception was in full swing, and he didn't know if he'd be expected to choose a seat or a side or whatever. A white stretch limo pulled up at the side of the church, a short but pretty woman emerging all in white, with a smile hiding the panic in her eyes. Logan snorted. So this was his new mother.
Behind the bride, two others climbed out, their dresses a dark red. The three of them stood for a moment, like two red roses propping up the petals of a white one between them, the breeze lifting the floaty material of their dresses. He studied them from his vantage point in the adjoining cemetery. One woman was approximately the same age as the bride – early fifties – but the other, the blond, was younger, eighteen maybe.
His breath caught in his throat as she presented him with her perfect profile, her cheeks rounded in laughter, and her blond hair where it had come loose from the pins holding it up, flying in soft curling tendrils around her face. Her scarlet lips drew the eye, and he found himself wondering what they would taste like. Cherries, perhaps. Or strawberries. Certainly, she was a thing of beauty – he was turned on just watching her move, her hips swaying with a gentle grace as she trailed after the bride.
These were strangers. All of them, his father included. He should have just stayed in his hotel room and let them get on with it without him. He was the black sheep here, wasn't he? He wondered where his new sister was. According to his father, she was a sixteen year old kid, fresh-faced and happy-go-lucky. She was probably already inside, he decided, lighting up another cigarette and drawing the smoke into his lungs. He felt a nervous laugh gather in his lungs.