

## MY BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER

### Kennedy Claire

Third Edition, February 2017

Copyright© 2017

by

Kennedy Claire

First Edition, April 2015

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced nor used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for use of brief quotations in a book review, interview or article.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

" _I must have loved you for years_ , _only I was such a stupid fool_ , I didn't know it."

–Scarlett O'Hara,

### Gone with the Wind

## Table of Contents:

Prologue – The Dream

Chapter 1 – We Don't Talk Anymore

Dev's Journal: First Reluctant Entry

Chapter 2 – Senior Year Changes Everything

Dev's Journal: Entry #54

Chapter 3 – Part of the Family

Chapter 4 – The Enemy Returns Home

Dev's Journal: Entry #67

Chapter 5 – White Trash & Voltaire

Dev's Journal: Entry #68

Chapter 6 – Scarlett, Meet Rhett

Dev's Journal: Entry #84

Chapter 7 – Dangerous Liaisons & Gray Sweaters

Chapter 8 – You've Got Mail

Dev's Journal: Entry #103

Chapter 9 – Christmas Alone

Chapter 10 – A Man in the House

Chapter 11 – First Date, First Everything

Chapter 12 – Day of Reckoning

Chapter 13 – The Signs Were There

Dev's Journal: Entry #118

Chapter 14 – Home, Sweet Hom _e_

Chapter 15 – Every New Beginning Comes from Some Other Beginning's End

Dev's Journal: Entry #126

Chapter 16 – The Box

Epilogue – Hindsight is 20/20

Bonus: Prologue to the sequel 24 ½ Kisses

Also by Kennedy Claire

About the Author

Book Extras!

P.S.

#  Prologue

# The Dream

When you're a teenage virgin drowning in a sea of raging hormones, there's nothing more welcome as a tantalizing sex dream—free of pregnancy, STDs, awkward first dates, and painful heart break.

And here I was, smack dab in the middle of one.

_Have fun_ , my subconscious self seemed to communicate to my conscious self. After all, she was running this show and I was just a happy bystander; I was eager to see what she had in store for me. Dreams like this were far and few in between.

But I knew this was a very different kind of sex dream from the onset. The air smells of incense and is heavy with humidity—exotic. I am reclined in a bed—not my own or one I recognize as I survey the dark room. It was a simple space, sparse in décor, the windows open; plain white curtains bellow softly over the warm sea-air that pours in accompanied by the soothing and rhythmic crash of waves from an ocean that must be right outside.

Okay, subconscious, nice job so far. But where's the lucky guy? Please let it not be Mr. Harmon, my ninth grade English teacher again. That was such an awkward dream and I couldn't look him in the eye without blushing for the rest of the semester.

As if on queue, I see a tall masculine figure come to me from some indistinct place, as if appearing out of thin air. He's foreign to me, and yet in this dream, I seem to be okay with this half-naked man approaching me. Dressed only in long, loose white pants, his muscled chest draws my attention as he walks over with a steaming cup in his hand. I look hard at him because I feel I must know him—I feel so at ease in his presence. But there's no light save for the fading moon outside, and his features are shadowed.

I squint hard and I can make out a few details. His black hair is longish with curls at the ends, hanging over his broad shoulders, his skin tan and smooth over the waves of rounded muscles.

He's god-like, and I can't believe that he's mine—at least for this one dream.

I feel suddenly more supple and soft, more like a woman, a contrast to his hard edges and impressive brawn. The attraction I feel for him is overwhelming.

He is definitely _not_ Mr. Harmon.

The man sits on the edge of the bed and leans in slowly to kiss me on the forehead. I don't scream or yell "rape" or dig through my purse for my trusty hot pepper spray attached to the scratched metal Eiffel Tower key ring, but instead, I offer the stranger a sly, inviting smile.

I should note that this is not _at all_ how I am in reality, where the furthest I've gone is second base for two seconds with Randy Eckers, the lifeguard at the beach last summer. Of course, he'd wanted more, but I'm not that type of girl. I guess when dreaming, I'm a certified tramp though.

Like now.

I take the cup he offers me. The tea is warm, but his lips are like fire on my skin. I stare into his dark eyes, pools of black, mysterious...almost haunting. Definitely hungry.

It sets off an alarm.

_Is he a vampire? Will this dream turn dark suddenly?_ If so, I'm not sure I would put up much of a struggle. I decide it's about time my junior high obsession with _Twilight_ bled into my unconscious psyche.

"Drink," he commands in a whisper, but his penetrating gaze suggests there are other things on his mind besides my hydration levels. I let the warm liquid, infused with cinnamon and cardamom, slide down my throat. He takes the cup from me and sets it on a bedside table next to a book covered in words I cannot read. _Arabic? Hindi?_

_Why the hell do I care right now?_ I scold myself. _Get to the sex part!_

What's odd is that I don't feel quite myself in this dream. I'm there, but I'm not. Who is this...this... _woman_? She's nothing like the 17-year-old me I am now with unruly long blonde hair, questionable fashion sense, and a sex life as uninhibited as an 80-year-old nun in hospice care. _This_ woman is worldly and experienced, and she seems to know what she wants...and it isn't a second cup of tea. I suddenly realize I'm in for a wild ride during this dream.

And I'm all in.

The man and I smile at each other like lost lovers reunited. That face, so familiar...

He grazes my cheek with his long fingers, as if I were a fascinating work of art by Michelangelo or Donatello. I shudder at his touch. I don't want him to stop.

I feel I will _die_ if he stops.

I've never had a dream like this.

He tenderly kisses my neck and I pull him closer, an invitation for more, an unspoken "yes" to what his body is asking from me.

"I've waited so long for this, Scarlett," he whispers into my neck, in between sultry kisses.

_That voice...I know it from somewhere_.

But I can't place it yet. If only I could see his face more clearly.

Happily, he doesn't drain me of my blood, but instead leans into me, his weight a welcome intrusion. His mouth meets mine for the first time. He kisses me slowly at first, and then loses control and consumes my lips with his, feasting on me.

I want more—much more—than what he is giving me and I'm actually afraid he may stop or I might wake up before I find out what happens next.

Don't stop. Don't stop. Stay asleep, Scarlett!

My thin, silky robe is open, and my soft breasts unite with his firm chest. He slides his hand down the inside of my thigh and I instinctively open up for him. Our bodies merge in a sensual pleasure I don't yet understand as a naïve teenager, but I'm more than willing to explore in this dream. Unknown pleasure radiates and overtakes me. I moan in my dream, his mouth to my neck...a climax of sensations ripple through my body.

Oh. My. God.

My lucid mind inhabiting my still-virgin body wonders: _Is this what it's really like?_

It's breathtaking. It's the best dream of my whole life.

Please don't let it end...I want to find out who he is.

The morning sunlight breaks through the window over the calm ocean outside. For the first time, I can see his face clearly over me. The mature woman in my dream seems to love this face, but the teenager I am now jolts awake in utter shock.

Him? Not him!

Has my subconscious turned on me? Could it really be this cruel?

The alarm clock screeches next to my bed. I hit the snooze out of habit even though I am more than awake. The dream still dominates my thoughts—and my body—which only makes me feel slightly sick to my stomach, because I know exactly who he is now.

And it makes no sense at all.

Dev Bashir? Rude and arrogant Dev?

The one person I completely and utterly loathe?

No—not just loathe. Hate. Detest. Despise with everything that I am.

Reality slaps me in the face and as I recall what I had just done in that steamy, x-rated dream. Or rather _who_ I just did.

Holy crap.

I just had dream sex with my best friend's brother.

#  ~1~

# We Don't Talk Anymore

I glanced at the tattered book cover of my favorite novel and tossed it into my beach bag with a towel, a bottle of water and my SPF 35 for my sadly pale skin. It was a hundred degrees—about right for a typical Texas July—and lucky 14-year-old me had a friend with a swimming pool. It was going to be a great day.

Or so I thought. But more on that later.

The trailer court I lived in with my dad used to have a pool years ago, but now it was neglected with a shallow green pool of muck hosting a few beer cans floating on top. Last time I stood at the edge and peered down, I swear there was a dirty diaper in there, too. Gross.

I considered the book again and then pulled it out and returned it safely back to the little shelf in my closet where my few valuables were kept. I didn't want it ruined from a wayward splash. This was a special book to me and I credited it with saving my life in a sense.

Let me explain.

The best gift my mother gave me was naming me Scarlett after the bold, beautiful and unstoppable heroine from _Gone with the Wind._ In fact, it might be the _only_ thing she gave me—I can't recall anything else other than a few of the usual emotional scars of abandonment. That feeble excuse for a parent left me and my dad when I wasn't even two years old, so I had no collection of embroidered blankets, birthday cards, jewelry or other sentimental things a daughter could expect from her mother.

Things that my best friend, Annika, had in droves.

Sometimes I envied Annika and her shelves of fancy trinkets, visual evidence that she was loved and adored. But would I trade my cherished moniker for all of it? Would I choose to live life as a dull Jessica or a tedious Samantha or—god forbid—a weak, needy _Melanie_?

Not a chance.

As soon as I was old enough to read, I got my hands on a worn out paperback copy of _Gone with the Wind_ from a library sale for fifty cents, and I read it cover to cover. And then I read it several times after throughout my youth in between obsessive marathons of _Anne of Green Gables_ and Jane Austen novels.

When kids at school made fun of me for my shoddy thrift store clothes or because I lived in a trailer park, I held my head high and imagined this was how Scarlett must have felt when she worked in the cotton fields to save Tara after the Civil War. She did what she had to do to pull herself up and out, and I decided I would do the same in my life.

That book helped me keep my sanity and aspire to a better life than my parents had. I guess a striking difference between me and Scarlett O'Hara was that I didn't plan to marry someone wealthy in order to gain access to the cleaner, nicer parts of society where people didn't park their cars on the front lawn—half of them nonworking. I made straight A's throughout school knowing that _education_ was my ticket out of this place.

So, even though my mother was a loser of a parent and was probably drinking herself to death somewhere out west, maybe something inside of her knew I would need that name and the resilience and strength that came with it. Maybe she guessed it would give me the fortitude to dream big and work hard to make something of myself, and eventually move out of the rusty mobile home I shared with my dad—a man who stopped dreaming altogether the day she left him.

My name was one of two things that helped me survive growing up poor and motherless. The other was my best friend, Annika, and her family, the Bashirs.

I grabbed my beach bag, slipped on some cheap flip-flops, and headed out the door for the hot, sweaty walk to their house knowing I would be rewarded with a cool dip in their crystal clear pool—no beer cans or dirty diapers to be found.

As I hiked toward their part of town, it was easy to spot how the scenery changed, the socioeconomic differences pretty clear. I lived right on the border between the dust-covered trailer parks on the outskirts of Fairview, Texas and its wealthy upper-class neighborhoods with manicured lawns and security guards stationed at the entrances to their gated communities. I was part of the ten percent of the student body who really didn't belong there, but I learned quickly that money didn't always buy you acceptance.

They Bashirs were from exotic and colorful India by way of civilized and stoic Britain, and practiced a narrow, esoteric sect of Islam. I found them fascinating and interesting, but according to the mostly white, Baptist population in our town, this meant they were outcasts, too, despite their wealth and status.

A couple blocks down the street and the dirt path transformed into a sidewalk, unofficially marking the line between the Haves and the Have-Nots. I could walk this path with eyes closed and step up on that sidewalk at just the right second. Annika had rarely walked the distance to my place—one time to be precise, when she insisted on seeing my room. I'll never forget the expression on her face when I opened up the rusty door to the mobile home—it always got jammed—and led her down the narrow hall to my sparse room, the size of a match-box. She could see how embarrassed I was and never asked to come again. I appreciated that about her.

I smiled to myself remembering how I first met my best friend.

I was in fourth grade when Annika, shy and dark-skinned, was introduced to our class. She had a slight English accent from having lived in London since birth, and this only confused everyone in our classroom even more.

"What _is_ she?" someone whispered indiscreetly. I saw a flicker of pain in her eyes and I instantly wanted to protect her.

I hung back at first, slightly intimidated by her mysterious differences from the rest of us, but we bonded quickly one day when things got out of hand at the elementary school playground.

"My dad says you're going to hell," sneered Colby, a blonde boy with a thick Texas drawl. I remember seeing Annika freeze on square number four in hopscotch, her eyes filling with tears.

Colby's father was the pastor of Fairview Baptist Church, so Colby thought himself qualified to evaluate the spiritual correctness of everyone around him. My dad had brought me to that church once or twice on Easter, and I distinctly recall the looks of pity from the older women in their tailored Sunday dresses with matching hats. It bothered me so much even as a child that I begged we never go back.

So we didn't.

A small crowd gathered around the confrontation on the school playground. With his "congregation" growing, Colby got even bolder.

"Annika, why do you _hate_ Jesus?" he asked threateningly, standing two inches from her frightened face. The crowd of 9-year-olds echoed his line of questioning, getting angry and restless.

As a social reject myself, I had nothing to lose, so I stepped in.

"Leave her alone...or you'll regret it," I shouted with a clenched fist to back it up.

Colby laughed, calling my bluff.

So I punched him.

I almost got kicked out of school, but I made a friend for life in Annika. In fact, she was my _only_ friend growing up and we were fiercely loyal to each other, like sisters.

Her mother, Mrs. Bashir, would let me come over and play after school for years, feeding me spice-filled samosas and chicken biryani, and washing it down with large gulps of coconut water from the expensive baby coconuts she ordered from Thailand. She taught me how to add just a pinch of this and a pinch of that to transform plain white rice into something befitting a four star Indian restaurant. Even better, Annika let me have free reign over her mountains of toys in her perfectly pink room. We giggled together uncontrollably and played hide-and-seek for hours.

As we got older, we discussed boys with such depth and curiosity as if they were aliens having just landed on our planet, and we daydreamed together about who we would eventually marry in between obsessively watching _The Princess Bride_ and John Hughes movies. That's when I started to learn that the Bashir family was a little different from mine.

I recalled one such sleep-over when the conversation predictably turned to boys.

"Stephen Pearsall...he's the one for you!" I teased Annika from under her pink comforter, lying next to her. Stephen was a freckled-faced, redheaded boy who always seemed to sit next to her, but was too shy to even utter a single word.

"No way! I am not marrying a boy with red hair! Scarlett, that's bad luck. Besides, would he be red... _everywhere_?" she asked with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Why don't you ask him," I challenged her. "Or better yet, steal a peek in the boys' locker room!"

We were 13 at the time and starting to think about "real things," like which hot celebrity we were going to marry and what mysteries lay under a boy's boxer briefs. We were starting to have sincere and heart wrenching crushes, which seemed to consume us in the most pleasurable way. I always thought Annika secretly pined for Stephen but, for some reason, she would never admit it to me.

"It doesn't matter anyway," Annika uttered, forlornly burying her face in her ruffled, pink fringed pillow, a far cry from my tattered, plain polyester pillow on my dingy bunk bed back home.

"Why? What do you mean?" I asked.

"It's just that—well...I _can't_ marry anyone like him. I have to marry someone... _you know_." She looked at me like I should know. I didn't have a freaking clue.

"With brown hair?" I guessed.

"No, a boy who is Indian like me. And Muslim."

Annika looked at me trying to gauge my reaction. Would I understand?

I didn't.

"You're kidding me! In the United States of America you are actually _forbidden_ to marry someone different from you? I mean, you can't marry a regular white boy?" I said, feeling and acting very Civil Rights lawyer-ish.

Annika sighed. I noticed a small pang of sadness in her eyes. She didn't want to talk about it anymore.

"That's cool," I said. "We'll just have to find the right boy for you."

Annika laughed and threw the pillow at me. We both knew I still didn't get it. How could I? No one in my family cared who I would marry.

Two miles into my walk and I was downtown. I skipped past the ornate Fairview Hotel, the building holding a massive cache of memories for me. The Bashirs owned it, and it was the nicest hotel in Fairview. They also had several other hotels in nearby big-city Dallas, but I never saw them.

Sometimes Annika and I would swim at the hotel pool, and later she would sneak a key to an empty room where we would watch cable and gorge ourselves on Snickers bars and Doritos from the supply room—until the front desk clerk would call and warn us Annika's brother was looking for her.

That brings me to her brothers.

Annika had two. Her younger brother, Rasheed, was two years younger and a perfect target for our torture and jokes with his plump belly and his funny lisp. It seemed like a nightly occurrence that his mother would chase him out of the kitchen smacking him with a kitchen towel and yelling in Hindi, sometimes making a point to use English when she was especially vexed.

"Rasheed, put that cookie back! You'll be too full for dinner!" She screamed in her thick Indian accent like a mad-woman, but never getting so flustered as to jostle a perfectly coiffed hair out of place piled high on her head or smudge the tiniest bit of lipstick.

Her prediction was never right because I don't recall a single time he was too full for dinner. Looking back now, I guess eating was his way of dealing with all the teasing at school. He was the darkest in the family and had the most ethnic sounding name. Sometimes the kids called him "Fatsheed," and the fact that he couldn't even pronounce his own name correctly because of the lisp just added to the humiliation. Poor, poor Rasheed.

"My name is Rath-eed!" he yelled, correcting the little monsters who often attacked at recess. Thankfully he was smart as hell—moving up several grade levels. I imagined he would be one of those nerd billionaires like Bill Gates one day and have his revenge.

All his quirkiness and awkward growing pains aside, I liked Rasheed. He was funny, friendly and never full of himself.

A complete contrast to his brother.

To say that Annika's older brother by four years, Dev, was quiet and aloof was an understatement. The few times I witnessed him talking, I noted his British accent was stronger than Annika's and Rasheed's, and he had the English superiority complex and snobbiness to go with it.

Mostly, though, I avoided him. And after today, I would stop talking to him altogether.

## ***

After I arrived at Annika's, we pranced outside to the backyard swimming pool—the size of something you would see at a country club—with our bottles of suntan lotion, magazines, iced teas and beach towels.

My smile faded when I saw Dev on the diving board.

_Hopefully he'll go away soon_.

The tall, tanned senior and captain of the soccer team with Hollywood good-looks and the arrogance to match always made me feel awkward and inadequate, and I suddenly felt self-conscious in my white two-piece which Annika had convinced me looked "really sexy" on me.

She _had_ to be wrong. I felt like a little girl playing dress up in his presence.

"Annika, let's swim later," I begged her as I watched Dev emerge above the water from his perfectly executed dive, his long, lean muscles enhanced by his bronze smooth skin.

"Can't. I have to pack for our trip. Just ignore my stupid brother. The pool's big enough for all of us. Don't worry, his idiocy isn't contagious."

Dev swam up to our side of the pool and grabbed the edge, his handsome face in a full-on smirk. _Did he hear us?_

"I can leave if you want, Scarlett. I mean, it is _my_ pool, but I will be happy to vacate it if it makes _you_ more comfortable."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm fine." I forced a fake smile and decided he was too much of a jerk to let him ruin my day.

He shrugged then pushed off the edge and started swimming a freestyle lap. I couldn't help notice how nice he looked in his navy blue swim trunks, and I hated myself for it. He was tall and muscled from hours spent on the soccer field every day, and the fact that he was attractive made his rudeness sting infinitely more.

I found a spot in the far corner of the shallow end of the pool to submerge my body, keeping it hidden from Dev. It was becoming curvy and womanly, and I didn't like the attention it was bringing me when I walked down the street, especially near construction zones. Regardless, I knew that Dev would never see me as anything but a vapid trailer park kid mooching off his family.

Annika went inside to bring us some ice tea, and I froze when I noticed Dev swim over and stop for a breath just a few feet away. I thought I would try and show him I could engage in civilized conversation—that I had a brain. I cleared my voice and turned toward him. "Annika tells me your family is leaving on a trip tomorrow. Where is it you're going?" I asked, making sure to annunciate each syllable perfectly and not to end my sentence with a preposition.

He wiped the water from his large, long-lashed dark eyes, and smiled at me, amused at my question. "The U.A.E."

_Where was that_? I tried to look like I knew what he was talking about and nodded, but he didn't buy it.

"Do you know where that is, Scarlett?" he asked, his smirk having made a successful return to his face.

I felt my cheeks burn as my brain froze. I'd gotten an A in geography, but talking to Dev caused my synapses to misfire.

After a moment of staring, he laughed. "I keep forgetting how most Americans don't realize there are other places besides Canada and Mexico."

My initial embarrassment turned into anger. _How dare he..._ "It must make you feel good about yourself—pointing out the flaws in others," I accused him. "You do it so well and so often."

For half a second, he looked guilty, like I'd just exposed something about him that he didn't like. He shook it off and his usual smugness filled the void. "It stands for the United Arab Emirates, Scarlett. It's a small country off of—"

"Saudi Arabia, along the Persian Gulf. The capital is Abu Dhabi and the population is 9.5 million," I interrupted, my senses returning to me. "You must be traveling to Dubai, home to the world's tallest building and a shopping mecca and playground for the rich and privileged—who tend to believe they're somehow better than everyone else in the world," I finished, happy to have gotten a zinger in at the end.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I guess you've heard of it then."

I stood up a bit straighter in the water, proud I had recovered. "The acronym threw me off."

He chuckled, obviously amused there was something of substance in my empty head. "I didn't know _Glamour Magazine_ covered any topics beyond make-up and dating. They must be expanding their foreign style section."

In that moment, I hated him. It was the kind of self-protecting hate that I would cling to for years when it came to Dev. I turned away and climbed out of the pool, hoping he would notice my hourglass figure and would instantly kick himself for insulting such a goddess. I wanted to leave.

When he saw I was going, he threw me a stale crumb of an apology. "Sorry, Scarlett. Don't be so sensitive. I was just joking."

But it was too late. He had insulted the only thing I had going for me: my intellect. He could have teased me for being poor, for living in a trailer, for wearing sandals that cost just one dollar on sale at Wal-Mart. I could have lived with that. But Dev talked down to me like I was some dummy ignoramus—and that was simply unforgivable. That was everything to me.

Tears were burning behind my eyes, but I held them off.

I grabbed my towel and put on my flip-flops. Annika walked out with two glasses of iced tea just in time to see my dramatic exit worthy of a Soap Digest Award. Before rushing past her through the door, I shouted over to the pool, my chest heaving in pent up rage. I remember the cocky grin on his face watching me go, which only incited more anger. "Dev, do me a favor. _Never_ speak to me again!"

He shrugged again, pretending to be confused, like I was just being melodramatic.

But my request was honored.

He didn't talk to me for years.

Whenever I ate with his family, I could feel his eyes scowling at me, his disapproval like an invisible toxic cloud. For all the years I played at Annika's house, I tried not to let his silent judgment affect me. I had better things on my mind, like studying for my advanced Algebra class, gossiping and laughing with Annika into the wee hours of the night, and wondering what his mother was cooking for dinner.

Whatever it was, it was certainly better than what I had waiting at home, which oftentimes was a peanut butter sandwich on white. Dad worked long hours as a mechanic and cooking just wasn't his thing. So we had kind of an unspoken deal: he grabbed a hamburger at Dairy Queen and I ate at Annika's house. I had a standing invitation.

Sometimes after dinner there would be an "extra" shirt or dress that Mrs. Bashir "accidently bought," and would I mind taking it home with me to save her the trouble of returning it at the store? The nicest clothes I had were "accidental" purchases like this. It took me a few years to realize that this was her clever way of mothering her daughter's motherless friend without making me feel like a charity case. Mrs. Bashir was very good to me.

I really miss that about her.

#  Dev's Journal

# First Reluctant Entry

Mrs. Hamon, that wretched water buffalo, has assigned the summer English class the weekly task of writing in a journal. She says it will sharpen our writing skills while giving us an outlet for self-examination, but how can she discount the reality that a private journal almost always ends up in the wrong hands and can be used as damning evidence to incriminate you in a court of law? I want to go into banking and finance one day, so this is critically short-sighted, but what can I expect from an English teacher who reads steamy romance novels while inhaling cheap, Whitman chocolates in between classes—and doesn't even have the dignity try to hide it properly?

That's right, lady, nothing escapes my notice, including that foul hair growing out of your chin!

Mrs. Hamon has just proven herself a lazy moron. I find it beyond brilliant that she will not be reading said journal or inspecting the assignment in any way as to determine if we have executed on her request, yet we will be graded. How will I achieve the highest score and wickedly sabotage the class curve? Damn her. That's standard public schooling in the United States, as I was forewarned. Thankfully, most of my primary education was received in the UK or I might have to protest and demand they bring in someone qualified to teach twelfth grade English.

Regardless, since she is asking us to give her our word that we have written in a journal, I will maintain my integrity and resist the temptation to deceive...although I would bet any amount of money two thirds of the class is doing just that.

Dishonorable bastards.

Until next time.

-Dev

P.S. On a personal note, it appears Annika's friend and constant shadow, Scarlett, will be swimming in my pool all summer—again. I'm not sure what I've ever done to her, but she seems to despise me. She's pretty, so I assume she's used to boys falling over themselves in her presence and therefore cannot endure my lack of enthusiasm for her white bikini (which did look great on her, if I must be honest). But coming from her background, pretty won't get her far in life—but perhaps a bit further than Hamburger Flipper at the local Dairy Queen. Maybe she could become a secretary for a cars salesman, or if she's really ambitious, a realtor with her face on a park bench sign...

Of note, she threatened to never speak to me again yesterday and treated me like I was some monstrously mean-spirited thug (which I am not, but I don't have to tell you that). I'm going to try and not cry about the sudden and shocking loss of the stimulating and enlightening conversation...which we never had with one another.

Good riddance, Scarlett.

You are invisible to me now.

# ~2~

# Senior Year Changes Everything

"Scarlett, we're moving to Nevada."

I stared blankly at my dad in shock but he kept his gaze at the TV. _Couldn't miss even one minute of the Dallas Cowboys versus the Vikings, could we, dad?_

"What do you mean? Are you kidding right now?" I half-hoped it was a lame joke, but my dad never joked. The world had made him weary, jaded and without the ability to find humor in anything.

He turned to me and clicked off the TV.

_Holy hell. He's serious_ , I thought.

"I got an opportunity in Reno...managing a shop for my cousin. He wants us out there by next month. I figured you could finish your year out there."

Nevada? An even drier, more god-forsaken place than Texas? Really?

"Dad, we're not moving to Nevada. That's crazy. Who is this... _cousin_? Do you even know what you're doing?" I stammered, trying to undo the decision that had obviously already been made _without_ my input.

My dad rubbed his eyes. He was tired and worn through. He was a man hitting middle age with nothing to show for it, and I could sense this meant something to him.

"Scarlett, we need to get out of here. There's nothing for us in Fairview."

This utterly sucked. I was editor of the school paper. I was working on an internship for _Texas Monthly_ , the state magazine. These were accomplishments I needed to highlight on my applications for college so I had _some_ chance of getting a scholarship. Otherwise, there was _zero_ chance I was going to school.

And school was my only way out of my trailer park existence.

My plans were deteriorating before my eyes and my dad was back to watching the football game like I wasn't having a silent emotional meltdown.

I grabbed the remote control from the arm of his Lazy-Boy and clicked off the television.

"I'm not going!" I yelled.

My dad wasn't too surprised by my reaction. He knew what I was working for. He knew I had my own plans. He rubbed his eyes and blinked purposefully as if to help them refocus from the TV screen to my tense figure hovering over him, and then he finally gave me his full attention.

"Dad, you know I have to finish school here. I can't go with you. I have my whole life figured out _here_. I'm going to be a writer and that's not going to happen in Nevada. I'll have to...start from _scratch_ at some other high school where no one knows me! I'll have nothing on my transcript but...a job as a carny for Circus Circus."

I could feel tears pushing their way up, but I held them at bay. The only time I allowed myself to cry was alone, where no one else could see me. I learned a long time ago that weeping in front of people translated to weakness, and I wasn't going to look weak to anyone. I was Scarlett, after all. I was a survivor.

His long, frail frame struggled out of his chair and then he put his arms around me: An awkward and rare hug from my father. As much as _I_ was skilled at pushing my feelings down, I had learned from the Master. This hug was very uncharacteristic of us both, but maybe he had known all along I wasn't going with him. It felt like he was already saying goodbye.

"Scarlett, I don't want to stand in your way, but you can't stand in my way either," he mumbled through my long, wavy blonde hair—a carbon-copy of what used to grow on his own balding head. Feeling sad that he could so easily leave me, I pressed my face into his chest trying to imprint the infrequent moment of fatherly tenderness into my long-term memory. I closed my eyes, the cold metal of the small, gold cross he wore around his neck against my cheek. If there was one constant throughout my childhood, it was that cross. He never took it off.

"Dad, I want to stay in Fairview." I never thought in all my years I would ever utter such a wish, but there was no other way for me. I knew from a young age I would have to claw my way to something better than a mobile home on a dirt road. I had a decent plan for the future and I wasn't going to let it go without a fight.

My dad let me go and grabbed for his cigarettes in his shirt pocket. I cringed as he lit one between shaking fingers stained with motor oil, and took a long, deep drag as if the toxic smoke was life-giving oxygen. He always claimed that he couldn't think without having a smoke. Truth be told, he couldn't start the day, finish a meal or go to sleep without one either. I had stopped trying to get him to quit a long time ago.

"You're too young to stay here alone. You're only seventeen," he reminded me, and then looked at me expectantly like I should easily solve the one problem standing between me and the rest of my life.

Thanks for your help, dad.

But I was Scarlett and I would overcome this.

I quickly hatched a plan. Annika's brother—the ever irritating Dev—was away at college and they had this big, empty house. Her parents loved me and I was always helpful around the kitchen. Hell, I could make Mrs. Bashir's butter balti chicken even better than she could. (At least that's what Mr. Bashir told me one night and then quickly swore me to secrecy.)

I could stay with them.

What could go wrong?

## ***

It didn't take much convincing. Dad came over to their house for dinner and we talked about moving to Nevada. Everyone was horrified to think that I might leave Fairview. Before I could even bring up the idea of staying behind, Annika brought up the solution to her parents.

"Scarlett can live with us! She can finish her senior year here with me. Oh mom, dad, please?" She pleaded with every fiber in her being. She was sick at the thought of facing school without me.

Mr. Bashir nodded his head so his wife could see his approval. He always told me how grateful he was "to Allah" that Annika had such a good friend. He was more sensitive than Mrs. Bashir to the difficulties his children faced at school.

Mrs. Bashir spoke up first.

"Of course she can stay here," she said.

"I'll pay you rent and money for food," my dad offered lamely. He was obviously feeling some pang of guilt for abandoning his only child.

"No, no, no. Scarlett eats like a bird and she's so helpful to us," Mrs. Bashir graciously responded. She smiled at me as if I were a pure angel from heaven.

"Besides, Scarlett is such a good girl, and it's just for a few months."

I smiled back. I was a good girl.

At least, I thought I was.

#  Dev's Journal

# Entry #54

Why the hell am I still writing in a journal? Cheaper than therapy, I suppose. Maybe Mrs. Hamon knew something all along.

Nah, strike that. She's still a half-wit.

University is challenging enough, but New York is beyond a refreshing change from Fairview, Texas—which is a backwards hell hole brimming with simpletons. I think I've found a place I belong. No one here accuses me of being a terrorist, or assumes I'm from Saudi Arabia (though I'm been told I look more Italian than anything). People here tend to know that India is, in fact, considered part of Asia and not the Middle East. Plus I can get decent curry two blocks from campus.

But something is pulling at me to return home for the summer. Something happened recently. Gerald Franklin, CEO of Franklin Bank, called me out of the blue...and wanted to get to know me.

Come again?

I realize my parents knew him at some point in the past, but I wouldn't think it was well enough to warrant a personal call from one of the most powerful men in New York, but especially an invitation to his Hamptons estate for dinner. I went out of curiosity, and it was the oddest most perplexing experience of my life. He was so charming and warm, and completely overly-familiar with his hugs and shoulder squeezes, I initially thought I should jump out of bathroom window before he showed up in a silk robe and a bottle of lube.

But then I noticed his right cheek, a deep dimple appearing when he smiled, his grin lopsided a bit, favoring the right and leaving the left cheek a flat barren wasteland in comparison.

I noticed it because my mother always commented on mine.

Which is a carbon copy of his.

If it wasn't something that others had pointed out to me several times while growing up, I would have missed it. But I had actually been self-conscious of it a bit until I realized women found it attractive.

Obviously women found Gerald Franklin attractive, too. Perhaps even my mother?

No, that's ridiculous. Isn't it?

She worked for Franklin fresh out of India. That's where she met my father, fell in love and got married. Then they moved to Texas with the purchase of their first hotel.

As Franklin insisted that I consider jumping into the banking industry after college—using the same tone as a concerned father would—I couldn't stop analyzing his features. His forehead was high, and his nose straight and European. He was exactly my height, too. Six foot three.

Holy shit, I look like him.

Even more unnerving was his barrage of inquiries: Did I have a good childhood? Was my education up to par? Do I like sailing at all? Have a girlfriend?

I'm rattled beyond belief and unsure what to do next, except maybe return home for summer and try and find some answers whilst being discreet of course. Perhaps it's nothing and I've misread everything, but this fitting quote from Voltaire comes to mind:

"Judge a man not by his answers, but by his questions."

-Dev

P.S. Mum mentioned Scarlett Sommerfield is staying at the house this summer. I decided that I will try to be pleasant and courteous as always, but Annika is so frivolous and easily influenced, I worry about the friends she keeps. Most of the girls in town are loose and...shockingly stupid. I certainly don't want my sister corrupted by her ilk.

#  ~3~

# Part of the Family

I smiled to myself as I stirred the chunks of goat in the well-worn cast iron pot as Annika set the table and Mrs. Bashir supervised my work. _This is what it's like to have a mother_ , I thought.

"Now taste it, Scarlett, and tell me what it needs," she directed.

I grabbed a clean spoon and dabbed it into the pot, then tasted. "Lemon juice—acidity," I answered. "Just a little."

She raised her eyebrows, impressed, then handed me half a lemon. "Just a squeeze and it will be perfect," she answered.

I fit in seamlessly with the Bashirs and sometimes daydreamed I was really a part of their family and not just a houseguest. My dad was doing well in Nevada. He called me every night to check in, and sometimes he sent a check for spending money, which I was grateful to have.

With junior year finished, Annika and I looked forward to a summer of fun and relaxation. I imagined we would spend our days sipping mango lassis by the mammoth pool in the backyard.

Apparently, Mrs. Bashir had a different idea.

"Do you have a job lined up this summer, Scarlett?" Mrs. Bashir asked as she ladled the fragrant goat curry onto my plate. I hoped no one could hear my stomach growling as I piled my plate high with basmati rice.

"Oh, well, I hadn't thought about it," I stammered. "I have my internship once a week with _Texas Monthly_...but it doesn't pay anything."

I balanced my heaping plate carefully as I took a seat with the rest of the family at the dining room table under an ornate chandelier hanging from a 20-foot ceiling. The house was stately and massive, decorated expertly by Mrs. Bashir who had a keen eye and a slight obsessive compulsion that nothing should be out of place. She liked to be in control of her surroundings—a characteristic I would be rudely familiar with later on. But for now, it was harmless.

We were only missing Dev at the table; he was at college and hadn't been home for months. I was grateful for his absence. Something about his dark, brooding eyes and his always-serious gaze unnerved me. I knew he didn't like me—or _anyone_ for that matter—and it was much more pleasant without him here.

"You can work at the hotel. Front desk. Okay?" Mrs. Bashir informed me, as if it had been settled already behind closed doors and this was merely a formality. She looked at Mr. Bashir for confirmation and he nodded in agreement, his mouth full of goat.

Annika groaned. "Mom, Scarlett and I had plans this summer! Don't make her work at the hotel!"

Mrs. Bashir put on her stern face. Even Stalin wouldn't dare to argue with her when she made that face. "Annika, you're working at the hotel, too. We need help. It's good for you to work."

I could see Annika try to steady herself and slow her breathing. She was beyond mad but she wisely knew her place. She put her napkin on the table and stood up.

"May I be excused? I'm not very hungry anymore," she asked, each word poorly veiling her utter disappointment. Annika looked at me expecting me to follow. What she didn't realize is that I wasn't a spoiled child of privilege. I was thrilled and grateful and already thinking of what I would do with the extra cash from working at the hotel. Besides, nothing was going to stand between me and that luscious goat curry. I gave her a weak smile.

"I'll be up in a minute," I assured her, chewing on a mouthful of rice.

Mrs. Bashir sat down with her plate. She smiled warmly at me.

"It's a good thing you are here, Scarlett. We are less tempted to spoil our daughter. And your good grades are making her work harder, too."

I beamed. It was nice to feel appreciated, especially by this family who had given me so much.

## ***

The first week of summer vacation, I learned how to check in guests, ask for extra towels from the cleaning service in Spanish, and tell people how to find the best pizza take-out in Fairview.

The long hours during slow weekdays were perfect for researching and writing my articles for Texas Weekly. I got paid a little more than minimum wage, but the extra money went straight into my savings account. In the back of my mind I hoped I wouldn't have to take out very much in student loans when it came time for college. I had already applied for every scholarship under the sun, so maybe if the stars aligned, I wouldn't go into debt trying to become a writer.

The guests were pretty nice to me, although there was always the odd one who could never be satisfied. Overall, it was pretty good gig and I was grateful for it.

Until _he_ strolled in one day and ruined everything.

# ~4~

# The Enemy Returns Home

"Oh, hi, Dev," I said shyly, surprised to see Annika's older brother march into the hotel lobby like he was on a mission for the Navy Seals.

I hadn't said his name out loud in year—not since that day I forbid him to speak to me—and it felt weird on my tongue, like saying a word in Chinese for the first time. No doubt, we were strangers to each other more now than ever. He was definitely grown up and I was just an immature high-schooler cowering in his tall, domineering shadow. But I was mature enough to act like an adult and put our past behind us. Or at least pretend to.

"Where can I find the receipts from last night?" He didn't even make eye contact or say hello.

_Jerk_.

I handed him a folder. "In there." I waited for his "thank you" but it never came, so I attempted to fill in the awkward void. "I thought you were interning this summer...in New York?" _Translation: Why the hell are you here ruining my happy situation?_

He thumbed through the file, brows furrowed.

"I finished. Going to work here for the next few weeks before fall semester." He looked around the lobby with disapproval. "And get this place in shape."

I unconsciously straightened out my pink buttoned-down blouse, well-used but still fashionable. Did he think I was some slob or something?

"Oh? What's so out of shape?" I asked, a defensive edge to my voice.

He finally looked me in the eye and offered a smug, dismissive smile. "It's nothing that concerns you, Scarlett."

And with that, he walked away into the adjoining office.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Two more hours—two more _long-ass_ hours with _him_ sitting there, judging me. And it was a Wednesday, one of the slowest days at the hotel unless a convention was in town, so there was no chance of distracting myself with happy, chatty guests.

I sat down and picked up my notebook where I had planned to outline my writing assignment from _Texas Monthly_ , a short piece on the best children's museums. A boring topic, but if they liked it, I might have a shot at writing something more substantial.

But instead of writing, I glanced through the glass partition where Dev sat manically crunching numbers on a spreadsheet. I hadn't recently given him a good look-over as I was usually scurrying away with Annika whenever he entered a room. Now, I had ample time and a discreet angle from which to study him, and for some reason, I couldn't pass up the opportunity.

He was tall, a few inches over six feet, and his shoulders were broad and full. His skin was tan and clear, at least from what I could see outside of his neatly pressed charcoal slacks and crisp, white dress shirt. I always found it odd that his complexion was lighter than anyone else in his family, though he still maintained an exotic aura about him. If you had to guess his ethnicity, you might say Italian or Persian—or even Latin.

He kept his dark brown hair short on the sides and longer on top, always combed back, but sometimes a careless tendril would reveal a slight curl. His face was freshly shaven, but he couldn't hide the ongoing threat of a thick 5 o'clock shadow if he got lazy, which he rarely did. I had caught a whiff of his expensive cologne when he walked by me earlier; it was a clean scent and made me think of the ocean.

His face was classically handsome—a clear resemblance to Mrs. Bashir—with a strong, straight nose, wide, full lips and eyes that would suit either a man or woman. They were large and dark, with heavy lids and full lashes.

Yes, I would admit, he was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, and something about him commanded my gaze. But I knew he was poison, like a beautifully crafted chocolate filled with arsenic.

And what he would do later only proved my theory correct.

## ***

That night I cooked dinner for the whole family. I sincerely loved Indian food and learning how to master it from Mrs. Bashir—who learned from her mother, who learned from her mother before her—was an education I could not get from any cooking show or mass-produced cookbook from Barnes and Noble. These were ancient techniques and secrets handed down through the years. Even though Annika balked at learning how to pulse fresh ginger and garlic into the finest paste or how to pinch together a samosa so it would withstand the high temperatures of the frying pan, _I_ wasn't going to pass up this opportunity. Her mother wasn't going to be around forever.

"Scarlett, this is _almost_ better than mom's, right Rasheed?" Annika winked at me. Rasheed, a lover of all edible delights, gave me a thumbs-up. He shoveled another massive bite of chicken tikka into his mouth.

Dev walked into the dining room, having just arrived home from his marathon of number crunching at the hotel. He sat down without a word as Annika passed him a platter.

"Dev, tell us how you like dinner. Scarlett made it." He ignored her then turned his attention to Mr. Bashir while piling rice onto his plate. I pretended to ignore him back, but his slight bothered me more than I would admit.

What would it take to win this guy's good graces? And why do I care?

"Dad, I'd like to talk to our accountant about last year's numbers. I found some discrepancies today that are a little concerning. There were some injections of capital last year that I can't account for. It's like they came out of nowhere."

Mr. Bashir seemed slightly unnerved. He took a long drink of water and then cleared his voice.

"Bill is in Austria on holiday with his family. Surely you can wait until he comes back." As if to change the subject, Mr. Bashir smiled at me. "This is very delicious, Scarlett..." He leaned across the table and lowered his voice. "The best I've tasted."

But Dev wasn't deterred. "I'll call him tomorrow. He can take five minutes out from sightseeing or eating pastries given what we pay him."

Mr. Bashir said nothing, but I could tell the he was trying hard— _too hard_ —to act casual about the question. It was a strange moment I had never witnessed between them.

That night I said very little. Years past, when I ate at their table, Dev would eat quickly and then leave, his quiet presence hardly noticeable. Now his overbearing energy seemed to fill the room, like he was running a corporate meeting and we were all his employees.

He talked to everyone but me.

He asked his siblings about school, discussed the future of the hotel with his parents, and mentioned that he was invited to interview in New York for a job after graduation by an old family friend. Franklin something or another.

His father seemed oddly disturbed by this and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hide it. "New York? Why not stay and manage the hotels?" his father asked, a slight frantic undertone to his voice.

Dev gave him a cold stare. "You know I don't belong here," he replied. A steely moment passed between father and son, subtext hanging in the air. Mr. Bashir went eerily silent.

Dev, trying to sound normal in the way his father had tried and failed at moments earlier, now turned his attention to his brother and sister. "Living in a real city is amazing. The people in New York are intelligent, diverse and—" He quickly glanced my way with disapproving coolness. "...sophisticated."

I cursed him silently and then made an attempt to smooth out my wild and _unsophisticated_ golden curls which seemed to have a mind of their own.

He continued. "Did you know that the gross product for just the city alone last year was 1.5 billion?"

I couldn't help myself. I had sat silent for too long. "I guess that explains why New York attracts an inordinate number of greedy people from all over the world," I offered with a syrupy smile. I took a quick sip of water and instantly regretted my words.

Dev looked at me like he had just realized I was a human being and capable of speech. "I suppose you think there's something wrong with the pursuit of money?" he asked, meeting my eyes.

I shrugged my shoulders much the way he had done to me at the pool years before. "No, just the love of it above all other things. Including people."

He didn't say anything, so I continued, fool that I was. "It doesn't make sense to me, why there are so many people without basic necessities—like clean drinking water—and the super wealthy can largely ignore their plight and even take advantage of their desperation underpaying them in sweat shops, and we should applaud it and praise it, like greed is the highest of all virtues."

He laughed at me as if I were a naïve child who just said she still believed in Santa Claus. "Oh? _Take advantage_ by creating large, successful companies that, in turn, create thousands of jobs that will, _in turn_ , lift those very same people you care about out of poverty?"

I looked at him sternly and decided to cut to the chase. "I'm just not impressed with people who want more money for the sake of more money and at the expense of everyone else."

He dark, dismissive gaze shot through me like sharpened, poisoned arrows. _God, why did he have to look so handsome? Couldn't he have been born with some disfigurement that would make me less attracted to him?_ It put me at a distinct disadvantage when sparring with him.

"Well, in that case, you'll be happy to know that you're the last person I'm looking to impress, Scarlett."

I could feel my face turn red. _Why did I care so much how he felt about me?_

I abruptly stood up and started to clear the table. Mrs. Bashir gave a stern look to Annika. She rolled her eyes and then stood up reluctantly.

"Let me help, Scarlett," she offered.

Oddly, Dev stopped her. "Actually, Annika, I wanted to talk to you for a moment."

She shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

They left the room while I continued cleaning up. I sighed. _Typical Annika. Funny how she always finds a way to get out of dish duty._

# ***

A few minutes later, I walked down the long hall off the kitchen to use the bathroom near the study where Dev and Annika had retreated to for their chat. Why couldn't I have used a bathroom elsewhere?

While I washed my hands, I studied myself in the mirror. Everyone told me that I was pretty, but it didn't seem to matter to me like it did other girls my age. I knew I got my looks from my mother: her same heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and porcelain skin that always burns in the relentless Texas sun. From old pictures, I could tell that I had her same green-blue eyes; but I didn't want to look like her, so I pretended I was plain.

That didn't stop guys from hitting on me, but there wasn't anyone at school who made me feel that certain "something" I was sure I was supposed to feel with a boy. The boys at school were such immature jackasses; the only feeling I had for them was aversion.

As I dried my hands, I heard Dev's deep voice through the vent at the floor. He was in the next room, and I couldn't resist eavesdropping. _What did he want to tell Annika? He never talks to her._ Part of me wondered if I had something to do with it. I knelt down to the vent and smashed my cheek up against it.

I was right.

Dev's voice was irate. "Why is _she_ even here?"

"She's my best friend and I didn't want her to go to Nevada. You don't understand that because you don't have friends."

"You have nothing in common. What does her father do? Fix cars? She's just... _white trash_. Remember, you _become_ your friends," Dev warned, as if "white-trash" were an infectious disease Annika could catch from me.

White trash.

Of all the names I had been called throughout my life, this one stung the most. It was the identity I was so desperately trying to escape, but couldn't, and through no fault of my own.

I leaned back against the bathroom wall, my heart heavy. I wished I hadn't heard it even if I knew he thought it. Hearing it out loud confirmed my deepest, darkest fear: that I was just like my parents, never going to amount to anything but a cheap, rusted out trailer, a high school diploma and a minimum wage job.

As hard as I fought them, the tears came.

I was alone in the world and the one place I sought refuge now felt hostile. The pressure was too much.

I rushed out of the bathroom half-blinded by the tears in my eyes. Naturally, of all the things that could happen next, I ran into someone.

Into Dev.

He was walking quickly down the hallway from the study when I blasted into his side. I tripped over his foot and nearly fell, but he caught me in the nick of time, in an awkward embrace.

For a moment, I forgot that he was my enemy. His touch was electric—and it was the first time I had felt it. But the moment passed and I remembered who he really was and what he had just said about me.

I turned my face to prevent him from seeing my tears, but I couldn't be sure if I was successful. "Sorry," I uttered, before rushing off. I caught a glimpse of his stunned expression, like I was the last person he thought he would see at that moment. I thought maybe there was guilt in his eyes, or regret, but then he would be a normal person with a heart.

And I had already decided that he didn't have one.

## ***

The last few weeks of summer were hellish. I worked every day at the hotel with Dev who barely could look me in the eye let alone speak to me.

Thankfully, there was a glimmer of happiness that helped me get through it: _Texas Monthly_ gave me a small interview with a renowned Texas artist and they were going to publish it in the next issue. Every time Dev made me feel unworthy, I thought about that article and how I was going to show him one day: I was _not_ white trash.

Serendipitously, he was there when Annika rushed over with the latest issue of _Texas Monthly_.

"It's here!" she screamed in the hotel lobby. The two elderly guests I was checking in nearly had simultaneous heart attacks.

"Sorry about that," I said to them. "Annika, just a moment, okay?" I handed the couple their card keys. "You're in room 302. You can take the elevator behind the lobby."

It felt like an eternity before they finally left and I could leap out from behind the desk. _It's here. It's really here!_

Annika had the plastic wrapped issue in her hands. "Should I open it?"

I grabbed at it. "No. Let me. I just want to savor this moment." I held the crisp, brand new magazine to my heart and took a deep breath.

And then Dev strolled in.

Moment ruined.

"Annika," he barked, "why did you scream in front of guests? You weren't raised that way." He glanced at me like it was obvious that my influence was taking hold. _We white trash love to make us some noise!_

"Sorry. I'm so excited for Scarlett! She's in _Texas Monthly_!"

Dev looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"She wrote an article, dummy. Scarlett, did you find it?"

I was leafing through the pages, my hands shaking. "Found it," I whispered as my eyes lingered over my name in print. Annika threw her arms around me.

"I knew you would do it! I'm going to read it when I get back." She looked at her watch. "Oh hell, I'm already late for the dentist."

I hugged her back before she left...before she left me alone with Dev who was standing there, observing quietly.

"You wrote an article?" he asked incredulously as if I were a dyslexic baboon and had accomplished the impossible. Of all the people to share this moment with, and it had to be him.

"Just a small one. It's not a big deal. I mean, it _kind of_ is. They usually don't publish anything from their high school interns."

He didn't say anything. He just looked at me...studying me like I studied him in the office that first day he returned. What did I want him to do? Gush over me? Tell me how impressed he was?

Why did I care?

I smoothed out my shirt again, feeling the weight of his stare.

And just like that, he turned and went back to his office.

Nothing. I got nothing.

What killed me was that I wanted something from him in the first place, and I hated myself for it. No, I take that back.

I hated _him_ for it.

# Dev's Journal

# Entry #67

If I didn't have this journal to write in, I think I would lose my mind and go postal on a few people. I owe Mrs. Hamon an apology. That woman was an absolute genius.

Summer is ending in Fairview and I am leaving for University with two earth-shattering revelations about my life that threaten to send me to the psycho ward. The first...well, I'm not sure I want to write it down. Perhaps if I don't, it will go away.

This must be how people plunge into deep denial. Is that what happened to my mother? Should I join her there?

No.

How can I possibly deny the evidence smacking me in the face? The large cash injections traced to Gerald Franklin for the past nineteen years. My parent's scandalous marriage certificate—dated eight months before I was born. (My mother, always behaving so dignified and pious. Ha!) The stilted, uneasy way she acts when I bring Franklin up in conversation.

And then there's the uncanny, disconcerting resemblance.

The family motto tends to be "If it's best left unsaid, then for God's sake do not say it!" So I didn't outright ask the woman, but I hinted around it enough to make her face four shades more red and a faint line of perspiration break out just over her plum-painted lip.

Confirmation? Not sure. Not entirely sure if I even want confirmation. Perhaps it's best to pretend along with everyone else. But I feel something has changed inside of me, a righteous rage taking hold or maybe a darkness in my soul.

Have I been lied to my entire life by everyone I love and trust?

Who the hell am I?

That brings me to the second revelation. I may not know my own paternity, but I do know that I'm a bona fide, Class A, jack-ass, and I've hurt someone who didn't deserve it. Someone quite nice, actually. Someone who seems infinitely interesting, and now I've blown any chance of knowing her any better to smithereens. Not that I ever knew her...because I wouldn't allow myself to be tempted. Looks like I took care of that pesky problem as she hates my guts even more now than when we were children.

I'm an asshole. God, it sucks to realize that.

I could blame the stress of this summer and claim it got to me and I took it out on her, collateral damage, if you will. Or is it textbook self-destructive behavior in action? I wish there was a cure for this...frustration.

That reminds me of something I read last night from Rumi:

"She is the cure...she is the disease."

-Dev

#  ~5~

# White Trash & Voltaire

My senior year of high school would start the next week and Dev was leaving the next morning. I couldn't have been more relieved to see him go. Even better, the Bashir's mosque was having a special religious celebration and the whole family was attending, so I wouldn't have to endure another dinner invisible to him, like a ghost.

I was used to staying behind on these occasions. I was an outsider and, as Annika explained to me, it would cause a huge stir if "some white girl showed up."

I decided to go through my closet and cobble together some outfits for the new school year. Before leaving, Annika stopped in my room. She was wearing a beautiful Indian sari made of turquoise silk, and she was holding what appeared to be another sari in her hands.

"Oh wow, that's gorgeous!" I gushed. She had lost her early teen pudginess and was blossoming into a head-turning, gorgeous vixen. No doubt Stephen Pearsal was still drooling over her.

"Mom got it from New Delhi last month." She draped the other sari across my bed. It was light pink and fringed with matching crystals. It was stunning.

"Here, she had this one made for you—but she'll tell you she bought it by mistake and can't return it."

I ran my fingers over the delicate silk. The shimmering silver detail was impressive. It would be the nicest piece of clothing I owned.

"Really? Wow. That's...so nice. I need to go thank her."

"You'll have to do it later. They're in the car waiting for me."

After Annika left, I carefully held the sari up to my body. In the mirror, I could see that Mrs. Bashir knew what she was doing when she picked this color. The light pink matched the rose in my cheeks, and my pale skin didn't look washed out all, but dewy and fresh.

_What the hell—why not try it on?_ I pulled off my jeans and t-shirt and draped the sari over my shoulders. The classic Indian dress couldn't disguise my ethnicity, but I somehow felt like I belonged in it. I threw my t-shirt and jeans into the laundry basket. _Might as well wear this while finishing the laundry. Where else am I going to wear it? Dairy Queen?_

Downstairs in the laundry room—which was larger and nicer than _any_ room in my trailer back home—I felt a little overdressed in the silk sari while drizzling fabric softener into the washer, but it felt nice to have the run of the house for a few hours prancing around, feeling like an Indian princess.

_Well, the princess who was not invited to the ball anyway_...

I noticed that the maid hadn't put away a few stacks of clean laundry, so while waiting for my cycle to finish, I started distributing them around the house. The last stack was dark gray towels, definitely not from inside the house. Mrs. Bashir's bathrooms were all meticulously decorated in browns, greens and blues.

Then it dawned on me: These must belong to Dev's apartment above the garage. I grabbed them and trudged over. I hadn't seen that room since it was converted from storage space years ago, and I was curious to take a peek inside the Dark Master's Lair. Now that he was gone for several hours, I had my chance.

I climbed the stairs to his door and knocked, just in case, but I knew he was with his family and they wouldn't be back for a while. When no one answered, I gathered my courage and entered half expecting to find animal sacrifices or Satanic pentagrams painted on the walls.

Instead I was hit was faint traces of his cologne reminding me that he was probably naked in there just hours before. I silently reprimanded myself for lingering on that thought for too long and then clicked on the lights. I knew then that dark gray towels definitely belonged to him; everything inside was various shades of grey, black and cold steel...well-suited to his personality.

The room was meticulously clean and sparsely decorated. A desk with his laptop sat on one side of the room and a bookshelf filled the other wall, the top shelf displaying his awards and accomplishments from high school: captain of the debate team, honors society, first place in track and field, soccer captain. A guitar leaned against the side of his bed.

I didn't know he played...

And then I walked over to his bed and saw something odd on his bedside table. It was a _Texas Monthly_ magazine...and opened to my article.

_He was reading it? How strange._ I didn't know what to make of it.

I set down the towels on his bed and then noticed that next to the magazine was an opened book of Indian Sufi poetry.

Dev reads poetry?

It was like finding out that Hitler liked kittens and ponies, and it surprised me even more than the magazine. I couldn't resist a peek, so I picked up the book and read the open page.

After sleep, she is languor.

The house exudes her fragrance.

She adorns it

when she appears in the morning,

As if her anklets and ivory

were entwined around a calotrope

stopping the water's flow

in the bed of a wadi,

The white gleam of her teeth,

her immoderate laugh,

almost to the unhearing

speak secrets.

She is the cure, she the disease...

I was lost in the seductive poem when...

...the door opened.

And _he_ was there.

Oh crap.

I still had the book in my hand, standing near the stack of towels on his bed. Dev was dressed in a dark grey suit (of course) which fit him perfectly and in a way most men would envy. What must he be thinking, catching me in his room, dressed in a silk sari and reading his Indian poetry books?

He must think I'm some wackjob.

We stared at each other for a moment, his hand still on the doorknob, frozen, in what must have been shock to see me rifling through his sacred things.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked in a voice that sounded almost vulnerable.

Is he...nervous?

I put the book down quickly and took a few steps away from his bed in an attempt to show respect for his private space. Of course it was too late for that.

"I was just bringing up your bath towels. I'm sorry for looking at your book. I didn't mean to touch anything." My heart was pounding. Why did he always make me feel like I didn't belong?

He crossed the room and set his car keys onto his desk. Without looking at me, he took off his suit jacket and hung it over the desk chair. I caught a small whiff of his cologne. I hated that I liked it so much.

"I would appreciate it from now on if you wouldn't come in here," he said, his tone now serious, irritated.

Feeling the blood return to my limbs, I rushed toward the door. "I won't. I'm sorry."

Just before I could make my escape, he spoke again. "Wait—Scarlett. I didn't mean to be rude."

I stopped, one foot out the door. Did I hear him right? He didn't _mean_ to be rude? Being rude was his favorite pastime. It was what he lived for. Hell, I'm sure there was a copy of _How to Be Rude for Every Social Situation_ on his bookshelf.

I turned around. His face was surprisingly apologetic, but there was a deafening and awkward silence between us. As usual, I had to fill it.

"I was just trying to help with the laundry. I should have left it outside the door," I explained, not sure how to take his sudden change of demeanor.

His eyes grazed over the sari. I must have looked like an idiot, parading around doing housework in it like a maid with an overactive imagination.

"That looks nice on you," he said, his eyes lingering on the dress.

Uh, what? Did he just compliment me? Is he on drugs?

"Your mom _gave_ it to me. It was a gift—from her," I stammered, making sure it was clear to him that I did not take it from her closet.

"It suits you."

If the lighting weren't so bad, I would swear he smiled at me. I was utterly confused by his change of disposition, and my mind tried to make sense of it. _Is he trying to have a conversation with me? Or does he want to make me feel at ease right before he kills me and buries me under the oak tree in the backyard?_

"I was just trying it on, to see if it fit. I mean, I wasn't going to wear it all night or anything."

He took two steps toward me and I fought the urge to turn and run. What was his angle here? "You should wear dresses more often. You're always in jeans and t-shirts. Seems like a waste." He seemed to blush after saying this. I could only just stare. Maybe _I_ was the one on drugs and this was a hallucination.

He continued. "I read your article. I supposed you noticed I had it by the bed."

"Oh?" I lied.

"It's good. You're a good writer, Scarlett."

I was dumbfounded.

He kept going. "Annika told me that you're planning to go to college and study writing."

_Uh, really? I've spent hours with you every day for weeks and you just now act interested in my life?_ "If I can get enough scholarship money. Some of us have to struggle to go to college."

"Well, I think you're a fighter."

I squinted at him. "You do?"

"You put up with me for five weeks, right?" He smiled sincerely, shyly. For the first time I felt I was talking to a human being...with a heart. Oddly, his kindness to me was... _unsettling_. I didn't know what to do with it. It was clearer back when he was an asshole.

"I'm not sure what you mean." I lied again, through a forced, polite smile.

He pursed his lips and rubbed his chin, as if searching carefully for the right words that wouldn't condemn him too much. "It's just that...I can be a jerk sometimes. That's all."

_A jerk?_ No, the way he acted was beyond ordinary, run-of-the-mill jerkiness and I wouldn't let him get off that easily. "Well, you know that they say, prejudices are what fools use for reason."

He gawked at me. "You read Voltaire?"

I turned away and started to climb down the stairs. I only had a few carefully chosen parting words for him. "Yes, Dev. We _white trash_ just love Voltaire."

This time I didn't look back.

# Dev's Journal

# Entry #68

I wonder, can you will yourself to not be attracted to someone? I'm open to therapy, hypnosis...even heavy doses of medication if it can remove her particular poison from my veins.

When I caught her in my room, reading my books, looking like an angelic queen in that pink sari draped over her supple form—it's an image I can't seem to erase from my mind.

And then she quoted Voltaire. Why did she have to do that?

I'm leaving for University tomorrow with more questions than answers, and now she is one more complication to wrestle with. It's not at all what I wanted to accomplish during my summer.

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on." _ _

Robert Frost is right. Life will go on.

-Dev

# ~6~

# Scarlett, Meet Rhett

I almost couldn't believe it: I was a senior in high school and nearly on my own. In just a few weeks, I would be eighteen and an adult. And soon after, I would be getting ready for college— _if_ I could afford it. I had been waiting for this my whole life, knowing my success would be entirely up to me, and I was ready for the challenge.

It had been three months since Dev left for school and I tried to not think what I said to him that night, but it haunted me. I couldn't tell if he had been sincere or not, and I obsessively replayed our conversation a million times in my head trying to figure it out. When Mrs. Bashir mentioned that he would be coming home for Thanksgiving with a friend from school, I was relieved. Maybe someone else in the house would distract us both from the memory of that strange night in his room.

The Bashirs usually planned big Thanksgiving feasts, inviting several relatives and friends over. The whole house was filled with laughter, music and the exotic aroma of Mrs. Bashir's famous curried turkey. I wished my dad could come see me, but he was working in the shop that weekend. I was happy that he was really trying hard to make something of himself in Nevada, but I missed him. At least I had my "other family" to make me feel like I was a part of something.

At dinner one night, I learned something interesting: Dev's friend was more of a strategic alliance than anything else, and the whole family was focused on making a good impression.

"His father is Gerald Franklin, CEO of Franklin Bank," Mr. Bashir explained, his voice noticeably solemn. "Dev is hoping to get an invitation to interview for a job after graduation."

The expression on Mrs. Bashir's face was tense and she seemed to flinch at the mention of the name. I sensed there was more to this story.

"How does Dev know him?" I asked.

Annika jumped in. "My parents used to work for him back in his Big Apple days, right dad?"

I noticed that Mrs. Bashir quickly left the room.

"Yes, I was a financial analyst at Franklin Bank," he explained. "That's where I met my beautiful wife." His eyes were sparkling with love. He looked over to the kitchen to share a moment with her, but she was busy cleaning up.

"Oh? What did Mrs. Bashir do at the bank?" I asked, curious.

"She was Mr. Frankin's executive assistant," said Mr. Bashir, proudly. "But that was before I whisked her away to a better life in the hotel business." He winked at me.

"Well, I'm sure Dev will get the job then." I said, envious.

Must be nice to have connections with all the right people.

## ***

The morning of Thanksgiving, I awoke with a start from the most sensual dream of my short life, and it lingered in the air as my alarm screamed from my bedside table.

Him.

And me.

In bed.

Making love.

What the?

I slammed the snooze button and lay down, but there was no way I could fall asleep again. I replayed the dream in my head, trying to make sense of it.

Why did I dream about Dev?

There was no explanation. I felt as if my sub-conscious betrayed me and now laughed at my embarrassed and flushed face, like a massive joke has been played on me. I hadn't even been properly kissed at this point of my life, and the first dream I had about making love with a man...features _Dev_ in the starring role?

My god, he was so handsome...

_STOP IT!_ I commanded my mind. I needed to get out of this bed before I started to imagine what it would be like if he joined me in it...the two us tangled up in the warmth and softness of Mrs. Bashir's pricey 800 thread-count, single-ply cotton Pima sheets.

I jumped up and threw on some jeans and a shirt, and ran my fingers through my long, golden curls. I could smell breakfast mingled with the scents of the Thanksgiving feast to come. My stomach grumbled as I headed downstairs for a quick bite.

Maybe I could help Mrs. Bashir make a few dishes. Staying locked in the kitchen sounded like a good plan, especially if I didn't have to face Dev after that dream. What if he could see it on my face? Could he possibly know I dreamed of— _having sex with him last night?_ Yes, I would stay in the kitchen all day if necessary rather than risk revealing my thoughts to him.

As I walked downstairs I could hear the dining room already filled with the usual voices. But two stood out: One was Dev's and the other, someone I didn't know.

Dammit! He and his rich friend are here already.

I decided to sneak into the kitchen, grab some cereal, and take it to the patio to eat alone. If anyone noticed, I'd tell them I needed some fresh air. But my plan fell apart when Annika met me at the foot of the stairs.

Why was she wearing a dress and high heels? How odd.

"Scarlett, come meet Rhett! Oh my gosh, isn't that funny, his name is actually _Rhett_?"

She tugged on my arm toward the dining room. Was this some sick joke?

"He is freakin' hot...wait 'til you see."

## ***

The entire family was eating breakfast around the table in the Bashir's massive formal dining room. When Annika and I walked in, Dev and a blonde man, about his same age, stood up.

The rich banker's son.

This "Rhett" was as Annika promised, handsome—hot in a Calvin Klein underwear ad kind of way—and wearing a cute, cocky grin to match. In fact, he would have been my type—had I not had that stupid dream. I quickly glanced at Dev. He looked especially attractive in a light grey sweater and black slacks. I felt my cheeks burn.

Could he tell?

Rhett extended his hand.

"I heard there was a Scarlett in the house. I'm Rhett. Now we just need to find ourselves an Ashley Wilkes and we'll have ourselves a proper love triangle."

Charming, too. No wonder Annika was wearing false eyelashes at eight in the morning.

"But then we'll need a Melanie and a Belle to make it a fair fight," I retorted. Everyone laughed. That is, everyone but Dev. I avoided his pinched face. Something about the flirty exchange bothered him. Was he jealous?

We sat down and Mrs. Bashir passed me a platter of eggs. Rhett was smiling at me in a way that almost made me blush.

"Obviously you've read the book?" he inquired.

"I was named after the heroine, so it's obligatory that I read the book. It's a favorite, actually."

Annika watched us carefully. "How long are you going to stay, Rhett?" she asked, flirtatiously flipping her long, dark tresses away from her face.

Dev cleared his voice and jumped in.

"We're flying back on Saturday. Rhett's parents are in Greece, so I invited him to spend the holiday with us."

"Have you been to Texas before?" I asked Rhett. Having grown up here and not traveled yet, I always wondered what people thought of my home state.

He stared into my eyes in a way that seemed a bit too direct.

"This is my first trip. From what I can see, it's absolutely gorgeous." He smiled broadly at me, his white teeth gleaming, his light blue eyes catching the morning light through the window. I decided to pretend his remark wasn't a poorly veiled attempt at flirting in front of the entire Bashir family. I looked away and took a sip of orange juice.

Annika decided to make her move. "You should see Berry Creek. It's just a short walk from here...oh, and it's fed from an underground aquifer. The water is really clear—we swim in it all the time," she offered enthusiastically.

Geez, Annika, giving him the hard-sell. It's like you've never seen a boy before...

"That sounds like fun," Rhett said, politely, obviously not taking the bait by asking her to show it to him.

"We're studying for an exam, Annika," said Dev, looking disapproving in that way I was used to. Annika's smile faded.

I could feel Rhett's gaze on me again. I looked over and Dev's deprecating expression was now aimed at me, so I kept my eyes on his friend.

"I'm sure we'll have time for a little fun," said Rhett, burning a hole through me with his seductive stare and flashing a grin that would make any girl weak in the knees.

## ***

Within the course of a few hours, the house was filled with people laughing and eating, men yelling at the football game on TV, and children running around with sticky sweets and noisy toys. If you couldn't smell the curries and see the colorful chutneys, you would think it was a typical American Thanksgiving.

I tried very hard to stay in the kitchen and help with the food, but Mrs. Bashir had it covered with her visiting cousins. There I was in the middle of several middle-aged Indian women speaking Hindi and laughing at inside jokes while chopping, stirring and cleaning. So when she told me for the tenth time to "go out and enjoy" myself, I did.

I meandered to the nearest family room where several men were watching a soccer game and cheering. I leaned against the wall and spied from a distance, having decided to stick to the sidelines. I noticed Dev in the opposite corner talking with Shyra, a pretty Indian girl, about his age. I had met her once before when the Bashirs had her family over for dinner. She was studying law at an Ivy League school on the east coast, so I was sure they saw each other there. Dev seemed to enjoy talking to her, as much as someone like him could. She was smiling boldly at him with admiration, and perhaps a little crush.

Good luck, honey.

When I felt a nudge in my arm, I jumped.

"You like soccer?" Rhett asked, smiling that amazing smile.

"Oh, hi. You scared me." I smiled back. His grin was infectious.

"I have that effect on women."

"I doubt it."

Rhett moved in a little closer. I could feel the intimacy of the shrinking space between us.

"How do you like living here...with the Bashirs?" he asked, seemingly eager to make conversation with me.

"They're a great family. I'm just staying here until I graduate." I took a sip of mulled cider. "What are you studying at school?"

"Finance. Boring stuff. I don't like to talk about it. I'd rather talk about you." He leaned against the wall.

Wow, he's really coming onto me.

"Okay, but I warn you, I'm equally boring." I winked at him. _Wait—did I just wink at him_? My inner flirt was showing herself for the first time ever.

"Let me be the judge of that." He winked back.

Okay, game on.

We chatted for almost an hour outside on the patio. I told him about my dreams of being a writer, traveling the world, and how I missed my dad; and he told me about growing up in New York, spending the summers in the Hamptons, and how he dreaded working for his father's bank.

"So if you don't want to work in banking, why not do something else?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It's complicated family stuff. I have a lot of pressure to follow in some pretty old footsteps. So I accept my fate and just look for various ways to release said pressure."

"And what ways are those?" I almost regretted asking. I had just turned 18 and I was way out of my league with this guy.

He leaned in a little closer. "Well, I feel pretty relaxed right now, here with you. You're very beautiful, Miss Scarlett," he drawled, imitating a proper Southern suitor.

I looked down, blushing. My mind blanked out. No one had ever hit on me so aggressively. A part of me was enjoying it.

He broke the silence a moment later.

"You know, I would really like to see that creek...Berry Creek, right?" he asked casually.

"It's just a short walk from here. I could show you after dinner if you want," I offered, thinking it would be fun to spend time with someone who made me feel beautiful.

Rhett flashed his movie-star smile. "It's a date."

## ***

After dinner, Annika pulled me aside. She had been busy for most of the day in charge of entertaining her younger cousins, so we hadn't spoken much.

"I think I'm in love," she exclaimed to me.

"With...?"

"Rhett! Isn't he gorgeous?" She looked to me for confirmation that yes, he was indeed a god.

"He's handsome. In a slightly clichéd way," I toyed with her.

She scowled at me and then sighed in defeat. "Scarlett, I wish I could date him. But...whatever."

"Who says you can't?" At some point she would be an adult. Would her parents really forbid her from dating outside her religion and culture?

"I just can't. None of us can. You wouldn't understand."

I put my arm around her and squeezed. "Don't worry about it. Nothing can stop 'tu wuv.' Don't you remember _The Princess Bride_?" I smiled.

A little girl, about five-years-old, ran up to Annika and tugged at her dress.

She sighed in defeat.

"I have to go. The girls want to play Barbies."

After Annika left, I wondered if I was stepping on her toes by leaving with Rhett and thought I should cancel, but I changed my mind when I glanced at Dev from across the room giving me his usual disapproving look. I wanted him to see that I was desirable to someone as amazing as Rhett, so I decided to keep our date. We had made plans to walk to the creek at seven. I glanced at the clock on the wall...6:45. I decided to go freshen up in my room and put on some better walking shoes.

# ***

I was applying lip-gloss in my bedroom mirror when I heard a decisive knock. I opened the door to a somber and serious Dev, which was about normal for him.

Great.

"Scarlett...may I talk to you?"

It felt odd to see him standing at my bedroom door, so close to where I dreamed of him. My stomach quivered slightly. "Okay," I managed to squeak out.

He didn't move from the doorway.

"Rhett told me you're going out with him later."

"He wanted to see Berry Creek. I was just going to walk over with him."

He got straight to the point.

"I have to respectfully ask you to not go with him."

I was confused. "Why not?"

He shuffled his feet, obviously feeling uncomfortable. "I just don't think it's a good idea."

I figured it out. I clenched my hands in rage. "Oh, I understand. He's the son of a powerful banker who might give you a job. You don't want him to hang around people like me and make a bad impression."

His face fell. A tense moment hung between us.

"I never meant that," he uttered, weakly.

"Well, the last time I checked, I don't belong to you. You can't tell me what to do," I barked.

And then, like a cherry on top, I slammed the door in his tortured face.

It felt good...and horrible...and confusing. A small voice inside suggested I might have misread him. But I decided not to listen to it.

That was a mistake.

#  ~7~

# Dangerous Liaisons & Gray Sweaters

Rhett and I strolled through the colorful fall leaves down a well-worn trail behind the house and in the direction of Berry Creek. The weather was typical for Texas that time of year: crisp, cool, perfect for a walk. We made good conversation. He was charming and witty and I soon forgot the ugly encounter with Dev.

Still, at moments, I wondered, _why wouldn't he want Rhett to know me? Am I that much of an embarrassment to him?_

When we got closer to the creek, the trail became uneven. I struggled over a large rock and lost my footing. Rhett caught me before I fell.

"Why don't you hold my hand—just in case," he offered.

I accepted his offer with a slight blush. His hand was warm and strong, and I liked touching him. Still my thoughts defaulted to Dev.

He could learn a thing or two from Rhett.

Finally, we made it down to a secluded area near the rushing water. Tall oak trees framed the bank and lush grasses made a perfect spot for us to rest a moment.

After we sat down, he immediately leaned in. It was a little too close for me.

"It was nice of you to take me out here—to _release some pressure_ ," he whispered in my ear as he stroked my hair. I moved away out of reflex. What was he getting at? I tried to diffuse the heady atmosphere.

"Um, sure, no problem. Hey, we should go look at the water. We might see some trout."

I started to get up, but he leaned over me before I could stand up and pressed his weight against my chest. My mind raced.

Is this really happening?

"Rhett, please move..."

I pushed his chest away, but it was like pushing on a brick wall.

"Don't play coy with me, Miss Scarlett. You know you want this," he said in an exaggerated Southern drawl, centimeters from my face. I could smell alcohol on his breath, and then I could taste it when he kissed me full on the mouth—a sloppy, frantic kiss. Not at all like the one in my dream...with Dev.

I turned my face away and realized I need to end this— _now_.

"Stop! Get off of me!" I yelled, hoping someone would hear.

Nothing but crickets chirped in reply.

With his free hand, he grabbed at the buttons on my blouse. I realized in that moment, he was going to rape me.

I screamed this time. "Noooo!"

His hand found my breast, freed from my bra. He pinched my nipple and then moved his mouth toward it—his other hand now between my legs. My eyes filled with tears. This was not how I wanted my first time to be.

I was going to be statistic. A victim of rape. The white trash girl who asked for it. I deserved it for being so stupid. Didn't Dev try and warn me?

I pleaded through my tears, "Please don't do this..."

And then, just like that, he was off of me. Free of his weight, I instinctively rolled over to protect myself.

I looked up to see where he had gone.

_Dev was here_.

He had Rhett in a choke hold. I had never seen him so enraged. The two men struggled with each other, but Dev had the clear advantage with his height and sobriety. Rhett was able to break free for just a moment before Dev punched him square in the face. He fell to the ground in a pathetic, unconscious pile.

I scrambled to my feet and took several steps away. My heart was racing and I had to force myself to breathe for fear of passing out.

"Oh god..." I choked out, in shock.

In a second, Dev was next to me. He put his arm around my shoulder protectively, as a big brother or a father would. I turned to him and fell against his chest. Weirdly, it was the only place I wanted to be at that moment.

I don't know how much time passed, but I stayed in his embrace until I heard police sirens. I only vaguely remembered when he called them from his cell phone. Perhaps I was blocking out everything except the reassuring feeling of him against me.

The police took our statements and arrested Dev's college friend for attempted rape— _the college friend with the rich and powerful father who would probably not give Dev a job after this—the father who probably had the power to ruin his career in banking if he were so inclined._

It occurred to me that Dev never expressed the tiniest concern about any of that as we stood by the creek. He could have handled it a hundred different ways that might have preserved his relationship with Rhett—and preserved his chances of having a career at Franklin Bank. But he acted honorably. And decently. And good. He made me feel important and worth protecting.

At once, my childhood disdain for him started to fade.

# ***

It was dark out when Dev drove me home. He had given me his sweater to wear since my blouse was ripped. I glanced at him in his white dress shirt. He was stoic, deep in thought. I wondered if he would regret his decision to defend my honor and have his friend, and all the connections that went along with him, smashed to a pulp?

We didn't speak at all during the short drive. When we arrived home, no one seemed to realize we had been gone for several hours.

Dev walked behind me up the stairs to my room, like a protective shadow, while the remainder of the guests cheered over another soccer game in the family room, and children laughed and romped around in front of a Pixar movie under Annika's watchful eye on the other side of the house.

Maybe I deserved what happened for betraying her in order to prove something to Dev. I was an idiot.

When we made it to my door, I faced him. Once the shock had worn off, my mind had started working. I had questions. "Dev, how did you know that would happen?"

He looked distressed. Tortured. "I didn't know. I never would have invited him here had I known...what he was capable of," he answered, solemnly.

"Then why did you ask me not to go with him?"

He paused before answering, as if trying to find the right words. "I don't know. I just knew he had bad intentions. I can't explain it. It was the way he looked at you. Like he wanted to eat you alive."

Dev's eyes locked onto mine. That feeling in my stomach returned.

His hand brushed over mine, then held it, his eyes never wavering. His touch was magic and heat and electricity—I wanted more of it.

After a moment, I broke the spell and pulled my hand away, but it was clear we had both felt something, the world shifting slightly and changing the energy between us forever. "What are you going to tell your parents? Oh god, I hate that I'll have to tell them."

He shifted his weight, folded his left arm across his chest, and rubbed his chin with right hand, like he always did when he was thinking. "Don't worry about it, Scarlett. I'll handle everything so you won't have to think about it ever again," he declared.

"Thanks." I tugged at his sweater. "Let me give this back to you," I said.

"No. You keep it," he offered. His eyes grazed over my form for a second. "It looks much better on you."

When I didn't say anything, words failing me, Dev turned to go. "Goodnight, Scarlett."

"Goodnight," I managed.

I think that was the first time in all the years I knew Dev that we had said "goodnight" to each other. I shut my bedroom door and wrapped my arms around my chest, breathing in Dev's scent, and reliving the memory of his strong embrace.

What was happening between us?

# Dev's Journal

# Entry #84

For lack of a better vocabulary, this was one fucked-up Thanksgiving—and not because the turkey was dry.

In summary, I brought my secret potential half-brother to the party and after drinking a poorly disguised liter of vodka, he attempted to rape my sister's best friend at the creek we used to swim in as kids. And frustratingly, my attraction to Scarlett has only intensified to levels that could kill a weaker man.

I'll never forgive myself for bringing that wretched barbarian to my home and subjecting her to him. Thank god I had the decent sense to follow them. The fury I felt...I can't explain it, but I thought I would kill him. If I hadn't seen her frightened eyes and decided against subjecting her to more violence, I would have.

I'm certain of it.

Something about her energy makes me act out and yet reigns me in at the same time. Being in her presence is like triumphantly waking from a coma...only to overdose on a massive shot of heroin.

Enough of that. I will have to keep my distance from that bastard if I'm going to prevent myself from being in a murder line-up one day.

Bastard?

What bloody irony!

Speaking of bastards and their fathers, when I called Gerald Franklin tonight to tell him about his wayward son, his response was peculiar. "That boy has always been trouble," he said. "You're good for him, I think, but he might be a lost cause. Someday I'll have to hand over the reins...and I'll be relieved to know you're around."

Hand over the reins? To Franklin Bank?

Holy shit.

Of course I had planned for world domination after school—it's in my nature to over-achieve at everything—but to have a shot at leading an international banking conglomerate at such a young age?

Let's just say that I'm intrigued. Maybe being the bastard son of a billionaire banker isn't so massively horrible. Maybe there are opportunities ahead that I couldn't have found any other way. Maybe I need to take advantage of them. Maybe this rage I feel towards my mother...towards the world...it can be channeled into something else far more productive.

Maybe...Scarlett doesn't hate me anymore. How brilliant that would be.

-Dev

#  ~8~

# You've Got Mail

After the Thanksgiving fiasco, I found that Annika was strangely cool to me. Apparently she had looked for me that night and when she wasn't successful, it got her feathers ruffled having to watch over the kids by herself.

She wouldn't admit to it, but I think she knew I had gone out with Rhett and she was jealous, and I couldn't bring myself to tell her what happened. I wanted to lock it away in a box, never to be opened again.

I was good at locking things away— _most things,_ anyway.

What I couldn't ignore was my near-constant thoughts about Dev and how I felt connected to him in a way that made me catch my breath. He had left for school without saying goodbye, but I had stayed in my room for most of that weekend, so I couldn't blame him for giving me my space. He must have done a convincing job with his family because no one ever questioned Rhett's hasty departure; they believed he had left early to meet his parents in Rome for a last minute reunion.

Not more than a week after Thanksgiving, I got an email from Dev. I didn't even realize he had my address.

Scarlett-

Just checking in to see if you're alright.

Please let me know.

-Dev

I didn't know what to make of it. I waited a full day and then hit "reply."

Hi Dev,

I'm fine. Thanks for asking. Thanks for everything, actually.

How is school?

Scarlett

I could have told him I was fine and just left it at that. But a part of me wanted to keep the exchange alive. The next morning, he had written again—this time, a bit more. He told me about his classes, the ones that bored him and the ones he actually liked. And he mentioned some of his favorite places in the city.

He was _friendly_.

I replied and teased him about the frigid weather in New York by mentioning it was 75 in Texas, and I was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. I also sent him a link to a new article I had written for _Texas Monthly_.

He wrote back that same day with sincere congratulations and told me how much he liked my writing, and asked me what type of writing I most interested in pursuing after college.

Dev,

Don't roll your eyes, but I want to write about poverty and social inequalities. It might sound nuts, but I want to make a difference in the world on some level with my writing.

His reply made me smile and my confidence soar.

Scarlett,

You don't sound nuts—at least not about your writing. Truthfully, if only there were more people in the world like you, it would be a much better place. I feel honored...to know someone like you.

We wrote voraciously to each other for the next week. I learned more about him—his thoughts, philosophies, fears and passions—than I ever gleaned from the years I knew him growing up. Finally, after all this time, I was getting to know the _real_ Dev, not the cold, calculated image he had crafted. And I felt like I was... _falling in love with him._

I wondered if the feeling was mutual.

I thought maybe he hinted at something one morning when I opened an email from him with a decidedly different tone. The time-stamp was three AM the night before.

Scarlett,

I wrote you a long email but second-guessed it and hit the delete button. Some things are better said in person. Just wanted you to know I was thinking of you.

-D

P.S. Do you still have that pink sari? The one you wore in my room...when I caught you rifling through my things? ;)

I had to catch my breath. Was he falling for me like I was falling for him? Was he thinking of me at this very moment? Something inside of me knew the answer.

I waited until after dinner that night to write back.

Dev,

I wrote you an even longer reply but deleted it. Now you'll share my pain of having to guess what it said.

Yes, I still have the pink sari. And no, I was not rifling through your things. I was delivering towels like a good houseguest. You just happened to have a book opened to something interesting, and I'm a sucker for a good poem—and why am I explaining myself to you again?

Scarlett

I got a reply moments later.

May I call you?

I felt instantly nervous. Talk to him over the phone? Hear his silky voice, his measured breathing? It was infinitely more intimate than email. Before I could write back, my cell phone rang. _Oh god, it's him._

I grabbed the phone but let it ring one more time so I wouldn't seem anxious.

"Hello?"

"You don't mind that I called, do you?" His voice was relaxed, calm, like he was lying in bed. It felt strangely intimate to think we were both in bed talking to each other. I forced myself to sound normal.

"Dev, hi. No, no, of course not." _Why am I so nervous?_

"Where are you right now?" he asked.

"In bed. It's eleven here...which means it's one AM there. Why aren't you asleep?"

"Can't," he explained.

"Have you tried warm milk?" I cringed realizing how domestic I sounded.

"I don't think warm milk can cure my problem."

"Oh? What problem do you have?" I asked, innocently, though I sensed he was leading me on.

"I can't stop thinking about...someone."

I guess I would play his game. "That's interesting. Who is it? Your sadistic professor in business economics?"

He laughed, his voice silky and deep. "No, someone _infinitely_ more attractive than Professor Hicky."

A painfully long pause. I didn't know what to say, but I was relieved he couldn't see me bite my lower lip, my cheeks reddening. I chickened out of his open invitation to flirt and changed the subject.

"Your mom brags about your grades all the time. And the fact that you're going to an Ivy League school. Annika is getting tired of it. I think she's jealous."

His response was strangely sullen. "She shouldn't be."

"You don't realize that around here you're the golden boy—a prince. Your parents really love you."

A pause.

"Not everything is as it seems, Scarlett," he said cryptically. It was as if he was hinting at some dark secret. Before I could ask, he spoke again. "Scarlett..."

"Yes?"

"Can I call you again? Tomorrow night? I think it will help me sleep better."

"I wouldn't be a friend if I didn't help you with your insomnia," I replied, trying to keep my tone platonic.

"I'm happy we're friends." He sounded sincere and it made my heart pound and my breath quicken. I tried to sound calm.

"It's late..."

"You're right. Sweet dreams, Scarlett."

From that day, our daily emails turned into nightly phone calls, sometimes lasting into the early morning hours. He was increasingly holding my mind hostage. When I woke up each day, I thought of him. And he was the last thought I had before I fell asleep each night.

And no one in the house suspected a thing.

What would his parents think? What would Annika think?

I wasn't ready to find out.

I often pulled out his sweater—the one from that night—and wore it to bed, enjoying the soft cashmere against my skin, and delighting in the knowledge it had once been against his. I longed to see him again, and with the holidays around the corner, I hoped he would be coming home soon.

But not everything turns out the way you want, does it?

# Dev's Journal

# Entry #103

My flight for London leaves in three hours, so I have to be brief, and I still have to FedEx my present to Scarlett if it's going to make it in time. Finals are finished and I'm cautiously confident I pulled another 4.0 this semester. Does it count as bragging if it's written in a journal?

Gerald Franklin hasn't come out and told me that he's my father, yet it is the proverbial pink elephant in the room when he has me over for dinner or tennis. I don't have the courage to outright ask because it seems to be an unspoken agreement between us that I don't. I have decided not to pursue it with him because he's given me a paid internship and the promise of a director position at the bank when my MBA is wrapped up.

That's fucking insane. Director before 25? It's unheard of.

Of note, I heard that Rhett transferred to a university in South Africa of all places—hilarious! There's been a few mumblings about his involvement in some new lending program in Zambia spearheaded by dear ol' dad. When I reviewed a random memo for it, it read like a scam befitting a two-hour 20/20 episode on banking scandals. There's a decent chance it could blow up and create the perfect power vacuum for someone else to step in—someone with enough plausible deniability.

I will not touch that department with a 100 foot pole. Perhaps there's a chance it will all go according to plan.

Speaking of plans, holiday with my mother? Not sure I can stomach it, but I suppose I have to for the sake of the family.

Or do I?

I would confront the woman directly if I had irrefutable proof—something that links my parentage directly to Franklin. My mother keeps a locked engraved box in the hotel office safe. Could something be in there? Why didn't I think to snoop inside when I was there alone last summer?

Because I wasn't alone. I was distracted.

Annika said Scarlett was staying at the house for Christmas. I wonder why she hasn't emailed me back or returned my calls? I haven't slept for two weeks without my nightly dose of her angelic voice, as effective at soothing my nerves as honeyed Bourbon.

Playing hard to get? No, that's not like her. She doesn't play games.

That's my department.

God, this is painful. As much as I try to not think about her, I can't ignore my gnawing desperation to hear her voice or be in her presence.

What to do.

Now that I think about it, I can't be certain that FedEx will get it to her in time after all. I had better not risk it.

-Dev

#  ~9~

# Christmas Alone

"You're going to _England_ for Christmas?"

I took a long drink of tea and then set it down on the dining room table, trying to mask my envy. Mrs. Bashir had just told us that one of her cousins in London was getting married over the holidays, and the whole family would be going to the wedding.

Everyone but me, that is.

"Why can't Scarlett come with us?" pleaded Annika. It was an awkward moment. I knew why I couldn't go. I was an outsider and it would be inappropriate to bring me to such important religious ceremonies.

"I have so much work to do...for midterms. I couldn't go even if I wanted. Besides, I really want to see my dad this Christmas." I smiled at Mr. and Mrs. Bashir who seemed grateful to have my cooperation. They hated giving into Annika's demands, but probably did it too often to her own detriment. Sometimes she came off as bratty and spoiled.

"You are welcome to stay here, Scarlett, as long as you like, and your father is welcome too," offered Mr. Bashir, gracious as always.

Annika gave it one last shot.

"I have an idea! She could come but just stay at the hotel when we go to the wedding."

"Annika, don't Indian weddings last...for _several_ days?" I pointed out with an amused grin.

She sighed in defeat. "It's just...it will be so boring there without you."

"Yeah, but being holed up in a hotel while you're having fun doesn't sound great either."

Then it dawned on me that Dev might be going too. He hadn't mentioned anything to me—but I hadn't taken his calls for a while feeling odd about our little secret. I looked at Mrs. Bashir and tried to act casual lest she figure out her eldest son had become the object of my affection. I needed to tread carefully.

"I suppose Dev will meet you there?" I asked.

"Yes, and Shyra will be coming with him," she answered, trying to contain her excitement.

"Mom, you have to stop pushing them together!" interjected Annika.

I felt myself reeling from the news. _He won't be here. He'll be with her. In London._

"They've been dating, Annika. I'm sure we'll have news of another wedding soon," Mrs. Bashir said enthusiastically before taking a sip of tea through her wide grin.

Mr. Bashir joined in her jubilation. "They're perfect for each other! Maybe he'll propose at the wedding. Wouldn't that be nice, huh, Scarlett?"

I offered him a weak smile. I could feel my heart sink, and I wondered if I had been delusional this whole time.

I thought he liked me. I thought there was something between us.

It was obvious that I was wrong.

## ***

Why does fate enjoy adding salt to my wounds so often?

My dad called me later that evening and announced he would be going to Denver...with his _girlfriend_ for Christmas.

"I didn't even know you had a girlfriend, dad. Thanks for the update," I said bitterly. Didn't anyone want to be with me at Christmas?

"Well, I didn't want to tell you until I knew it was serious. Renee can't wait to meet you."

Her name was Renee. I hated that name.

My dad actually sounded happy. I felt a tear break free and travel down my cheek, but it wasn't because I was happy for him. I hastily wiped it away. I wouldn't cry over this, even though no one could see me.

"And you both can't come here, dad?" I sniffed loudly. Too loudly.

"Honey, you alright? You're not...crying or nothing?"

"Just allergies, dad."

"I don't miss the cedar out there, that's for sure. Anyway, I'm going to meet Renee's parents in Colorado." He paused. "Hey, why don't you come out with us?"

It was the last place I wanted to be. In a stranger's house...an outsider...not belonging. I had enough of that in my life.

"Thanks dad, but the Bashirs invited me to stay here."

I didn't mention they would be on a different continent. What would be the point?

Then my dad started to cough.

"Dad, that's a bad cough. Are you okay?"

He had always had a cough—thanks to the damn cigarettes—but it had never sounded so deep and rumbling, like his lungs were full of gravel.

He finally found his voice. "Fine, Scarlett. Just a touch of bronchitis. Doc has me on antibiotics."

"Make sure this _Renee_ looks after you. Maybe you shouldn't go to Denver. You'll heal faster if you're resting at home."

"Nah, I'll be fine."

She better take care of him. He's all I have left.

After I hung up with him, my cell phone rang.

It was Dev.

I had resolved to not communicate with Dev any more after that day. What would be the point? I was clearly falling for him and it was made apparent to me that I would only get my heart broken. He had never mentioned going to London for Christmas...or mentioned that he was dating Shyra. He was obviously keeping secrets from me.

Maybe he was just playing with my head.

Perhaps his kindness was just a cover for a more clever and sadistic version of himself.

I hit "ignore" and then took a long shower trying to wash his memory out of me. I allowed the tears to flow. Mingled with the hot water, I could pretend I wasn't crying my heart out. When they stopped, I stepped out of the shower somewhat renewed. As I dried my long hair, I mentally planned out my solitary Christmas with Jane Austen books, lots of trashy reality TV and plenty of chocolate cake.

Yes, there would be a massive amount of chocolate cake.

## ***

The night before the Bashirs left, we all sat down to dinner to an amazing butter balti chicken. While I was savoring bites of the insanely delicious curry, Mr. Bashir went over a list of things I needed to remember: security codes, how to turn off the water if a pipe breaks, and where the fuse box was located. Then Mrs. Bashir added something that made me a little nervous.

"The security man at the front gate told me the Miller house down the street was broken into last night. Make sure you lock the doors and set the alarms, Scarlett."

I assured them all I would lock everything up tightly, but I had never spent the night alone in a house before, and I wished she hadn't told me about the break-in. I knew I would be a basket of nerves lying in my bed and jumping every time I heard a noise.

In the morning, after they had left for their trip, I found an old wooden baseball bat in the garage and placed it against the wall next to my bed. If anyone broke in, I would make them regret it.

## ***

On Christmas Eve I didn't feel like cooking for only one person, so I curled up on the sofa with my bag of trusty salted almonds and slowly crunched them one-by-one while reading _Pride and Prejudice_ for the third time. Just when I got to my favorite chapter—when Mr. Darcy finally declares his love for Elizabeth—the power went out.

Like a scene from a horror movie, I was alone in a big house and in total darkness.

The wind lashed against the windows outside in what was to be the biggest ice storm of the last ten years. I tried the breakers just in case, but I knew there was a power line down somewhere, and I wouldn't be watching all the fantastic TV I had planned for later on.

I lit some candles and then sulked for a moment.

Could it get any worse? Could this be the saddest Christmas of my life? Even when my mother had left us, Dad still found the heart to string up lights and put out a plate of cookies for Santa. Now that he had a girlfriend and a new family to celebrate with, was it my destiny to be alone like this?

With nothing left to do, I blew out all but one candle and decided to go to bed. I checked the locks and the alarm—but it wasn't working.

No power, no alarm. _Crap._

Upstairs, I double-checked to make sure the baseball bat was within arm's reach. Amazingly, with the covers over my head so I wouldn't focus on the creepy shadows in the room, I finally fell asleep.

Suddenly I was wide awake.

Something had jarred me out of my sleep. Maybe it was the wind, which still howled outside. Or maybe it was the cold. The heat was off and it had to be 20 degrees outside. I slipped out of bed, grabbed Dev's sweater from my closet, pulled in on over my short nightgown, my long legs, still bare. I was searching for sweatpants when I heard a bang downstairs.

I froze.

I told myself it was probably nothing. But maybe I should take a peek or there was definitely no chance of falling asleep again.

I grabbed the baseball bat and tiptoed down the steps, trying to control my breathing. When I got to the bottom, I peered around the corner into the foyer.

My heart stopped.

A tall, shadowy figure was inside the house and messing with the security alarm, a pocket flashlight in one hand.

#  ~10~

# A Man in the House

My mind went to work when I saw the man in the hall _. He's turning off the breakers so that when the power comes on, it can't be tripped and alert the police,_ I surmised _._

In that moment, I finally understood the meaning the phrase, kill or be killed. My hand tightened around the bat and I stepped quietly toward his exposed back. When I was just behind him, I closed my eyes and cocked the bat behind me. I was going to hit him with everything I had.

I swung.

The crunch of the bat on his side was sickening. The intruder turned around quickly, and I prepared for another attack, the bat poised dangerously over my head.

Then I smelled his cologne.

"Dev?"

"Scarlett..." He crouched before me, arms placed protectively around his face.

I dropped the bat in horror.

"Oh no...I'm so sorry...did I hurt you?" I prayed I hadn't broken a rib.

He slid down to the floor and... _laughed_. Then he grabbed for his flashlight and shined it over my half-naked, shivering body. I tugged the sweater down to cover my thighs, where his gaze seemed to linger for a moment too long.

"Is that my old Little League bat?" he asked.

"Maybe," I said, guilty. "Please tell me you're not hurt. I hit you really hard."

I kneeled down by his side and tried to see where I inflicted my injury. He had his hand over his left ribcage.

"If that was the best you got, Scarlett, then you might not want to quit your day-job." He smiled at me through the shadowy darkness. "I'm fine, really. It will probably bruise a bit, but that's all."

"What are you doing here?" I uttered, still in shock. I wondered, was the whole family back? Did the wedding get called off? Was Shyra with him? Was he engaged to her? Could he tell how happy I was seeing him?

"I needed to check on some things at the hotel...and I didn't like the idea that you were here alone," he answered. "You would have known that if you answered my phone calls or checked my emails."

"Oh," was all I could mutter in reply. Now _I_ was the asshole for once.

"And I had something to give you. For Christmas," he added.

I wasn't sure what to think, so I said nothing.

He got up from the floor and offered me his hand, which was warm and delicious against my frigid skin.

"Scarlett, you're freezing," he commented in concern when he touched me.

"The power is out so I guess the heat is off too," I explained.

He led me into the family room by the light of his flashlight, his hand never leaving mine, which I wished I didn't enjoy so much. He shined the light over the fireplace. With a flip of a switch, the gas fireplace illuminated the room.

Gas, why didn't I think of that?

We could see each other much better now. His eyes moved over my body, his old sweater just covering my hips. I could feel the cashmere fall over my curves...and I was aware that the soft material didn't hide what the cold air did to my breasts, or more specifically, my nipples. No doubt he could see that too.

He picked up a throw blanket from the couch and draped it around me, his warm breath on my hair. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me—and for a moment, I thought he would—but he moved away.

"You should sleep down here, where it's warm," he suggested, before moving toward the foyer.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to sleep in my room over the garage. It's late. My earlier flight was cancelled due to the ice storm. I'm sorry I scared you like this. I didn't mean to."

"But it's so cold, Dev. You'll freeze up there. There's plenty of space here...you can have the other couch."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Scarlett, unless you want me here." His tone seemed to be testing me, checking to see if I was truly interested in his company for the night.

I was, but I wouldn't admit to it. "I would feel better if you were in the house. I don't like being here alone. Especially after realizing I can't swing a bat very hard." It was a half-truth. I didn't think I could sleep alone in that house again after such a scare.

He smiled. "Of course I'll stay then."

Dev took off his black, down-filled jacket and sat down next to me on the couch. The heat from the fire began to do its job and I was feeling much better. He inspected his ribs where I wacked him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I moved over to him. "Here, let me see."

I tugged at his black sweater politely, awkwardly. He saved me the trouble and pulled it off, entirely exposing his chest...his beautiful chest. He was lean and muscular, with just a moderate trace of dark hair trailing off below his bellybutton. The light from the fire danced over the hills and valleys of his well-crafted pecs and solid six-pack. I remembered with amusement what his chest used to look like as a gangly 13-year-old at the pool when I first had laid eyes upon him.

How times change.

I lightly touched the reddened area over the left side of his ribcage. "Does that hurt?" I looked up at him.

He seemed to exhale as I touched him, the slightest shudder of something that wasn't pain, but, perhaps, pleasure? Then he covered my hand with his and moved it up his chest to the spot where his heart was pounding. "No, it feels amazing actually."

That feeling in my stomach again.

For a moment, we just stared into each other's eyes, like that time outside my bedroom door. So much communicated in one look...

He let my hand go abruptly. "I'm sorry, Scarlett. We should...go to sleep. It's after two."

What could I say to him? That I wanted him to do more—much more? I could feel the sparks between us: enticing and dangerous. We had hardly said two words to each other in person while growing up, and now... _and now things were so different_.

I moved to the other side of the large sofa and pulled the blanket over me. He put his sweater back on and moved to the other couch.

Now that I was warm and secure, I felt myself drifting off into a restful slumber.

"Dev..." I whispered, half asleep.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you're here."

"Me too." His voice started to fade. Before succumbing to sleep, he spoke again.

"Scarlett?"

"Yes?"

"My sweater looks nice on you, especially with nothing else on. I never realized how overrated pants were until tonight."

I smiled to myself. I wouldn't be alone this Christmas. I decided I would worry about Shyra tomorrow. Tonight Dev was with me and not her.

## ***

When I got up the next morning, he was gone.

The electricity seemed to be back on, so I ran upstairs and took a long shower. The hot water felt heavenly against my body and forced me to wonder how Dev's warm body would feel up against mine.

I couldn't help but recall _the_ _dream_ , but it seemed a poor replacement for reality. I had never felt so sensual or womanly in my life, but thinking about this man—ironically, my best friend's jerky older brother—awakened my senses in ways I didn't know existed.

_Why was he here? To see me?_ I wondered. Could he really be dating this other girl? Would he kiss me? As I combed out my long hair, I pondered the consequences of our unique situation.

Alone together.

Was I foolish to be so excited about it?

I pulled on my favorite jeans and a soft, baby blue sweater.

Then I let my imagination go crazy for a few blissful seconds. I wondered if we might get married one day. Then I would _really_ be a part of this family. My heart swelled at the thought of being Mrs. Bashir's daughter-in-law. Of course they would accept me...even though I'm an outsider. They know me. They love me. We would find a way to make it work.

And then I remembered Shyra and I talked myself down from the ledge. I was being stupid letting my mind run like that.

Too many unanswered questions.

I heard Dev's SUV pull up outside. Through my bedroom window I watched him come inside the house. I decided to meet him downstairs.

He held a bag from the bakery down the street and two steaming to-go cups. His face lit up when he saw me. I wasn't used to that. As much as we had maintained a friendly interaction via email and phone, seeing him in person behaving this way was so different.

"Merry Christmas, Scarlett."

"Merry Christmas, Dev—hey, you don't celebrate Christmas."

"I think I'm still allowed to say Merry Christmas." His smile was charming and infectious. I couldn't repress one in return.

Has he always been this handsome?

"Did you find what you were looking for at the hotel?" I asked.

His smile was quickly gone and his eyes suddenly seemed haunted, distressed.

"I did. Let's not talk about it though."

"Everything okay?" Why was that subject so touchy?

He paused before answering. "It will be. It's nothing that you need to worry about right now."

As quickly as he had gone away to some dark place, he was back, smiling.

When I followed him into the family room near the kitchen, my eyes immediately found the small Christmas tree lit up the corner. Under it sat one solitary gift in red and silver wrapping.

He did this?

"Where did the tree come from?"

"I thought it would be nice to have a proper Christmas. Even though I don't celebrate it," he added, with an uncharacteristic wink. He offered me one of his cups, the irresistible aroma of hot coffee filled my nose.

We sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and devouring the pastries he had brought. I had so many questions but I didn't want to interrogate him. I eased into it.

"Thanks for breakfast." I finished off the last bite of my blueberry scone.

"Anytime," he answered.

"So you left London early?"

"I did."

"To work at the hotel?"

"That and some other things."

"Oh."

This was new for us. Talking. In person. We had gained such an easy rapport over the phone, but we were breaking new ground face to face.

He looked uneasy as he searched for his next words.

"I'm curious, Scarlett. Why have you been ignoring my calls for the past two weeks? Did I say something? I thought there was...something between us." There was vulnerability in his eyes. I wasn't quite sure how to answer.

"My phone has been on the fritz lately," I lied.

"Oh. Okay then."

The silence felt suffocating. I decided to ask him what I was dying to know.

"I heard Shyra was there...at the wedding. That's too bad you missed her."

"I see her enough in New York," he glibly replied, no hint of disappointment. Was he faking it?

"That must be nice. Your mother is so excited for you two." Was my voiced strained? I tried to act casual. He looked confused for a second and then smiled.

"Oh, my mother is excited for us, huh? She's wanted me to marry Shyra since we were babies. If we were in India, it would be a properly arranged marriage, I'm certain. Our families are very close."

I wasn't sure what he was getting at. Beneath the table I clenched my paper napkin tightly so my feelings wouldn't show on my face. _Just come on out and say it, Dev._

"I'm happy for you. Shyra is very pretty."

Dev shifted in his chair uneasily. Suddenly he understood.

"I'm not _dating_ Shyra. We're just friends." He paused. "Is that why you stopped talking to me?"

What could I say now? He hit it square on the nose. To admit to it would be to show him my hand...to admit I was jealous and that I liked him. I decided to retain my poker face.

"No, of course not." I forced a smile and then started to clear the table. I brought our plates into the kitchen.

He followed me in.

While I was rinsing them, I asked him about something that had been on my mind. "What happened to Rhett?" Have you seen him since Thanksgiving?" This was the first time either of us had brought up that day. I knew Dev had promised I would never have to think about him, but I still wondered.

His face tensed up. "Rhett is back at school. His father cleaned up his mess, I suppose. We don't talk anymore, for obvious reasons."

He took a long sip of coffee, that haunted look returned.

"And do you still hope to get a job with that bank...Franklin Bank?"

He thought about it for a moment before answering.

"Gerald Franklin is like a... _father_ to me." He laughed sardonically as if at some cruel inside joke. "If I wanted a job with him, I'm sure I could get one pretty easily."

I turned around to face him.

"That's great news. I thought I messed everything up for you."

"You're joking, right? Bringing that monster here—I'll never forgive myself. If he ever tried to interact with you again, in any manner, I promise I will make him regret it."

He spoke as if he cared for me, and it made me want to fall into his arms again, my face against his chest. We looked at each other, the memory of that day shadowing our faces.

He walked out of the kitchen in a hurry, as if suddenly remembering something. "I have something for you."

I followed him over to the family room and sat on the couch near the fire.

He brought over the red and silver wrapped box and handed it to me. "I thought you would like this."

I looked at him suspiciously and then carefully unwrapped the box. Inside, I found a book. Not just any book, but a very old hardcover of _Gone with the Wind._

"It's a first edition, signed by Margaret Mitchell. Open it."

In a giddy daze, I opened the book. Written on the inside cover was Margaret Mitchell's flowery signature. It was the best gift I had ever been given. "Dev...this is amazing." I rubbed my finger delicately down the gold-rimmed spine.

"I'm pleased you like it."

He tenderly brushed a long golden tendril away from my eye and tucked it behind my ear. It was the most sensual touch I had ever felt.

"My hair...it's always a mess," I said, my heart pounding so hard I thought he could see it through my baby blue sweater.

"It suits you."

I felt the heat rise in my body. I shifted away from him. I needed some breathing room.

"Dev, do your parents know you're here...at home, with me?"

He smiled, devilishly, and leaned back into the couch. "No, they think I'm in New York interning over the holidays. I met them in London for a day and then flew straight here."

"They must have been disappointed you didn't go to the wedding."

He laughed. "Are you kidding, Scarlett? My mother's heart grows a little every time I announce I have an internship...or an interview...or any business prospects."

"Is that what you really want to do?" I inquired. I always thought business was his passion, but then I didn't know what it was like to feel the parental pressure to be successful. Hell, my dad was happy enough that I graduated from junior high.

"I love business and banking...and money. It's in my blood." He laughed to himself again in that private-joke way. "And, not to brag, I'm pretty damn good at it. But sometimes I worry I'll lose myself in my ambition." He paused, weighing his next words. "I guess that's why I like talking to you, Scarlett. You're so sensitive and idealistic. I feel...grounded to real things when I hear your voice. I've missed our nightly discussions."

I stroked the book like it was a precious baby. _He did care for me._

"I'm sorry my phone was broken," I offered.

"Is it fixed now?" He asked, looking deeply into my eyes. I realized he wasn't talking about the phone. He was talking about us—whatever we were.

"Yes, it's fixed."

"Good."

I stood up and set the book on the mantle over the fireplace.

"Dev, you didn't always feel that way about me," I corrected him. "You really disliked me...before. I never understood why."

He moved over to me, so closely I leaned up against the white marble side of the fireplace. It was cool against my back.

"I've never disliked you. Quite the contrary."

"Then why were you so... _mean_?" We both knew what I was referring to. _White trash._

He stared into my eyes with uncensored intensity. "I'll be honest with you, but please understand how hard it is for me to say this." He almost looked embarrassed. "I've had a crush on you since...the day Annika brought you home for a swim one summer. I was... _cold_ to you because I was scared of you. I'll regret forever how I hurt you, Scarlett, but I was desperate to maintain control around you. I didn't know how else to do it. I guess I deserve the Idiot of the Year Award, don't I?"

"More like the Idiot of the Decade Award...if you want to be accurate."

We smiled at each other, and then his gaze turned serious. His right hand cradled my face and his thumb delicately caressed my cheek, like assessing a fine silk. It was the touch that confirmed everything I hoped would be true.

"What changed your mind?" I asked, hardly able to breathe with his hand touching me.

He thought for a moment. "That day...when Rhett was here...it changed me. It gave me courage to reach out to you. To let you know me. The real me."

I turned my face up to his, wanting more than anything in my life to be kissed by those lips.

He gave me what I desired and leaned into me, pulling my face to his. His kiss was slow and soft, and then his lips parted and forced mine to yield to him. We tasted each other...coffee, blueberries, mint...and I drank in his scent, so clean and masculine. The rest of my body responded readily and I could feel a small fire ignite inside, growing bigger each time his lips made contact with mine.

When he pulled away slowly, it was as if I were drunk. I steadied myself against his chest. He wrapped me up in his strong embrace and I moved my arms around his neck. This time, _I_ kissed him. I had barely kissed anyone before who was worth kissing, and I thought there would be more science to it, but I soon realized that instinct was the best guide.

I tugged at his lower lip, playfully, treating it as if it belonged to me. He let me explore, perhaps realizing I was new to this activity. And when he couldn't bear my teasing touch any longer, he moved his mouth against mine, hard, penetrating...lustfully. I could feel my body responding to his, and in places I had no control over.

He pulled away from my lips and searched my eyes for confirmation that I was enjoying this as much as he. I couldn't hide my desire if I tried. He kissed my neck tenderly, his breath warm and moist against my skin. At that moment, I understood the women in stories who fell in love with vampires.

He could bite me if he wanted.

Drink my lifeblood is he desired.

I knew that every touch from him—no matter the pain—was pleasure under his spell.

"Scarlett," he whispered near my ear in between tender kisses. "You haven't said anything. I'm guessing you feel the same way?" He pulled back, a smile spread across his face.

I blushed, feeling my cheeks burn. I searched for my wits. "I have to say, this is much nicer than being ignored and scowled at— _constantly_."

He pressed his lips against my forehead, his strong arms wrapped around me, cradling me in the curve of my back.

"If you had only known what I was really thinking about, Scarlett. You would have been scandalized, I promise."

"But it would have been so much nicer, Dev."

"It would have been a disaster. For reasons you may not fully grasp yet." He kissed me quickly on the lips and then pulled away. "Speaking of disasters, I need to spend a few hours at the hotel office today. I hate to leave you right now...when things were just getting interesting between us." He kissed my forehead and turned to go.

"Oh...what's wrong? Numbers still not adding up?"

He put on his heavy black jacket and a burgundy colored scarf, a weak defense against the howling wind and freezing rain outside.

"Something along those lines." He smiled, changing the subject quickly. "Let me take you out for dinner tonight. I'll make reservations. Will seven be fine?"

"Seven. I'll be here."

As I watched him leave the house I knew that every embrace and every kiss from anyone else would be pale and shallow compared to his. I wasn't just falling for him...I was already in a massive free-fall.

And it felt amazing.

# ~11~

# First Date, First Everything

With several hours before Dev would be back, I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I tried to take a short walk, but made it past two houses down the street when my ears started throbbing from the frigid wind.

Back at the house, I started a hot bath. I never took baths, but the weather outside almost made it mandatory. I was chilled to bone and I need to warm up fast. I wished Dev were there to do it for me, but he would be back in two hours, for our date.

_A date...with Dev._ The reality of it made me smile.

I slipped into the thick film of fragrant bubbles, my cold skin reacting to the hot water beneath, making it almost painful. After a minute, I got used to the temperature, so I leaned back and watched the oak tree outside the window bow and shake in winter's grasp.

My mind wandered where it usually did, to Dev. Being naked in the warm water felt sensual to me, and I couldn't help but imagine what his body might look like—might _feel like_ —under the soft bubbles with me. It was almost too much, and I felt myself getting aroused in a way that made me nervous. He had too much of an effect on me.

I loved it. I hated it. I wanted more.

When would he be back?

After drying off, I glanced at the clock. Six. I had an hour to get ready. Just as I started searching for something warm—but still sexy—in my closet to wear on our date, the lights went out.

Damn.

Not again.

I pulled on jeans and a cream colored blouse in the fading light from the window, and then started down the stairs to retrieve a flashlight from the kitchen so I wouldn't be caught in total darkness _again_.

Dev was just coming in the door.

"The lights are out again," I blurted out, hoping he would have some magical fix.

"I know. They're out everywhere. Another power line went down," he answered.

I pulled a piece of damp hair from my cheek. I had hoped to look better than this when he saw me. Damn again.

"I guess we're not going out then," I surmised.

"Nope. Everything's closed. I'm sorry. I wanted to take you out somewhere nice tonight."

He took off his jacket and walked over to me. He leaned down and chastely kissed my cheek, like a husband would to his wife just arriving home from work. It sent a shiver down to my toes. I shook it off.

"Well, I could cook for you. The gas still works, right?" I suggested.

He looked immensely pleased at the offer. "I think I would be a fool to say no to that."

"What? You mean you liked my cooking all these years? Didn't you once say my chicken biryani was... _pedestrian_?"

He laughed. "I ate two helpings after you left the table. Don't tell my mother, but I prefer it to hers."

So full of surprises.

"Then that's what I'll make," I said with a smile that exposed the sheer happiness I felt to know I would have Dev all to myself that evening.

## ***

We lit candles and turned on the gas fireplace in the family room near the kitchen. Dev volunteered to chop onions and I was humored to see him awkwardly hack at them. I don't recall him ever being in the kitchen other than to snag a taste of whatever his mother was preparing.

I layered the chicken, spices and rice into a medium saucepan. Dev had taken a seat on the countertop next to me where I threw together a small raita, an Indian salad made from cucumbers, carrots and yogurt. It was a cooling complement to the spice and bold flavors of the biryani.

"You cook like a pro, Scarlett. Have you ever thought about going to cooking school? Maybe open a restaurant?"

I snorted. "Nope. Being a cook is what you do when you don't have an education. And I'm determined to get one."

"Maybe you could write about cooking," he replied playfully. "It would seem a waste to not use this talent in some way. That's all."

"I _am_ using it. I'm cooking for the people I...care about." I was going to say "love" but changed my mind.

Do I love him?

My heart said yes. But my mind cautioned me to wait until he showed his hand first.

We ate around the kitchen table by candlelight. The air in the house was already cooling as the winter storm fought its way inside. Dev ate with gusto and I never received so many complements on a dish. I imagined cooking for him as his wife some day. The thought made me smile to myself.

We cleaned up quickly and then sat on the large Persian rug in front of the fireplace, the only warm place in the house. He had a book in his hand.

"I brought this for you. It's a copy of the book I have in my room."

"Ah, right. Now I won't have to break in to read it." I recalled the beautiful poetry from his room that night. I was curious about Sufi poetry.

"Would you read some to me, Dev?"

His eyes met mine in a brief but intense moment. He turned to a page and started to read.

"This is one by Rumi, a great Sufi poet." He cleared his throat and leaned back on one arm, the other holding the book to the flickering light of the fire.

"With passion pray,

"With passion make love,

"With passion eat and drink and dance and play.

"Why look like a dead fish

"In this ocean of God?"

I chuckled. "A dead fish in the ocean of God, Dev?"

He smiled. "That's not the point of the poem, Scarlett."

"Okay, explain this great mystic Sufism. I'm listening."

He put the book down and leaned in closer to me, his dark, thirsty eyes seeming to drink me in. "God didn't give us desires so that we would repress them." He kissed my neck softly as the last syllable escaped his lips. My breath quickened. "Our appetites were made to be satisfied," he whispered, continuing his seductive lecture.

I exhaled audibly, repressing a moan at his touch and he was encouraged by it. His lips met mine, softly, carefully. He kissed me with great restraint, as if he might scare me off. I shifted away, with a teasing smile.

I like the chase.

He scolded me with his eyes and then turned his attention to the book again. His voice was low and silky.

"When I am with you, we stay up all night.

"When you're not here, I can't go to sleep.

"Praise God for those two insomnias,

"And the difference between them."

I let the words sink in, trying to get the meaning right.

He smiled seductively. "This particular poem has held special meaning to me since we started talking over the phone. I've lost many hours of sleep being away from you, Scarlett."

He leaned over me again, his lips hovering above mine. "But being with you here is by far the superior insomnia."

I felt like a junkie hit with my drug of choice as he explored my mouth with his. I reclined back against a pillow and he followed with his body, placing arms on either side of me, trapping me beneath him.

As we kissed, his mouth trailed down to the hollow of my neck. My breasts tingled in anticipation of his touch.

_Don't stop_ , I chanted silently to myself. Just like in the dream.

His hand lightly moved over my breast, tentatively. He looked up at me with his dark, piercing eyes. "Scarlett, I should ask you something," his voice husky, low.

I didn't want to stop for a chat. I wanted him to continue.

"Yes?" I answered, softly, caught in the moment.

"Do you...want this?" he asked carefully, hoping I caught the meaning of his words.

I did. I wanted it more than anything. I loved him.

"Yes."

He wasn't quite convinced.

"Have you ever...done this before?" he asked again.

"No," I answered, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. I knew I was inexperienced compared to other girls at 18. But there had been no one... _like Dev_.

He moved forward so that we were face to face, and leaned next to me on his elbow. I was suddenly curious: _How experienced was he?_

"And you?" I asked as I ran my hand down his cheek. He turned his face to kiss it while holding my gaze.

"I've been with women."

"Women, as in _plural_? How many?" I was suddenly jealous. He was mine. I couldn't imagine another girl touching him, kissing him...and sharing his body in the way I wanted to.

"A few, Scarlett. I can make a list later if you like."

I turned on my side to face him. Never in a million years would I guess that we ever be lying on Mrs. Bashir's precious Persian rug discussing our sexual partners.

"Or a spreadsheet, if that's more efficient," I quipped.

"Okay, I'll create a PowerPoint Presentation of all the women I've seduced and email it to you first thing. Any other pertinent information you need from me?"

"Just one more thing."

"Anything."

"Were you in love with any of them?"

He thought for a moment before answering. "No, I don't think I was."

"You don't sound very sure."

"Time reveals truths that weren't obvious before. I don't believe I knew what love was until...now."

As soon as the words were off of his lips, he gently pushed me on my back and leaned into my body with his. He kissed me hard, hungrily this time. I kissed back, passionately...with a deep need to satisfy my appetite. My arms raked his back...I desperately needed to feel his warm skin underneath.

Reading my mind, he pulled off his sweater and shirt, revealing the chiseled muscle of his chest. He leaned over me, hungry, in a trance, and efficiently unbuttoned my blouse.

I lay there, a willing victim.

Like Rhett that fateful day at the creek, he looked like he wanted to eat me alive. But this time I wanted him to.

His hand brushed over my bra. So close...but not close enough. I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra. He helped to undress me from it and set my bra down next to blouse.

It suddenly occurred to me that I was naked from the waist up...and I fought the temptation to cover myself with my arms. Instead I watched him look at me, studying my breasts and my pale skin.

Before I could wonder what he must think of my humble chest, he spoke. "You're beautiful, Scarlett. Perfect. A goddess."

He slowly traced a pattern down my chest and over my breast with his hand, as if drawing some ancient symbols with his fingers, marking his territory. Then he leaned onto me, his naked chest against mine.

He kissed me hard on the mouth and then traveled down my neck and stopping at the firm nipple of my breast. He kissed it softly, then suckled, the warmth of his mouth sending new sensations throughout my body.

A soft moan escaped my mouth. I wrapped my hand behind his head as confirmation of my approval. He moved up my body, kissed my ear and whispered.

"Scarlett, are you sure you want to keep going? I should warn you that I don't think I could stop myself if we continue like this."

I could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing into me. I suddenly thought about birth control, diseases and all the other things that my high school sex ed class had drilled into my head. It was a mood killer, but I didn't plan to get pregnant at 18. "I'm sure. But I don't have anything...for protection."

He kissed me quickly and smiled slyly. "I have something. Don't worry, I'll take care of everything, my love."

My love. He called me his love.

The fire danced in shadows around the room as he pulled my jeans down over my hips. I instinctively held my knees together for modesty's sake.

"Scarlett, I'm going to help you relax...so you'll enjoy this more."

"Okay. Care to elaborate?" I was instantly nervous.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

I looked up at him, his eyes full of desire, full of... _love_. "Yes," I whispered.

He reached for my white lacey panties—my best pair, _thank god_ —and carefully pulled them off. I almost stopped breathing I was so nervous lying there, completely naked. I duly noted that he still had his pants on.

_Not fair_.

His eyes moved over my nakedness.

I wondered, did I look alright? Did I look like he expected? Were my thighs too big? My stomach flat enough? Did I miss a spot shaving my legs this morning?

In answer to my silent distress, he lifted my left leg to his mouth and kissed the inside of my knee. The he smiled devilishly at me as he cradled my naked thigh in his hand.

"Your legs are very long, Scarlett. It will take me some effort before I reach my destination."

I tried to steady my breathing as I melted in his hands. "And where is that?"

He scrunched up his face while looking up and down my leg and pretended to make a serious mental calculation. "About twenty-four and a half kisses from the tip of your toe."

I said nothing in reply but exhaled the breath I had been holding while awaiting his answer.

He began his journey, his lips soft and teasing on my skin, and I started to feel the way he saw me at that moment: beautiful, young, soft...entirely female. All traces of my previous self-conscious anxiety seemed to evaporate as my primal desire for him—and the pleasure his warm, skillful mouth promised to give—took over.

"Twelve..." he breathed into my skin, followed by kiss number 13. I started to squirm as he made past the halfway point, the anticipation slowly killing me in the most delicious way.

"Twenty-four..." he finished, his face buried in the crook of my thigh. He threw in what I assumed to me a tiny half kiss before landing at his destination, and I moaned in reply, my back arching at this new delicious sensation. He moved his tongue expertly, building my pleasure and ripening my body for what was to come.

It was nirvana.

There was nothing else I could give him, nothing more I could show him of myself. It was the most intimate offering we both made to each other in that moment.

My breathing quickened as the tension built in my belly. He moved faster with his mouth in response to my delirium.

Then it hit me.

Waves of delicious warmth radiated from within me. I couldn't stifle a primal moan, and I nearly screamed his name as I dug my fingers into the back of his head ensuring he would not move away and disrupt my gratification.

And it was over, the pleasure faded from me. My body pooled on the rug, liquid and languid. Dev reclined next to me, stroking my hair, kissing my neck.

"Scarlett, did you like that?" he asked, _the stupidest question of the year._

"No, it was horrible. You'll have to do it again," I teased through my satisfied smile.

"Your wish is my command. But I should let you know that I'm so aroused right now, it's bordering on painful."

I tugged at his belt and kissed him, letting him know I was ready for what would come next. His hand unbuckled and unzipped faster than mine could. He tugged his pants off. My eyes were closed when I realized we were both naked now, lying face to face next to each other. Did I dare open them? It was exhilarating...and nerve-wracking to think what lay beneath.

What do I do now?

Dev grabbed my hand and moved it down his body, showing me what he wanted. He let go and I hesitantly explored on my own...his taunt, firm muscles of his stomach, and then below, I found him, his hardness smooth against my skin. He was bigger than I could have guessed, and I had brief moment of panic when I realized what would happen soon. I glided my hand carefully down his length, in wonder and rapture at his nakedness.

He moaned at my touch, his breath hot in my ear. "Scarlett—god—that feels so nice."

I thought he would pass out, he seemed so overwhelmed by my touch.

He pulled my hand away. "I need just a moment, my love," he uttered, reaching for a pocket in his pants. I looked away, not caring to watch the mechanics of the operation, as he opened the package and put the condom on.

In a moment, he was on top of me, supporting himself with his arms so I wouldn't be crushed under his heavy weight.

I could feel him between my thighs, and I instinctively opened them wider.

"Scarlett, this might hurt a little. I'll try to go slowly. It's important you tell me what feels good and what doesn't." He kissed me and then stared intensely into my eyes, gauging my reaction to his approach.

I felt him enter me— _it did hurt_.

I whimpered.

He kept his eyes locked on me while holding back a bit.

"My love, I'm sorry. I'm trying to be careful," he whispered.

The pain slowly gave way to an intense desire to feel him inside of me— _all the way inside._ I moved my hands down his back and pulled him to me.

"I'm ready, Dev. Please...I want you."

He didn't need me to ask again. He obeyed instantly, moving deeper inside of me. It was pleasure and pain married together in some primal dance performed since the beginning of time.

I sighed in release.

"Dev..."

He kissed me, feverishly. It seemed as if he morphed into some wild animal, lust overtaken his body.

"Scarlett, you feel amazing," he breathed into my neck. "Please, stop me if it hurts."

He moved his hips with mine. It was a new sensation, merging our bodies together in this way. It felt amazing in the deepest part of my being, truly becoming one with him in this physical act. I rocked with him in a smooth, wave-like motion, our breathing synchronized and heavy.

It wasn't long before his body stiffened and his climax overtook him. I stared into his eyes as they were possessed in heady pleasure, connecting to him on a level that would bond me to him forever.

We rested in front of the fireplace, the storm raging on outside. Dev made us a bed of blankets and pillows, and brought me some hot tea to drink. _Like in my dream_ , I noted to myself. But this had been much better than the dream.

"Are you sore, Scarlett?" he asked, tracing his finger over my breast.

I tried to feel if I was. "I don't think so. Should I be?"

"It wouldn't be uncommon if you were. It won't be as painful the next time. It will feel even better...I promise."

I smiled. "The next time, Dev? When will that be?"

"Anytime you want, my love. I am officially your slave."

He kissed my neck and I melted at his touch. Would I always feel this way with him?

We made love again, but this time he didn't move as carefully or restrained. It was primal and animalistic...and delicious. He watched my responses intently, and touched me in ways that brought me over the edge in pure bliss with him. I could have died in his arms, content that I had lived enough for my 18 years, if the future had not promised more of the same with him.

Finally spent, we fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms sometime in the early morning hours.

As I drifted off, I felt safe, secure, loved and treasured—for the first time in my life. With his arms around me, I was a complete woman, complete in my heart, completely in love.

Sometime in the wee morning hours, wrapped up in each other and drifting toward sleep, I heard him whisper.

"I love you, Scarlett."

I knew at that moment I loved him back, but I pretended to be asleep. I wasn't ready to say it.

Unfortunately, that knowledge could never have prepared me for what would happen next.

It must have been late morning when I woke to him shaking me. "Scarlett, wake up. I think my family is back."

#  ~12~

# Day of Reckoning

I rather he had said anything else at that moment, that the house was on fire or that Communists were invading— _anything else but that_.

I sat up confused, terrified, and _buck_ _naked_. "What? They're not coming back for three more days."

He was pulling on his pants in a hurry. "Scarlett, I just saw their car pull up. Please move quickly!"

I scrambled from under the covers, frantically searching for my clothes. Dev handed me my jeans and blouse. I would have made a run for it, but the stairs were perilously close to the entrance from the garage door. There was nowhere to go.

He was helping me button my blouse when Annika bounded into the room. She squinted at us like we might have been ghosts. "Dev, what are you doing _here_?"

Her eyes moved from Dev to me, and then to the pillows and blankets on the floor behind us. The realization of the intimate party she stumbled upon was hitting her, and her face was going white before my eyes.

I could hear Mrs. Bashir coming in behind her, shouting from the hallway, her husband and son along with her.

"Annika, you didn't get your luggage!" she yelled.

Suddenly, just as I got the last button closed on my blouse, the whole Bashir family stood there in front of us.

Typical Rasheed noticed nothing amiss and headed straight for the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator swing open. "Scarlett made biryani. Score!"

I glanced at Mrs. Bashir and then quickly away when I saw that her face was pinched in a horrific expression. I took a few steps away from Dev and tried to act casual.

"I didn't know you came home. Why are you here, Dev?" she asked, averting her eyes from me as I picked up a blanket from in front of the fire and started to fold it while keeping my hands from shaking.

Dev, always cool and controlled, folded his arms across his chest and smiled like nothing was amiss—like the whole family didn't just walk in on two lovers getting dressed in front of their make-shift bed on the Persian rug. As a matter of fact, his tone was strangely icy when he spoke to her. "I needed to check some documents, mother. So I came to Texas at what turned out to be a convenient time."

Mrs. Bashir looked distressed at his words. She pulled her long, cream colored coat tighter around her. "What documents?" she practically sputtered.

There was something else going on here that I had no idea about.

Mr. Bashir seemed as oblivious as Rasheed—or else he put on a good show. He patted Dev on the back and joined his son in the kitchen. "Scarlett, you made my morning! Is that chicken biryani? So much better than plane food."

I finally spoke. My voice sounded small, like a frightened field vole. "Yes, I made it last night." I glanced at Mrs. Bashir's face, but she wasn't looking at me. "I'm glad...you're all home...safely."

Mrs. Bashir was staring at something intently, her brows furrowed. I followed her gaze and turned pale. It was my white lacey panties in the middle of the floor! Annika caught a glimpse and choked. Mortified, I picked them up and hurried to the stairs.

Before I could escape, Dev stood in my path. "See you soon, Scarlett." He grabbed my face and kissed me on the lips in a dramatic display obviously meant for his mother. I heard Annika gasp in horror. As soon as I started to breathe again, I broke free and ran upstairs.

I could hear Mrs. Bashir's demanding voice fade behind me. "Dev, what did you do with that girl?"

That girl.

It was clear that the most passionate, beautiful night of my life with the man I loved was abruptly transformed into some poorly written scene from a raunchy teenage movie.

And I was _that_ girl.

In my room, I met my image in the mirror over the wardrobe. The girl I saw reflected back was fragile and self-pitying. I chastised her.

Toughen up, Scarlett. There are worse things in the world. So, maybe they know. Maybe this is a good thing...to get it out in the open. Dev and I were in love and had nothing to be ashamed of.

He would tell them.

It would be fine.

## ***

A quick knock on the door a few minutes later interrupted my silent dialogue. Annika rushed in and quickly shut the door behind her.

Her eyes were huge and I couldn't tell if she was amused or horrified...or both. "So...when did you start sleeping with my brother?"

"It's not how it looks," I explained, my voice quiet. "I love him. We love each other." Tears were threatening, but I held them at bay.

Annika sat on my bed in shock. She didn't say anything for several painful seconds. Then she looked at me like I was a stranger. "When did this happen? Nope, nope, never mind, I don't want to know the details." She took a deep breath and then spoke to me like I was a child. "Scarlett, you know my brother is a _player_ , right?"

I wasn't sure what she was getting at. "I know he's seen other women."

"Okay, you have to know that you're now _one of those other women_. He was just having fun with you or trying to shock my mother—probably both. Trust me, he always has some angle. You do understand, Scarlett, it's not like he can marry you or something."

My mind stalled. _Of course he could. This was me, Scarlett. Her best friend. Beloved by the Bashir family. An A student. An aspiring writer. A decent cook._

A good girl.

"What do you mean, Annika?"

"Um, you're not quite on the approved marriage material list. I don't know how else to say it." Then she flinched like just smacked with some dreadful reality. "Holy crap, Scarlett, this is such a mess. My mother is literally having a heart attack downstairs. Dev is being so horrible—I mean worse than usual. She's already left a message for her therapist."

"Where is he?" I asked, hoping he was on his way to see me, to make it alright.

"After my mother slapped him, he said something about being tired of all the lies—whatever that means—and then he stormed out. Typical Dev."

"Oh."

Annika stiffly walked to the door, not a crumb of compassion or kindness to toss my way. All the respect I thought we built between each other seemed to have evaporated. "I better go," she said.

"Okay, bye, Annika."

I crawled into my bed and gave my mind permission to drift to all the darkest places it wanted to go.

Was I just another conquest?

Did he set this up to shock his mother?

Did his family think I was some trailer park whore?

Does Annika hate me now?

Through all of it, I wondered...

Dev, where are you?

# ~13~

# The Signs Were There

It was several hours later when my cell phone rang. As I lay in my bed in shattered pieces, I slowly reached for it. It was Dev.

Two hours too late, Dev.

I didn't answer it. A minute later, my phone beeped with a text.

Sorry I left you there, my love. I'm in the middle of something rather important and I don't want you to be involved. I'll be in touch.

He would "be in touch." It's what actors are told by unimpressed directors after a bad audition. My heart sank. Annika was right. He used me.

My phone beeped again with another text.

P.S. I told my mother your panties must have fallen out from the laundry basket. Not sure she bought it. ;)

It was a punch to the gut—making light of the worst day of my life. Needless to say, I didn't text back. I hunkered down in bed for the rest of the day and weakly fought off the waves of self-pity trying to smother me.

## ***

The next morning, I took a long shower and imagined that the hot water held the power to wash away every trace of Dev and the shame I felt having foolishly given him my body and my heart. For a brief moment last night, I thought I finally belonged to someone.

How could I be so stupid?

So trusting?

I wouldn't cry over him anymore, or anyone else. I bit my lower lip hard in an effort to stem the threatening tears. The pain felt strangely good, a reminder I was still alive. I could move on. I could put this behind me.

I was Scarlett. I wouldn't be down for long.

When I stepped out, I seemed to have grown some courage and perspective, so I put on my best poker face, took a deep breath, and joined the family for breakfast downstairs.

Mr. Bashir and Rasheed were the only people around the table and they were uncomfortably solemn. I sat down next to Rasheed and asked him to pass the eggs.

As he did, he leaned into my ear and whispered. "It's world war three around here, Scarlett. I don't know what's going on, but whatever it is, it's big. I recommend you keep your head down."

I scooped some eggs onto my plate and tried to act normal. I guess he didn't yet know that I was the cause of the tension. Poor, naïve Rasheed. I wanted to trade places with him.

Mr. Bashir was reading the Wall Street Journal, but he looked like his mind was a million miles away from the stock market report on page five. I didn't dare speak to him.

Without a word, Annika came in, grabbed her plate and left with her breakfast.

I guess to eat in her room.

Okay, so she hates me now too.

I brought my dish to the sink feeling that it was a mistake to come down. I should have eaten my secret stash of almonds. I could live off of them if I needed to.

On my way out of the kitchen, Mrs. Bashir met me, her expression unreadable. "Scarlett, you're up."

"Um, hi. Good morning," I said, timidly.

"I was just running out to the store. Would you come with me?"

I hesitated. Who would I be getting into the car with? The woman I saw as a mother-figure to me? Or the woman who thought I was destroying her family by moving in on her son?

I had to find out where I stood regardless. Better now than later.

"Sure. Let me get my coat."

## ***

I sat clutching the door-rest in the passenger seat of Mrs. Bashir's Wimbledon white Mercedes as we drove toward the supermarket.

After a few minutes, she broke the cold silence. "It's been nice having you in our home, Scarlett."

"It's been nice staying with you. Thank you again for your hospitality."

What was she getting at?

"You're eighteen now, an adult," she continued.

Ah, I get it now.

"Yes, I am."

Silence. Was that it? Did she ask me to drive to the market with her so she could remind me that I was now old enough to live alone? Mrs. Bashir wasn't known for being subtle. Something more was coming.

We shopped for dinner at the store and then drove home. During the ride back, she finally got down to business.

"Scarlett, this is hard for me to say."

"Okay."

"I used to think you were a good example for Annika. But that's changed now."

Would she say it? I decided to beat her to the punch. "Because I slept with your son?"

Her face turned red. I instantly regretted my brazen approach.

"I thought you were better than that, Scarlett."

I wanted to explain everything to her and maybe gain some compassion. "He told me he loved me," I explained sincerely.

She looked at me like I was the biggest fool in the universe. "Dev is going through some... _personal things_ right now. He's not thinking with a clear head. In a few years, he'll marry someone who shares his values."

Several minutes passed, the two of us with nothing else to say. I wanted to jump out of the car and run away, but I knew what I had to do.

"I'll move out right away," I stated, matter-of-factly. I half expected her to correct me, to tell me that wouldn't be necessary, that she and her family loved me, and that I was always welcome in their house. When she said nothing, but nodded in silent agreement, I had my answer.

## ***

That afternoon I assessed my belongings and made sure I still had my key to dad's trailer. It would be fine, I told myself. I would live there until school was out, and then, if all the stars aligned, I would be going away to school and I could forget about all this.

I would make myself forget.

I was surprised when Annika stumbled in while I was emptying my drawers. "I guess you're leaving, huh?"

I didn't look up. "Yep."

She sat down on my bed, her anxiety palpable. "I just don't get it, Scarlett. Why do you have to have _every_ guy around?" Her voice was angry, bitter.

I looked at her, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"Everyone I ever liked, you always seem to catch their eye. I could live with that, but I _really liked Rhett_. I told you that, and I thought you would back off of him for my sake. And then, to top things off, you sleep with my brother and turn my mother into a basket case. You couldn't even leave _my own brother_ alone! And he's the biggest asshole alive!"

For a moment, I thought I would tell her about everything: Rhett's attempted rape, the letters and phone calls between me and Dev, how I never meant to hurt anyone...how, at the heart of it all, I was just looking for someone to love me.

Instead, I said nothing. I just stacked my clothes in neat piles, my back to her, in stony silence.

After a few minutes, I heard the door shut behind her.

# Dev's Journal

# Entry #118

It's been weeks since I last heard from her.

I fucked up. I know it now. My rage against my mother and her insidious lies took over, and I honestly can't really say where it ended and my feelings for Scarlett began. The look on my mother's face when she found us—it was beyond gratifying and that scares me. My capacity to disconnect and cut through someone's very soul...it terrifies me. But I can't help but delight in the fact that Scarlett is the last girl on earth she would match me with.

I know, I'm an asshole for that.

Hell...it's a hideous mess and I understand why she is shunning me. Why do I always seem to hurt her? I can still feel her in my arms, smell her, taste her. No woman will ever compare to how she felt. I'd stake my life on it. I'm ruined now.

I should have told her everything. I wrote the whole saga down, but it's probably too late. I can't sleep. I almost have trouble breathing.

Is this what it's like to come off heroine?

Annika promised she would give the letter to her.

I really don't have the heart to write anything more.

-Dev

# ~14~

# Home, Sweet Home

Living back in the mobile home was harder than I thought it would be. I was now used to the clean luxury of the Bashir's stately house, and the trailer seemed gross and tiny in comparison. I gave the trailer a good scrubbing and washed all the linens, but I couldn't wash away the dowdy, discount store décor.

With both of our efforts together, Annika and I managed to avoid each other completely at school. It was better that way since I would be tempted to ask about Dev.

It was hard enough that he called me every day for two weeks after I left, and that I had to constantly delete his emails so I wouldn't be tempted to read them and obsess over the whole situation more than I was already. I made myself promise to ignore him, and by the third week, the calls and emails stopped abruptly.

Sometimes, at night, I wondered if I was making a mistake—if I should at least give him a chance to explain. But then I would quickly remember Mrs. Bashir's word that he would marry someone who "shares his values," and how Annika pointed out that he was just using me to get to his mother.

It made sense. At least, it made more sense to me than any other explanation for his attention. No way had he loved me. I was just another notch on his bedpost.

I told my dad I was back at the trailer on my own, but didn't mention why. And he didn't ask. He tried to be supportive, but he had enough of his own problems.

"I'll send you some money," he offered during one of his weekly phone calls.

"I have some saved up, dad. So I'm fine. Remember, I worked all summer?"

He coughed in response. It sounded worse than before. Why wasn't he getting better?

"Dad, you're still sick. I want to come out and see you for spring break. I'll make you some chicken soup."

"Oh," he answered, guilty. "Renee's got me taking her on some Las Vegas trip, to see the circus del something."

"That's cirque du soleil, dad."

I wondered why he was traveling when it was obvious he was still sick. "You should stay home and get better. Go see another doctor. The antibiotics are obviously not working."

He coughed again in reply, validating my concern. "Don't worry about me, hon. You just focus on your studies. You're graduatin' soon, smarty-pants."

"And _you_ better be there for the ceremony."

"I wouldn't miss it for anything. You can finally meet Renee."

I sighed in defeat. I guess that chick was never going away.

After we hung up, I shuffled into the tiny kitchen and made myself a peanut butter sandwich for dinner. I noticed the pile of mail on the counter and decided to go ahead and pay whatever bills were due. I could carry my weight now that I was an adult, as Mrs. Bashir had so sharply pointed out.

I noticed a thick envelope from the University of Washington. I knew without looking that it was another acceptance letter. It was bittersweet, like winning the lottery while stuck on a deserted island. I had a pile of acceptance letters to the top schools in the country, but no way to pay for them.

I licked the peanut butter off of my fingers and opened it. My heart stopped when I read the first sentence.

We are pleased to inform you that you've been accepted into the University of Washington with a full-tuition scholarship.

I almost choked on the sandwich. A full ride scholarship!

I was going to college!

I wanted to hug someone, celebrate with champagne, dance around the room. I looked around the empty trailer and noted the bitter irony: I had the greatest news in the world and no one to share it with.

I finished my sandwich and tried to imagine how much better my life would be in Seattle. Seattle was as far away from New York as one could get— a sign, surely, that Dev was a mistake. _I would easily forget him with 3000 miles between us_ , I lied to myself.

## ***

The day of graduation, I began to feel a spark of hope for my future. I wanted more than anything to leave this town and start a new life.

Dad and Renee would fly in that morning and meet me at the ceremony, and we planned to have dinner afterwards. I just had to get through the day knowing Annika would be there with her entire family watching.

_I can handle this_ , I told myself, while wrestling with my hair in the mirror.

When I found my seat at the auditorium, I scanned the crowd for my dad. Surely he was out there. As I searched for him, I spotted the Bashir family surrounded by their relatives, no doubt flown in from all over the world just to see Annika walk across a stage and grab a blank piece of paper.

She had no idea what it was like to be alone.

After we were officially graduated, I ran into the crowd looking for my dad. He wasn't anywhere. I checked my cell phone.

No calls.

No texts.

When I looked up from my phone, Annika was standing there in her robe, her face distressed. "Scarlett...can I talk to you?"

I wanted to find my dad. I almost felt in my bones if I didn't find him, I would collapse in tears. "Sorry Annika, I'm trying to find my dad. He's here somewhere."

"I just wanted to say...I'm sorry."

She got my attention now. She looked tortured, so I listened as she spilled her guts. "I was so cruel to you. And I didn't know what was really going on. I'm just so sorry, Scarlett. Can you please forgive me? Can we please be friends again?"

I was dumbfounded. It was my turn now. The words came out fast. "I'm sorry I went on a walk with Rhett. I don't know what I was thinking. And about your brother..."

"You don't have to say anything about my brother. I shouldn't have interfered. It's so weird, he's harassed me for months, asking about you. He sent me this letter to give you, but I stupidly held onto it...for a while."

She pulled out a sealed envelope. A letter from Dev. Curse the fates for doing this to me!

She placed it in my hand and hugged me tightly. "I'm so glad we're friends again...there's so much to tell you."

Before she could fill me in on what boy she now had a crush on, or what paint color she picked for her dorm room, my cell phone rang. "It's probably my dad," I explained to Annika as I answered. "Dad?"

"Hello, Scarlett?" The voice was female, middle aged, and from the sound of it, fifteen years this side of a severe smoking habit.

"Yes, this is Scarlett."

"This is Renee, your dad's friend."

Relief. They were here! "Oh good, where are you guys? I'm down by the stage." I looked around the bleachers for a woman talking on a cell phone and undoubtedly holding a cigarette.

"Scarlett, your dad is in the hospital. We rushed to ER early this morning and missed the flight. I got your number from his cell."

My world stopped in that moment.

Hospital?

"What do you mean? What's wrong? Where is he?" I demanded.

"He has pneumonia and it's pretty bad. They've got him in some kind of coma so they can work on his lungs."

"What?"

I was grateful that Annika put her hand on my shoulder to let me know she was there as I rambled into the phone, frantic. "Why didn't you call sooner?!" I screamed into the phone. I was losing it. "I could have been there by now!"

Her reply came back as a cold sneer. "Well, hon, this is me telling you as soon as I could. He's at Saint David's downtown. You have my number if you need anything."

"So you're not at the hospital with him?"

Silence. Then...

"I can't take being in those places," she answered, feebly.

_That selfish bitch._ I guess she wanted me to console her and say, "No problem, Renee! Leave my dad alone in a coma because gray paint and bed pans give you the heebie-jeebies. You poor thing!" I tried to control myself. I just needed to get to him. "I'll be there as soon as I can get a flight."

After I hung up and filled in Annika on the situation, she hugged me and this time I hugged her back. It felt good to have a friend again.

"Let me go with you. My parents will just have to suck it up at the graduation party."

It was a gracious offer, but there was no way I was going to incur more of Mrs. Bashir's wrath by stealing away her precious daughter on this special day.

"No, it's fine. I'd rather go alone."

# ~15~

# Every New Beginning Comes from Some Other Beginning's End

Seven hours later and $654.35 charged to my credit card, I was at St. David's Hospital. I was moving so fast, I nearly knocked over a pregnant lady on my way to my dad's room. But I made it. I was there. I would be with my dad, finally, after all these months. It was a reunion long overdue, and now it could be too late.

I wouldn't let my mind go there until it had to.

An overly made-up woman of about 45 hard-lived years met me outside his door. Her eyes were wide and scared beneath her helmet of dyed and stiffly styled red hair, and I knew in an instant...

He was gone.

She had the same look my dad had on his face when I first asked him about where my mother was. I could never forget his face even though I was barely three.

"She's gone, Scarlett," he uttered, his voice strangled, tortured, as he buttoned up my coat. "You don't have a mother anymore."

I turned the door handle to his hospital room, afraid of what I would find behind it.

"I'm sorry, Scarlett," she uttered, her voice strangled and tortured in just the same way.

## ***

I stayed in the tiny apartment my dad shared with Renee while we made his funeral arrangements. It was going to be a small, quick burial with just the few friends he had made in town, and me, the only relative I knew of.

She made a huge show of paying all the bills for the casket and burial plot from their joint account, _no doubt full of his hard-earned money_ —none of which I would ever see. I didn't care about his money though. Out of the few possessions my dad had, there was only one thing I wanted.

But it turned out she got her greedy hands on that, too.

When I brought my dad's lone dark blue suit to the funeral home for the undertaker, I asked him about my dad's gold cross.

"Your mother already took it," he answered, his eyes kind and full of sympathy.

I would have marched into her apartment and punched her in the face if I had any fight left in me. But I was spent, unable to sleep. I needed to last one more day and then he would finally be laid to rest.

I would figure out how to get home later.

Without his gold cross.

## ***

At the cemetery, a local pastor said a short prayer and quoted some scripture and that was that. Renee and I placed roses on his casket and he was lowered into the ground.

Goodbye, dad. You did the best you could. I love you.

The skies were threatening rain, and I felt a few drops give their warning. Renee made a big deal about getting her hair done and her nails freshly painted in dad's "favorite color," some obnoxious shade of hot pink. I prayed it would rain if only to ruin her hair. And if God threw in a little acetone to ruin those gaudy nails as well, that would be nice too.

A moment later, the rain came quickly and fell in torrents. It didn't take long before I was alone with my father, everyone else running from the spring shower as if it contained flesh eating bacteria.

Renee was the first to leave. "Oh no, my hairdo!" she shrieked as she ran to her car, her stilettos digging into the fresh mud.

I was profoundly relieved. I could finally cry now that I was alone, and I did, keeping pace with the pounding rain. From somewhere deep inside, years of repressed tears turned to sobs and released in rivers sliding down my body mingling with the cold deluge from the sky.

I wept for my dead father, for my alcoholic mother I would never know, and for the orphan I was now...but had really been for all intents and purposes since I was two. I wept for my damaged relationship with the Bashirs, and for hurting Annika.

And I wept for Dev.

I had forced my mind to move on from him, but my heart was still broken and bruised trying to hold on to some hope that he cared about me.

Why couldn't I just let him go?

When I was empty of tears I just stood there, a sort of zombie transfixed by the muted colors of the trees in the rain and the rows of dreary gray headstones against the bright manicured green of the lawn. The impossibility of moving on—literally and figuratively—paralyzed me. There was nowhere for me to go...and no one to come get me.

I was utterly alone in the world now.

An hour passed, maybe two. I wasn't sure. As I sank into the saturated ground, frozen in my loneliness, time seem to stand still.

At some point, I felt I left my body. I could almost see myself, a slight figure in an ill-fitting, hastily purchased, black dress, standing in front of freshly dug grave. I was numb and cold, but I didn't care. I didn't care for anything anymore.

When I saw a dark figure move toward me in the rain, I watched with the indifferent curiosity of a ghost. As he approached me, my mind registered it was Dev, but I had no reaction.

I'm hallucinating.

Beneath the concern and worry, his face looked beautiful. Perfect. How I loved that face. The rain caught on his long lashes over his dark, soulful eyes. I focused on a solitary drop hanging onto the tip of one lash...holding...holding, the surface tension fighting to stay intact. And then, depleted of will, it gave up and fell into a stream of water racing down his cheek.

_He's talking to me. What is he saying?_ I couldn't comprehend the words he spoke to me.

Then everything started to turn black. I fought the wave of dizziness, but I couldn't hold on any longer. Like the raindrop, I simply let go.

I'm falling.

Moments later, I woke slightly to the feeling of his tight embrace and a rocking motion over a hurried gait, the rain pounding on my upturned face.

He's carrying me.

When he shut the passenger door to his SUV, my senses returned. My head pounded with a headache, so I slouched against the seat and turned toward the car window in an effort to escape the throbbing. I heard him get into the driver's seat next to me, and felt him lean over me to check if I was conscious. I made sure he saw I was, but I avoided eye contact, believing it would lead to talking. And I had nothing to say to anyone.

# Dev's Journal

# Entry #126

I've never been accused of being impulsive; that's always been Annika's weakness. I've never been called indecisive; that's Rasheed. I think things through. Consult. Strategize. And then I execute, having first calculated the precise risks and expected outcome.

So why I did I just commit the most reckless, impulsive action of my life without any notion of how it will play out?

Fucking heroine, that's why.

I'm sitting here staring at her sleeping form under the taupe striped Four Seasons duvet like a junkie would a needle filled with his particular poison. I want it—I want her so badly, I believe I could die of withdrawal. The bitter irony is that she likely hates me, but even that couldn't stop me from coming to her aid...and if I'm brutally honest, it's so she can come to mine and rescue me from this dark crevasse I'm sinking into. I can already feel the power and lust for money going to my head, and the rage from my mother's lie fueling a fire that pushes me onward. But my connection to Scarlett keeps me out of danger and somewhat in touch with my own humanity.

The truth is that I need her more than she needs me and I despise my vulnerable position.

God, she's lovely. What a gift it was to feel her again, if somewhat chastely and out of expediency. It took all my strength to resist doing more when I pulled her wet clothes off from her perfect body, one that most women would give their right arm to have. It would have been a ghastly crime given her current condition. Unlike my half-brother, I'm a gentleman.

Still, I entertained the thought.

I'll be content to watch her—for now. Her chest rising and falling, cradling perfect breasts...breasts only I have ever touched. It kills me to think they could be kissed and caressed by someone else. I can't allow it. I won't allow it.

Calculate the risks. Think this through. Do it now before she wakes up.

If she accepts me...I will be as high as Willie Nelson on an extended layover in Colorado—a dead man resurrected by her love.

And if she doesn't?

Don't fucking go there.

Just watch her and be here when she wakes. Hopefully it's soon.

-Dev

#  ~16~

# The Box

I vaguely recall the SUV pulling up to a large hotel, but how I got up to the room is a blur of images.

Dev's arm wrapped tightly around my waist as we walked through the lobby.

The curious look of an older couple at the check-in desk reacting to my soaked clothes and hair.

The red glow of the digital numbers over the elevator door moving slowly from one to nine.

Standing next to the bed with Dev efficiently stripping off my cold, wet dress and then moving me under the blankets.

The bed was delicious. I hadn't slept for the past two nights and now I couldn't stay awake if a parade marched through the room.

When I woke in a daze a few hours later, the room was dark and empty. I wondered if I had, in fact, imagined him.

Where is Dev?

I fell back asleep believing he was just a hallucination. I would worry about the details of how I got to the hotel when I felt better. Sleep was calling me back.

Sometime later, I awoke refreshed, my senses alert. The room was dark except for a crack of light coming from the security lights in the parking lot outside. I could see Dev sitting in the armchair next to the window watching me.

"Feeling better?" He sounded anxious.

I sat up in bed and quickly realized I was in only my bra and panties. I pulled the blanket up over my chest.

Too late for modesty, Scarlett.

I noticed that my luggage and purse were neatly stacked in the corner of the room. "You got my things." I was startled by the quiet and weak sound of my voice.

"Ah yes, I had the extreme pleasure of meeting Renee. Interesting lady." He sat down on the edge of the bed next to me and pulled something out of his pocket. "I fetched this for you as well." He dangled my dad's gold cross in front of me.

I snatched it from him, not bothering to hide the emotion on my face. It was as if he had returned a piece of my dad to me. "How did you get this?"

He raised his eyebrows like he was reliving some uncomfortable memory. "When I tracked her down, she struck me as someone who might be tempted to hang onto some things that I know your father would prefer you have. If there's anything else you want, I'm happy to go back."

I imagined Renee facing Dev and suppressed a smile. He could be pretty damn intimidating when he wanted to. I should know.

"No, this is all I wanted." I met his eyes. There was so much emotion between us, it was almost unbearable.

He grabbed my hand and held it tightly. I could tell he was holding back from doing more. "I'm so sorry about your father, Scarlett. I came as soon as Annika told me."

I looked away and pulled my hand from his. Dev being here was too much to process.

But he came.

"Why are you shutting me out?" he asked, almost pleading.

I bit my lower lip trying to gain the courage to say what I needed to say. "I know what you did, Dev. You don't have to keep pretending to care about me because my dad died. I'm a big girl. I can take the truth."

"Pretending? You think I'm _pretending_ to care about you?"

"You're very good at it. You had everyone fooled, especially your mother, which seemed to be the entire point, right?"

He flinched at my words, and then moved back to the chair. He folded his arms and rubbed his chin, thinking. "I know it was difficult for you...when my family returned. I'm sorry you had to go through that. I was... _insensitive_ that morning. But I was wrapped up in my own problems, Scarlett."

"What problems?" I asked, confused.

He looked taken aback. "Didn't you read my letter?"

"No. Annika just gave it to me at graduation. I haven't had a chance...with everything going on."

"Oh." He shifted uneasily in the chair. "But you ignored my calls, my emails. Why?"

Didn't he realize what everyone else did? We couldn't be together.

"I didn't see the point. Sorry," I offered.

He just stared at me and I tried to pretend I didn't see the pain in his eyes. He stood up in a hurry. "We better get you back home, Scarlett."

"I can take a flight."

Only after I said this did it occur to me that I had probably maxed out my credit card. _You stupid, stubborn girl._

"I can arrange a flight for you, if you wish, but I would prefer someone keep an eye on you. In case you faint again. You scared the hell out of me."

"Okay. If that's what you want."

He paused, weighing my response, and almost said something but stopped himself.

"Thanks," I offered quietly. Did I look as pathetic as I sounded?

"We can drive straight through to Texas. I'll be in the lobby when you're ready."

As he quickly headed for the door I regretted everything I had said. I wanted so badly to tell him I loved him for coming after me...that I thought about him all the time...that there could be no one but him.

But I didn't.

The heavy hotel door shut behind him with a sickening thud.

## ***

Dev didn't say a word to me all the way to Colorado, and when he spoke it was out of necessity. "Looks like a spring storm. I don't have any chains and it would be stupid to risk it."

It was dark outside, but I could see the snow flurries painting the road white farther up ahead. A flashing sign signaled that chains would be needed if we were to continue.

"What should we do?" I asked. I never had to deal with snow in Texas.

"There's a decent looking hotel off the highway. We'll just stay the night here and reassess in the morning." He looked at me tenderly. "You could probably use some more rest."

We pulled into the worn but clean Happy Pines Lodge and Dev checked us in while I huddled by a heater in the lobby. When he returned, he looked apologetic.

"Sorry, Scarlett. They only had one room. Apparently we're not the only ones seeking shelter from the storm tonight."

I almost laughed out loud.

Of course there's only one room.

"I can sleep on the floor," he offered.

"Thanks."

## ***

Room 205 wasn't half bad and had a rustic, cozy feel. Dev put the luggage in the closet and then turned to me as I took off my coat. "I don't know about you, but I'm famished. There's a restaurant downstairs. Shall we go?" he asked.

The last thing I wanted was to sit across from him eating Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes from a box. "I'm not hungry."

"Contrary to what you must believe, you're not a squirrel, Scarlett." He looked at my small bag of roasted almonds on the desk. "You can't live off of nuts."

"I'm fine, Dev. Thanks."

"I'll bring you something," he decided, the matter settled. Then he left.

When he was gone, I took a long, hot shower. I thought about the letter and wondered what was in it that was so important. I made up my mind I was going to read it that night.

I towel-dried my long curls and then put on my robe. Dev was still gone, so I opened up my purse where I had kept his letter since Annika first gave it to me. When I couldn't find it, I emptied out my purse on the desk and sorted through the piles.

Not here? Dammit, where could it be?

I carefully went through my luggage. Nothing.

Then I spied Dev's overnight bag. _Could he have taken it back from me?_

I glanced at the door. Surely he would be gone for a little while longer. I carried the leather carry-on to the bed and opened up the first exterior pocket, the most obvious place he would have stashed it. There was a leather-bound journal inside. I flipped it open and glimpsed pages of his neat handwriting—all his personal and private thoughts at my fingertips. I considered reading it for a moment.

Just a page.

_No. Put it back_ , I told myself. It's not meant for my eyes, and I wouldn't invade his privacy in that way. I slammed the journal shut and it to the pocket, but I noticed it wouldn't slide all the way in. Something was blocking it. I pulled out the offensive item, a black velvet box. A jewelry box.

What is this?

I thought it could be the box Renee kept my dad's necklace in. I opened it, expecting it to be empty, but instead there sat a large diamond engagement ring. _What is he doing with an engagement ring?_ It looked like two carats set in intricately etched platinum. Someone had taken great care picking it out.

It was perfect.

Before I could think of all the reasons he would have this ring, the door opened. Dev stood there with a take-out box in his hand, no doubt surprised at seeing me rifle through his things— _again_. He looked horrified when he spotted the box in my hand, as if I found something sinister among his possessions—something that revealed a deep, dark secret.

"What are you doing?" he gasped.

I snapped the box closed.

"Sorry. I was looking for something," I said, dropping the ring back into his bag and standing up.

He walked in carefully, set the take-out on the table, his eyes staying on me the whole time, like he was approaching someone with a loaded gun. He was trying to read my face.

"What's the ring for?" I asked, forcing myself to sound casual.

He moved in closer to me, his gaze intense and serious. I almost looked away, his eyes burning through me. "It's an engagement ring. I bought it for you five months ago," he answered, his voice solemn. "I've been carrying it around with me like an idiot ever since."

I wasn't expecting that. Of all the things he could have said, I never would have guessed it would be that. A million thoughts ran through my head, but no words came out.

He continued. "You might as well know. I was planning to ask you to marry me...after you graduated." He brushed my wet hair back from my cheek. His touch was electric, and my breath quickened. "No matter what you think...or what anyone else has told you, I love you, Scarlett. You've completely enchanted me in every possible way and it kills me to imagine living without you—no, it kills to me imagine taking a _single breath_ without you. You're my oxygen."

I could feel my eyes filling with tears. I tried to hold them back, but failed. I looked down at the cheap hotel carpeting, trying to hide my emotion. This was so unexpected. "But you can't _marry_ me. Your family wouldn't allow it..." I reasoned, rejecting this new reality that broke all my carefully constructed paradigms. When I blinked, I felt the build-up of hot tears release and roll down my cheek.

He moved in so close I imagined I could hear his heart beating. But it was mine, racing, pounding in my ears. He tenderly lifted my chin up so he could see my face. "There's no one standing between us, my love, except for us. I know you're young, but we can wait. I just want— _need you_ —near me. I can't explain it, but I found you just when I had lost myself, when I didn't know who I was anymore. Scarlett—"

Out of words, he leaned down and kissed my tears away on each cheek, slowly, methodically. He made his way to my mouth and kissed me carefully, as if I were delicate porcelain and could break. Then he pulled back and searched my eyes for some sign that I felt the same way.

I was overwhelmed.

Marry me?

My logical brain went to work. I was 18 and just out of high school—we were _both_ so young. _But he loved me. My god, he loved me._ I was immediately high on the revelation. I kissed him back, hard on the mouth, the intensity of my feelings taking possession of my body.

He read me perfectly and opened my robe, his warm hand slipping under it and around my naked waist, then pulled me tightly to him so I could feel the desire, hard and throbbing, in his body.

Suddenly no words were needed. My body was trained to his touch and burned for it—I knew it would always burn for it. My robe fell to floor and I stood before him naked as his mouth continued to cover me in kisses, our hands exploring each other, bordering on needy and desperate, our passion threatening to conquer us both.

He pulled my legs up around his hips and carried me to the bed, his lips staying on mine, his tongue tasting and probing, causing shockwaves of sensations to radiate to my center.

I knew in that moment, this man would always have some power over me, no matter what was to come. I had tasted him and now I was an addict. I couldn't break this addiction if I wanted to.

He laid me on the bed, then undressed quickly, his own clothing the last barrier between us. His arousal was breathtakingly large and firm against me as he covered my body with his own, his warmth insulating me from the cool room temperature.

"Tell me you love me, Scarlett," he whispered into my ear, his breath warm and moist, his hand moving my legs apart to accommodate him. I yielded to his touch, a slave to my master, and opened for him.

But I couldn't form words to answer him as he pushed into me, hard, warm, smooth, stretching me, filling me—I was trapped in heady ecstasy. I threw my head back, his lips at my breast now, suckling, then biting, driving me crazy with pleasure.

He moved into me, rhythmically, as if to the beat of some ancient primal drum, and then he locked his dark eyes onto mine, impatient. "Say it, Scarlett. Don't leave me hanging," he demanded through heavy breaths, his body working hard with my hips, never slowing in pace. "You love me. Say it out loud, or I'll go mad."

I finally came up from air and pulled his face to me, my mouth kissing his cheek, then making its way to his ear. "I love you," I whispered quietly. They were the truest words I had ever spoken, but the most frightening. Saying it out loud was a weight lifted off of my heart.

He gazed at me with such intensity, a smile breaking out on his handsome face, our bodies merged together and our beating hearts mere centimeters from each other. He looked as if I'd just given him the greatest gift in the world, and it was only a few words I had stubbornly held onto out of fear. The truth of them had been clear to me for a long time, only I was such a fool.

I didn't know what the future would hold or what obstacles we would face, but what I did know was enough for now.

It was everything.

"I love you, Dev," I said again, a bit louder, choking back tears of happiness for our new life together or maybe for the eternal grief for the loss of my father—most likely a bit of both. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on tight, never wanting to let go.

And I didn't.

THE END

# Epilogue

# Hindsight is 20/20

Scarlett O'Hara was smart, but just when it seemed she had it all figured out, she couldn't stop herself from stupidly sabotaging her own happy ending.

It turns out that I had more in common with her than just a first name.

That night in the cheap roadside lodge when I discovered that Dev loved me was the beginning of what would be the best summer of my life, full of stolen kisses and passion-filled nights. We offered ourselves to each other—mind, soul and body—freely, without reservation.

But something still irked me. Why marriage now, and so young?

Regardless, I decided that nothing would ever get me to take his ring off my finger. Touching the hard, smooth edges served as a reminder that I wasn't dreaming this all up. Belonging to Dev was my new blissful reality.

After the snowed melted the next day, we drove toward Texas, but I could tell he sensed my dread.

I didn't want to go back.

I wasn't finished mourning my father, and returning to the home in which he raised me was too much.

"The east coast is beautiful right now, Scarlett," he said, smiling with a bit of mischief in his dark eyes.

A green and white sign on the highway read, _Welcome to Texas_. I didn't have to ponder it for another second. "Let's go."

He grabbed my hand, his thumb passing lightly over the engagement ring—maybe his reminder also that this was not a dream—and kept driving. I was sure a part of him didn't want to go home either.

In his New York apartment, we dreamed and schemed beneath his crisp, clean gray sheets at night. And we spent the days exploring the hidden secrets of his city, something he took great pleasure in, almost like he was introducing me to a secret lover.

During one long walk through the financial district, we stopped in front of a tall, mirrored skyscraper—the place he would start working as an investment banker in just a week's time. A large sign loomed above us. _Franklin Bank_.

"So, are you ready to begin your career as a soulless money-grubbing banker in Manhattan?" I teased him as I tried to estimate the number of floors towering above us. They seemed to disappear into the clear summer sky above. Could there be fifty? A hundred? It was nothing I had ever seen in Fairview, Texas.

Something dark passed over his face, but he seemed to fight it back with a forced smile. "You know, if I have you here with me, I'm in no danger of that happening. Your goodness will balance out my unbridled greed."

"Ah, so together we'll be...morally mediocre?"

He laughed, but then his face became serious. He put his arms around my waist and pulled me to him.

I knew what was coming.

"Stay with me, Scarlett. We'll get married and you can go to school in New York. I know you're young, but I can't live without you. I need you here."

This wasn't the first time he broached the subject. He knew I had a full scholarship to the University of Washington in Seattle and I was set to move there in the fall.

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to stay with him. But a part of me didn't trust the happiness laid out in front of me on a silver platter. It was too easy. Too perfect. What if it evaporated and I was on my own again? I was at the precipice of being independent and fulfilling the dreams that I had carefully crafted since I was 10. I convinced myself that this opportunity was too hard-won to let go so easily.

"Dev, this is something I worked for my whole life. It wouldn't be the same if you...just took care of everything. I want to stand on my own two feet. I want to do this on my own. I _need_ to do this on my own."

He tried to hide the disappointment in his eyes, but it was there.

## ***

He asked me to stay with him every day until he saw me off at the airport for my trip home. He had the darkest pain on his face when I kissed him goodbye.

"You can cancel your flight. It's not too late. Please stay with me, Scarlett. I need you...more than you know."

"You'll be fine. We'll be fine." I tried to console him. Why did he look so tortured? I was just a flight away, five hours max. We could see each other every weekend and holidays and all summer.

He grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me close. "Whatever happens to us— _to me_ — promise you'll...find me. Promise you won't give up on me?" His hands squeezed my arms a little too hard, bordering on painful, and the intensity in his voice scared me.

_He's being crazy,_ I told myself.

I gave him my most lighthearted and reassuring smile. "Give up on you? Are you planning on getting lost in the Amazon or something?"

He didn't laugh. "Promise me, Scarlett."

"I promise."

Unfortunately, only hindsight is 20/20.

I should have stayed.

Read the enthralling and seductive sequel, 24 ½ Kisses, now available everywhere e-books are sold!

When a fire ignites between two people, it's almost impossible to put it out.

Or to forget.

In the hustle and bustle of New York City, Scarlett thought there was zero chance she'd run into her first love, Dev, her handsome ex who's extraordinary financial success seemed to change him into a power-hungry womanizer, shattering her heart into a million pieces.

She was wrong.

Forced to subject herself to one of his cruel, vindictive head games or lose her dream job, Scarlett has to figure out how to reconcile with their past in order to move on from him...and into the arms of "safe" and uncomplicated Eric.

When years of pent up emotion, well-hidden secrets, and unfinished business manifests itself into a night of extreme passion—bordering on violent—Scarlett knows what she must do.

But is it too late?
P   
rologue to 24 ½ Kisses

I paid the grumpy cabbie his twenty bucks and watched as the yellow New York City taxi pull away from the busy sidewalk. It was bone-chillingly cold so I pulled my coat tighter around my chest.

_Appropriate weather today_ , I thought bitterly to myself.

As I walked into the lobby of the expensive high-rise—a lobby I had walked through countless times, usually hanging on Dev's strong arm—I noted the irony of the date. We had lasted exactly two years before he slipped away from me, leaving behind my shredded heart.

I should have stayed with him. I never should have gone to Seattle.

_No_ , I quickly corrected myself. _He should have waited for me. Our love should have been strong enough to withstand whatever demons he was wrestling with._

The elevator door opened to his floor and I took a deep breath and steadied myself for what was to come. I had to end this so we could go on with our lives.

But I had to do it face-to-face.

I remembered that first year I was in Seattle; he had called me every day and visited so often he bragged about earning enough frequent flyer miles for a first class trip to Mongolia.

And then it all changed.

After he was promoted to a director at Franklin Bank—something that made him a sensation in the banking world and an instant New York celebrity of sorts—I stopped hearing from him; and the few times when he did talk to me, he was dark, cryptic and moody. When I pleaded with him to open up to me—to finally tell me what dark secrets he was holding onto—he would only beg me to move to New York, putting me in a no-win situation.

I often cried myself to sleep over him, enough tears to fill the Atlantic. This relationship wasn't healthy for either of us _._

When I made it to his door I almost chickened out. I thought about walking past it and taking the other elevator back to the lobby. Although we drifted apart and had become like strangers, the finality of giving his ring back was confronting a reality I half-hoped wasn't true. It was the difference between knowing your father is dead and then actually seeing his lifeless body being lowered into a grave. It was final.

You have to do this, Scarlett.

Pushing myself forward, I rang the doorbell. It was early Sunday morning, but he didn't answer. I had texted him the night before letting him know I was coming but I guess he ignored it.

That wasn't a surprise, but not being home on a Sunday morning seemed odd. It was the only time during the week he allowed himself to catch up on sleep. Perhaps he was out of town?

I pulled out my key and slid it into the lock. He had insisted I take my copy to Seattle and then, he predicted, when I missed him so much that I had to move back to New York immediately, he wouldn't need to give me another one.

I made a mental note to return it.

The key turned, and I was slightly surprised. He didn't change the locks, I guess. I pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside. I was instantly consumed by darkness even though it was morning and the apartment had floor to ceiling windows with a view of the city. We had spent many hours gazing out of those windows, his arms wrapped around me from behind, kissing my neck and pointing out important buildings in the distance.

The light in the apartment was the reason he chose it.

I clicked on the lights and noticed that he had installed industrial blinds on our beautiful windows throughout the entire apartment. I thought maybe he was asleep, so I checked the bedroom, but his bed was neatly made and empty.

My eyes lingered over the white, crisp comforter and the dark wood platform frame, and I felt a familiar tingle in my stomach recalling the nights I shared with him in that bed. For an instant, I could feel his breath on my neck and his lingering kisses...the heat of his body against mine.

Deep in my core, I knew there would be no one else who could make me feel they way he did. I hated that. He had ruined me in so many ways.

This was going to be harder than I thought. Maybe it was too hasty...

Oddly, something seemed off about his room. His guitar, which sat next to his bed, was gone. He always had to read "something philosophical or spiritual" at night before going to bed, but the nightstand was empty. Where was his Voltaire, Plato—our Sufi poetry with the seductive and enlightening verses he would whisper into my ear late at night?

I left the bedroom and pulled the curtains opened in the living room revealing an impressive view of the Upper East Side. I hadn't been to his New York apartment in several months, and it felt like a stranger lived here now—not Dev.

At least, not _my_ Dev.

While I surveyed the sterile room, it hit me all at once: all reminders of me were completely gone. The impressionist floral paintings I picked out from that street artist in Soho were now replaced with expensive-looking silver and black modern pieces. The purple and blue vase that reminded me of the color of Texas bluebonnets in the spring—the one he kept full of fresh flowers from the farmer's market—was missing. And I couldn't find his framed copy of _our picture_ , the one of him kissing my cheek in front of the steely cold Puget Sound from the deck of a slow moving ferry. I could still remember how his lips felt on my skin that day, but I guess he was in a hurry to forget.

I was here to break up with him, but it seems he'd beat me to it. It hurt more than I would admit because I knew that part of me came to New York holding out hope we would mend things. Knowing that he had already moved on without me caused me to feel _suddenly_ _desperate_ _to fix this._

My mind worked quickly: I had two years left at the University of Washington—I could transfer. I would move in and make it all better again.

Yes, when he comes home, we'll fall into each other's arms and pick up where we left off that hot, steamy summer.

As I worked out my plan, I remembered something he'd said to me once during one of his visits to Seattle, just before everything fell apart.

" _This might seem like a crazy idea, but just hear me out." He stroked my cheek as we lay facing each other in an oversized Queen Victoria bed, tucked inside the cozy and quaint bed and breakfast overlooking the Pacific Ocean._

" _Tell me," I purred, his touch intoxicating against my skin. I had other things on my mind—sinful things—but reluctantly gave him my full attention._

He sat up in bed, suddenly energized. "There's this house on Baga Beach in Goa, overlooking the Indian Ocean. It's blue and white...with bright yellow shutters."

" _Sounds nice."_

He smiled, thinking he might have me hooked. He continued his hard sell. "From the house, you can see clear out to the water—which is green-blue like your eyes, my love, and the fishing boats—tons of them—on the horizon every morning." He talked as if he were there. "In town, there's a market full of every kind of spice you can imagine, Scarlett—you know how you're always complaining you can't find what you want in the stores here?"

" _Yes—wait, I don't complain that much, do I?" I retorted._

" _All the time." He winked at me in that charming way that always made me melt._

What was he getting at, I wondered.

He leaned over me and cradled my face with his warm hand. When I looked into his eyes, I knew he wasn't suggesting a short vacation during spring break.

" _Let's move there," he stated, like it was the most obvious thing to do._

" _Now?"_

" _Now."_

" _You want me to leave school? And what about your job?" I forced a laugh to lighten the mood. He's joking, of course._

" _I'm serious, Scarlett. Come live with me in that house. I don't need that job—I have more than enough money to take care of us. I'll arrange everything...I can have the tickets ready today and we'll send for your stuff later." Then he whispered heavily in my ear, his voice suddenly seductive and enticing. "We can cook and read and swim...and play twenty-four and a half kisses every night on the beach. It's very secluded there. No one would see us."_

I blushed at his mention of our private game—the one he had created for my pleasure the first time we had made love. But as deliciously tempting as his offer sounded, I had to be practical. I knew he was getting busy with his career and stressed out—he was in the most demanding field in the most competitive city in the world—but this was insanity. Leave everything behind?

I kissed him, trying to lure him back to reality. "One day, Dev. We'll move there one day."

But that day never came.

My mind returned back to the empty apartment, and a chill ran through me, though it wasn't cold inside.

What I would have given to be back in that bed with him. Maybe I would say yes. Maybe we would be living in that blue and white house with the yellow shutters right now. But instead I was standing in his empty apartment waiting to break up with him.

But you can fix this, Scarlett. You love him. You always will.

I decided in that moment that we deserved one last try.

I called his phone. No answer. I would wait for him, as long as it took. In the meantime, I would cook.

I wandered into his kitchen, a mix of white marble and cold stainless steel, and opened up his pantry, noting that the items I had purchased the last time I came were still there, untouched. I grabbed some spices, coconut milk and a can of tomatoes. There was one solitary onion and a tiny bulb of garlic, and in the freezer was the fresh ginger I had stashed away for later use. A few vegetables and some chicken, and I had everything I needed for a simple curry. I pulled out some rice and a pot and got to work.

Within twenty minutes, the place smelled amazing. Rice was nearly done, and the curry simmered happily away. I felt like a wife waiting for her husband to appear for dinner after a long day at work. I wondered, would he walk in and hold me? Would we cry together and whisper how sorry we are in between passion-fueled kisses? Would he tell me we could eat later, and then carry me to his bed and make love to me slowly and then we would both leave that bedroom healed and satisfied?

I was stirring the curry, submerged in my delusional fantasy, when I heard him fumbling at the door. I hurried into the adjoining living room so he would see I was there.

"Would you like a nightcap, Greta?" he asked someone as the door opened.

It was followed by a woman's flirty laugh, her voice, satiny, slinky. "It's morning, silly."

I stopped breathing. _He's bringing a girl here?_

A second later, Dev and a tall brunette in a too-tight black dress and stiletto heels stumbled in looking as if they had just come back from a night out— _a long night out._

She saw me first.

"Oh, hi," she greeted me in an awkward tone. "It smells good in here. Is that your cook, Dev?"

Dev looked at me like I was a ghost. I tried to read his eyes, but he immediately put a wall up making them unreadable. "Scarlett, you're here," he said, stating the obvious, emotionless.

"I texted you last night." My voice sounded like a little girl's, unsure and quiet, and I felt like I was 12-years-old in my apron standing near "Greta" who looked like she had just stepped out of the pages of Vogue.

"My phone's been on the fritz lately," he answered, using the same lame excuse I had used against him one time.

Greta, sensing I wasn't the cook, decided to make her exit. She gave Dev a peck on his cheek— _my territory_ —and whispered something in his ear.

The door closed quietly behind her and then we were alone.

I knew in that instant we were over and that any effort I made at this point would be futile. I had just cooked a damn curry for him. I was pathetic.

"May I ask why you're here?" he asked, a note of sincere curiosity in his voice.

I struggled to remove the diamond engagement off my finger. It was the first time in two years I had taken it off, and it was embedded in my skin, a part of me now. I could feel his eyes watching me intently, the air heavy between us.

I didn't have to explain anything as he watched me set the ring down on the console table—the one where he used to keep my vase—and walk toward the door, my purse and coat in my arm. My message was clear.

His tall frame moved to block my path, and the sheer physicality of his aggressive movement made me jump a little. "Running away again, Scarlett?"

Anger welled up inside me. "I should slap you!" I seethed.

He seemed strangely pleased at my threat. He inched forward and angled his face perfectly so my hand would have no problem making contact. He wanted me to slap him. He looked as if he wanted nothing else but for me to hit him—as if he longed for the pain. Or he was calling my bluff.

My hand moved a centimeter, but I couldn't do it. I was too weak.

"What are you waiting for?" He moved so close to me, I could feel the heat and tension from his body. "I thought you were a fighter." He searched my face for something, but didn't seem to find what he was looking for. "I guess I was mistaken."

Something about the way he said that cut me deeply, and I was already hemorrhaging from seeing that woman in here with him. What else did they do in his apartment— _in our apartment?_

It was the last nail in the coffin of our relationship.

Before he could see me cry, I pushed past him. His hand brushed against mine and almost—just for a second—it felt like he would grab it and hold me back from running, but he didn't. I stormed out the door letting the hot tears release down my face as I ran through the long hallway. I heard a faint footfall behind me, but the elevator was just closing with someone else going down. I'd caught it at the last second.

As the shiny steel doors closed, so did this chapter with Dev. I made a promise to myself in that elevator; that I would do everything in my power to ensure I would never see him again. It would be too heart wrenching to see his face, and I needed to move on with my life, whatever that would be now.

Funny how things never go as planned.
Continue reading the intriguing story of Dev & Scarlett in 24 ½ Kisses available now!

Also by Kennedy Claire

The Bashir Family Romance Series:

My Best Friend's Brother

24 ½ Kisses

Annika's Passion

Annika's Pride

Available everywhere digital books are sold.

About the Author

Kennedy Claire lives in Idaho with her husband, two sons and five horses. There is nothing she loves more—other than chocolate, coffee and foot massages—than interacting with her readers, so please visit her at http://www.Kennedy-Claire.com.You can visit her at www.Kennedy-Claire.com

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