recent dares have set him into motion.”
The hurt I had felt at his rejection that morning came back to me in the form of bile in my throat.
He thought of me as his little sister. Of course he did. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, the best friend of my older brother, a man he called brother himself, whom he loved and respected.
Then there was me, the stupid little girl who had fallen for him. The delicate little sister who needed his guiding hand, his protection from bullies who pushed unsuspecting girls to the ground at bonfire parties.
In that moment, any delusion that he had felt what I had—still did—flatlined.
Brando Fausti had given me a jacket, not his attention. He had given me a few moments in the snow, not his love.
Though he had let me go a week ago without the promise of tomorrow, I still held close the words he had used during the wee hours of the night to describe our first meeting in the snow—far from poetic, not even softly spoken, but the conviction behind his story had made me believe. In…what we could be. The promise of more. The budding of something special despite the ice it had been encased in.
Again, I wasn’t sure what had been real and what had been made up by my own wants and desires. Perhaps the entire night had been delusional, clouded by what I yearned for him to feel in return.
A bitter laughed escaped my lips. Violet narrowed her eyes.
“All your people aboard the boat, Scarlett?”
“Why wouldn’t they be?” Then, because I realized I had yelled, I laughed a bit more to cover my embarrassment. To keep the shattered pieces of my heart from falling to the floor, at the feet of a bunch of teens full of angst who would stomp on them even more. Drive the point home like a stake through the heart. I was eighteen and still in high school. He’s the master of his emotions, perhaps even the universe, and you’re still holding textbooks to your chest. “I’m fine. Just fine. All aboard.”
Violet nodded slowly, her gaze drifting, not as intense, but I could tell she was contemplating me. She had a habit of doing that from time to time. Trying to read the feelings I hid. I didn’t like it, so I spread another layer on.
“Really, Violet.” I touched her arm, keeping the books close. “Why wouldn’t I be? I told you in the car that he was Elliott’s best friend. That’s all we have in common. End of story.” I shrugged. “Tell me about the cinnamon bun.”
“What cinnamon bun?”
I opened my arms, because I had a habit of talking with my hands, and my books crashed to the floor. Both of us startled at the noise, even though the hall was filled with plenty of it. We seemed to be in our own bubble, me trying to hide my feelings and her trying to find and expose them.
I stooped down first, Violet right behind me.
Reaching for a paper that had drifted out of one of my books, Violet grabbed my arm, stilling my movements. I could feel the stillness around me, the silence that had descended, and kept my eyes down. The weight of the moment had fallen hard on me and my eyes couldn’t rise to meet it.
Violet squeezed harder. “There’s the cinnamon bun,” she whispered.
My eyes rose to the face of a guy. A guy I had never seen before. Tall and lean with warm blue eyes and sandy blonde hair. Not as tall as Brando. Not even close to his build or looks. Nothing about him could touch Brando Fausti.
I wonder if I’ll forever compare other men to him? The thought crushed me anew. I knew the definite answer. A resounding yes.
The guy Violet had dubbed Cinnamon Bun grinned at me in a way that screamed trouble. “I’ve got this,” he said.
Despite his words, I reached for the rogue paper and our hands met. I pulled back, letting him have it. My hair had a natural middle part, and both sides came together then, hiding my burning face as I stood.
Something about him disarmed and charmed me.
Violet was still on the floor with him, and he shooed her up, telling her he had things under control. She did as he requested, standing extremely close to me, bumping me with her body every so often. I refused to look at her, or him, or at