Finley Embraces Heart and Home (Love Austen 4)

“You have to go. It’s, like, a rite of passage or something.”

“Then come. Please. Pretty please? Pretty please with a pear on top?”

I snicker and shove past him to my room. “I don’t have a mask.”

“You think I’d buy myself one and not get one for you?” From behind his back, he reveals two Venetian masks dangling from thin satin ribbons. Intricate metal filigree studded with black stones. They’re beautiful, ornate. I love them.

I move past him and into my room.

“I’m warning you,” I tell him as I yank on a clean shirt, “I may get very, very drunk.”

Ethan scoffs and sets the masks on my desk. “Not on my watch.”

“Fine. I may get very drunk.”

“Try again.”

“I may get drunk?”

“Tipsy. I’ll allow that.”

“I want the whole world to become tipsy turvy.”

He laughs. “We’ll crash in one of the bedrooms there. I don’t want either of us driving.”

I grin. “Does this mean, for once, you plan to drink?”

“As you said, it’s like a rite of passage or something. And . . .” Ethan falls back, spread-eagled, onto my bed.

I crawl onto the covers beside him. “And?”

“There’s someone I want to kiss. I don’t know how, though.”

I’m frozen on the bed. A soft smile tips his lips, and I frown at it. Ethan has never been interested in anyone before—at least, no one he’s mentioned. And now suddenly there’s someone he wants to kiss?

My belly curdles. I definitely can’t go to this party now.

I have to.

“Who?”

He opens his eyes and looks at me. His brows crunch together and he licks his lips.

Then he glances toward the windows. “Just a girl from my class.”

“Who?” I insist, voice cracking.

“Um . . . Laura Turner.”

“You want to kiss her?”

“The point is, I don’t know how.”

Not the bloody point if you ask me. I spring off the bed and stand at the window, hoping the sting in my throat doesn’t come through in my voice. “How long have you liked her?”

A few long breaths pass. “At first sight.”

It hurts.

It shouldn’t, dammit. This is natural. This is life. He’s bound to fall for someone eventually.

I wrap my arms around my chest and nod and nod.

“I fucked this up,” Ethan murmurs.

I shrug. “No, it’s fine. I’m just surprised I’m only hearing about her now.”

“Let’s just drop this.”

I swivel around. “No. Let’s not. You like a girl and you want to kiss her. So why don’t you then?”

Ethan swings his legs off the bed and grips the mattress either side of him, frowning at his knees. Uncertainty crackles around him.

I hate it.

He’s shared something special with me. His brother. His best friend. He deserves more.

“I don’t want it to be bad, Fin.”

He’s never kissed anyone before.

Everything aches, but there’s something so vulnerable in this admission and I yearn to make him feel better. “It won’t be bad,” I say. With Ethan, that would be impossible.

He glances at me and away again. His voice comes out a shaky whisper. “Is it stupid that I wanted to ask you to teach me?”

“Me?” I whisper back.

“Yes.”

“Because I’m experienced?”

“Because I trust you.”

I’m warm and giddy. I’m drowning in unshed tears.

I walk over to him.

His eyes are bright, hesitant. Hopeful.

This is the worst decision of my life, but I know I’ll make it. How can I say no when it’s something I’ve been craving? At least this way, I get to know what it feels like.

Get to know what I’m missing. What I’ll never truly have.

My shadow stretches over him, the rest of the room glowing in the late evening sun. The spice of spray-on deodorant lingers in the air. I brush his cheek. It’s a little prickly, even though he shaved this morning. His nose taps the inside of my wrist and I feel the drag of air as he inhales.

“What kind of kiss do you want, Ethan?”

“A memorable one.”

“That’s a lot of expectation on a kiss.”

He shakes his head. “Not when it’s delivered by someone who has already stolen your heart.”

“And have you stolen hers?”

He hesitates. “I hope so.” Another pause. “I mean, I know we can never really be . . .”

Because he’s leaving for Europe. She’ll move on too.

“But I’d like . . .”

I can’t hear any more. My grip on his jaw tightens and I bend to him, mouth finding his in a shivery kiss. His lips are wet, like he’s been licking them over and over. Nervous.

His breath hitches between us and his hand tentatively cups my nape, catches on the cord of my greenstone, shifting it higher up my chest.

“This doesn’t feel wrong,” he murmurs. Surprised, perhaps.

I shake my head slowly, our lips brushing. How could this be wrong? Ever . . . “It’s just exploring. Practicing. I’m sure things like this happen between siblings all the time.”

He pulls back a bit, and I curse myself for speaking. For breaking the spell—