Forbidden Kiss (Carson Cove Scandals 1)

“If she knew it was me, she would just say something… Now I’m talking to myself like a crazy person,” I sighed and took a sip of my wine. “I need to be as honest as possible here—it will ruin our friendship if I don’t—I just can’t tell her everything.”

Taylor: I won tickets to the art show the other day, and he was there… I saw him talking to Alexis Devereaux…

I wanted to keep typing—and reveal as much of the truth as possible without telling her that I had spent one unforgettable night in her father’s bed. My fingers hesitated before I could say what happened after I saw Alexis talking to her father. I typed another sentence—erased it—typed another one—then erased it too.

Victoria: He would never date someone like her. She’s a pariah.

Taylor: Yeah, I don’t think she got anywhere.

Victoria: What a fucking bitch. Maybe that’s what they saw…

Taylor: Maybe…

Victoria: Hopefully, he’s not involved with anyone. Especially her.

Taylor: It took me a while to get used to the idea of my parents dating too…

Victoria: I would have been fine with it under normal circumstances…

Taylor: What do you mean?

Victoria: My mom isn’t doing well. She thought she knew what she wanted with the divorce… Damn it; she told me not to tell anyone. I know you won’t say anything though.

Taylor: No, of course not…

Victoria: She’s all alone in the city, and she’s having a lot of regrets right now. My brother visits when he can, but she doesn

’t feel like she can really talk to him—he’s still her baby.

Taylor: The price of being the youngest…

Victoria: Yeah. My mom just misses her family right now—and I think she misses my dad too, even though she won’t admit it. I’ve been trying to convince her to reach out to him. I don’t know if a reconciliation is possible… She hurt him.

Taylor: I’m sure it would be difficult…

Victoria: I know. I might make a trip home to talk to him—or at least talk to her in person.

My guilt immediately went through the roof—the panic that had been twisting my stomach into a knot made me begin to hyperventilate. My head spun, and I felt like I couldn’t get enough oxygen. More wine was probably the last thing I needed, but I downed the entire glass and ran to the kitchen for more. It didn’t make me feel any better, but it was wet—and after a few more sips, my breathing returned to normal. Victoria would be upset if she came home and found out that I was involved with her father—there was a good chance it would end our friendship—but if she thought I was standing between her parents and reconciliation, then she would absolutely hate me.

I have to end things with Bryant. I have to stop saying that I will—and actually do it—no matter how good he makes me feel.

I exchanged a few more text messages with Victoria and tried to steer clear of the subject I didn’t want to discuss. I asked about school, guys she was dating—basically anything that would ensure she didn’t start talking about her parents again. It had been a while since we talked but I was absolutely relieved when the conversation finally began to wind down. I had way too much wine and was ready for the bed. I certainly didn’t want Anna or my mom to walk in and find me in the living room drunk. The movie I was watching ended at some point, but I had no idea what happened towards the end—it didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to make me laugh anymore—nothing could do that.

I need to see Bryant as soon as possible. I don’t want to risk this dragging out until next weekend—I don’t know if Victoria will come home immediately or wait until things settle down at school.

* * *

The next day

I don’t know how I managed to actually fall asleep—it was probably all of the wine in my system that put me down for the count. I tossed and turned for a little while and actually heard Anna arrive shortly before my mom did. Even though I did fall asleep, I didn’t sleep well. My dreams were chaotic and filled with flashing scenes of my worst fears—getting caught with Bryant—the look on Victoria’s face when she found out we were together—and the one that woke me up was of him getting remarried to his ex-wife. That’s what it appeared to be at least—until he raised her veil, and I saw Alexis Devereaux underneath it. It was a dream so horrifying that I woke up in a cold sweat with the sun peeking through the clouds.

I’m definitely not going back to sleep after that.

When I was younger, I had a lot of reasons for painting—and one of them was because it helped me process my emotions with a certain level of clarity. My easel was turned around and the last painting I was working on was facing the closet—it was supposed to be a landscape, but I wasn’t in the mood for that. I replaced it with a fresh canvas, mixed up some paint, and let my emotions flow through the end of the paintbrush. Three hours later, I had a painting that was filled with dark imagery, and a splotchy outline of a woman crying orange tears. I had no idea why they were orange—and the woman didn’t resemble anyone I knew—but it seemed to capture the turmoil that was tearing my soul in half.

I wish it was possible to cry it all away—that would be easier than facing the truth.

I heard my sister’s bedroom door open, and a few minutes later, my mother’s did as well. I decided to join them—except my pajamas had a few smears of paint, so I quickly changed into a fresh set of clothes. The painting I created was personal, and even though my mother had lost her love of art, she would have still asked to see it if she knew I was working on something new. Anna probably would too—just because it had been a while since I picked up a brush. It was too emotional to share, and I wouldn’t be able to tell them where the inspiration came from. It was just too damn complicated to explain.