(Part 2 of Chapter 23)

•Maeve Grey•

•Past•

We finish our dinner in a hurry.

James puts my mother's gift aside and places the box in the middle of the bed, between us. Glancing up once, I unwrap it. The same dress he had me tailored is inside it, looking just as timeless as ever. I gasp despite being familiar with the gown in front of me. "James!" I whisper in shock.

"It's yours now," He says with a smile.

I shake my head. "No, I can't."

"It belongs to you." he implies. "Besides we can't keep it at the Gallery. And even if it was, I wouldn't have let it."

I chew my lips, unable to say anything. My eyes dart at the roll of paper and picking it out, I impatiently unroll it.

The unforgettable lake of St. Francis is in the background as I'm, dressed in an oversized shirt and distressed jeans, perched at the bay, on the overgrown grass, my bag and baseball cap lying next to me. I look serene, blending in naturally, my eyes downcast at the small journal James just mentioned, pencil in hand.

My hair, cut short to shoulder length is the highlight, grabbing my attention the most. I glance up again at James, amazed. "That was like years ago. I used to wear short hair a lot."

"That's when I saw you writing," he said. "It was two years back when I just happened to be there with my sketchbook. I needed peace. A little time for myself and then I saw you. I recognized you as someone who goes to my school. The view looked so pretty. So I drew and I never realized I drew you too. You fit my imagination so well." he says, recalling the memory. "And I begin noticing you since then. Every step, every talk, every laugh of yours at school. You were everywhere. I couldn't unsee you since then."

I take another look at the drawing. "How many times you drew me since then?" I roll it and place it back in the box for now.

"A lot." He closes the box.

"Like the one where I was sitting at the courtyard," I recall the sketch I glimpsed during our car ride to London.

He smiles in answer, puts the box back on the table, and grabs the gift my mother left me. "Aren't you gonna open this?"

"No," I reply harshly.

"That man," James says. "He's your stepfather, isn't he?"

Startled, I ask. "How did you—"

He jerks his chin at the pinboard next to my bookshelves. It's covered in several sticky notes, a few cuttings of the dress design, and most importantly a few Polaroids of my life back then.
My mom, dad and me.

"What did he do Maeve?" he asks, making me withdraw my eyes off the board and face him. "Your stepdad, I mean?"

"Nothing," I say. "We just don't click."

"It looked more than that," he says, his tone set. "You were literally clenching your fist the moment he walked in."

I avert my eyes, feeling his gaze studying my features. He must have picked up a lot of things at the family ambush. "Yeah, I can't stand him."

"I saw the way he looked at you, Maeve," He expels a harsh breath. "If he did something to hurt you—"

"He didn't get a chance," I clarify and he relaxes a bit. Leaning back, I rest my back on the headboard and pull my knees closer. "I just wish my mom could see it too, you know."

James is now propped against the wall near my feet, his eyes settled on me. "I told her so many times," I say. "But she thought I was lying."

"Why would your mom think that?"

"Cause I threw a huge tantrum when she told me she was seeing George and they are getting married," I tell him. "It was a little over a year since dad died and my eleven-year-old self couldn't bear my mom when she told me I was going to have a new dad. I was so against it. I didn't want anyone taking my dad's place. " I say "Eventually, they got married and we moved in. It was fine at first as I ignored them mostly and just went with it like my mom had said. I wasn't happy but I was adapting."

My voice drops as I think of it. "But not liking George was not just my biased opinion. He was a creep to begin with. I could never relax in his presence. He never touch me directly. Instead, he would find ways like stumbling on me while passing through the living room or kitchen or he would keep his hands on my shoulder longer than it needed to be." I explain. "For years, it was subtle but I could tell they were bad touch." My hands turn colder just by the thought of it. "And his eyes. Always staring. Always makes me feel like I'm naked. He was good at hiding it in front of Mom. Pretending to be the best husband and best father in my mom's eyes."

"So what happened when you told your mom about it?"

"She thought I was not giving George a chance and that I was making all that up in my mind," I say, the face of my mother shaking inside me.

"So she did nothing?" James asked, looking incredulous.

"She did," I answer. "Seeing me freaked out, a part of her was concerned. So we moved back to my dad's house which was put out on the market for a while. I was glad. So glad that my mom listened to me even if she didn't believe me. She thought I needed time and I'd eventually accept George." I take a pause.

James' face is scrunched in disgust the whole time and a crease stays between his eyes. "She was always the one visiting George but only after a few months, he was coming over with Mom at our place. This time he maintained the distance, never laid a finger on me, and kept his gaze to himself. My mom thought we were getting better so she started throwing the idea around to go back or let George here."

James grabs my hand, grazing his thumbs over my knuckles. "I shouldn't have agreed. I thought my mom put her life on hold for me so I should do it for her. I only have a year left then I'll be away at college. So we went back."

My vision begins to blur as tears pool on the edge of my eyes. "He was acting nice again but I kept my guard up all the time around him. I mostly stayed in my room and would come out for lunch and dinner in the presence of Mom. It was fine as long as she was happy."

"But you then left, alone this time." He states.

"Hmm," I say, blinking away the tears. "It was summer before the school started. George and Mom were going for a two-day trip to a new suite that was opened recently. The sauna and all. Having the house and the pool for myself, I wore a swimsuit and went for a swim. The weather was nice that day as well and while I was relaxing, my eyes closed, I didn't see or hear George getting in the water over the music. He grabbed me by the leg, and pulled me in."

That day still haunts me. "I panicked. I don't know when and how I struggled and hit him hard in the face with my other leg and got out of the water. I couldn't find my phone anywhere on the deck. It must have slipped in the pool while I was struggling." I wipe my tears. "So I grabbed my clothes and ran away."

James' fingers dig into my hand as he stares blankly at the bed, his feelings glum and pensive. "It was all a setup," I say. "He knew I was going to tell my mom but he had brainwashed her. Mom believed him that he never left the suite and was in the sauna the whole time while she was at the spa. In her eyes, I was every bit of a liar, trying to remove her innocent George from her life by gaining sympathy. So I left."

"Didn't anyone saw him leave or enter?"

"No, not really," I tell him. "He avoided cameras. He just wanted Mom by his side completely so he planned it all. He was getting back at me for defaming him in front of my mom."

James now lies beside me, his hands never leaving mine. "I'm glad you left."

I smile. "Yeah, me too," I say, scooching closer to him. "Mom thinks I'm delusional and I can't look past my dad's death. She also sold the house as soon as we moved in, hoping I'd have nowhere to go."

He takes a look around. "This place is perfect," he says. "Don't go back."

I smile. "A part of her still believes we all could work it out as a family."

"Don't bother," He runs his fingers on my hair, pushing them back. "Don't waste a single calorie over this."

My smile grows wider and James closes in, pressing his lips on my temple, planting a soft kiss. I nestle my head in his neck, the smell of him, his skin setting me aflame and calming me down at the same time.

I peek up, remembering something. "Hey! I thought Percy was picking you up."

A mischievous look crosses his face before he molds me with his body and I feel comforted and loved when he whispers against my ear. "I never called him."

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The chapter is unedited.

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