Page 11 of Forbidden Fruit
“I just want to know more about my future brother-in-law and his family,” I say lightly, trying to keep the conversation friendly, but I don’t miss her hesitation. Somethingdefinitelyisn’t adding up, but I won’t force her to talk about it if she doesn’t want to. We’ve always respected each other’s boundaries, though she can sometimes slack in that department. I don’t hold it against her because I know she does it because she cares about me so deeply.
More silence lingers between us. I open my mouth, ready to speak, but then she shifts, clearly uncomfortable, then smirks as she throws out, “How’s that friend of yours… Dylan, right? You guys still dating?” Her voice takes on a mischievous edge.
I narrow my eyes slightly, seeing right through her tactic. “No,” I say. “We went on one date and decided we’re better off as just friends. Don’t make a big deal out of it, or I’mnever telling you anything again…” I should’ve never told her that I’m sleeping with Dylan.
“Oh, but he likes you, I can tell. I have a sixth sense about these things, you know,” she teases, making me laugh nonetheless. It’s just a part of her charm.
“Of course you do,” I reply, playfully rolling my eyes.
She keeps going, nudging me about Dylan, trying to convince me to date him all the way to the fabric store. “Thank God we’re here.” I sigh dramatically, relieved to escape the topic. The fabric store is massive, with window displays covered in practically any fabric my heart could ever wish for. If I need to find anything at all, this is the place to go. We move toward the front door, which opens with a ding, and we’re greeted by an even wider selection of materials. A friendly woman greets us from the counter, but I already know I won’t require any help. I can already spot things I want.
“I’m just saying, you don’t want to stay single into your thirties and end up like me,” she quips, a hint of self-deprecating humor slipping through. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“Right, because your life is so horrible,” I joke back, but as she laughs, I know it’s not genuine. I can tell the difference between her real laugh and the one she gives when she’s hiding something, but I let it go. We start picking out the fabrics I need. I’m torn between a few options, two of which cost considerably more than the others. Still, with the detailing they include, I know they’re worth the money.
“Which ones do you want?” Abby asks, arching her brow. I sigh.
“These two”—I gesture toward the fabrics that have captured my heart—“are beautiful, but they’re?—”
“Don’t look at the price tag,” my sister scolds me, “just get the fabric you want.”
“Are you sure?”
She gives me a firm nod. “Of course. I brought you here to get what you want. We’re not leaving without it,” she says, and then turns toward the clerk. “Excuse me, we’ll take these two!”
When the cashier rings up the total, five thousand, eight hundred two dollars and sixty-seven cents, I’m momentarily stunned.
“Whoa, Abby,” I say, eyes wide.
“Here,” she says proudly, handing her card to the cashier without a second thought. The woman swipes it, and just like that, we leave the store. I’m still stunned by the change in her attitude; she acted like thousands of dollars were nothing, but I suppose now that she’s marrying Calvin, that’s not a lot of money anymore.
“That was a lot of money,” I remark, still surprised. I know fabrics can get pricey, but I hadn’t expected the total to climb that high for what we bought. Abby just smiles.
“Not really,” she replies with a casual shrug. “Want to grab dinner before we head home?”
“Sure, how about that Thai place we both love?” I suggest, eager for some one-on-one time.
“No, let’s go to a sit-down restaurant. We’re celebrating. You’re home, and I’m getting married. Plus, Calvin already made a reservation,” she says, her excitement shining through.
“Oh, we’re having dinner with Calvin?” I blurt out, frowning, before I can stop myself. I cringe at my reaction. Of course, this is my luck. I wanted to spend some time away from him, yet he seems to follow me wherever I go, even if he’s not fully aware of it.
“What’s wrong with Calvin? Do you not like him?”
“No, it’s not that,” I quickly clarify. “It’s just… I don’t know him. I came here to spend some time with you, and we’ve barely had any time to do that.”
“Well, here’s your chance,” she says, encouragingly, but I sense an underlying insistence. “And we will spend some time together. So much of it, in fact, that you’ll be sick of me.”
I don’t say anything else; no words feel right for the moment. Instead, I focus on the streets around me, trying to find distraction in anything but the chaos in my mind. We drive the rest of the way in silence, tension hanging in the air until we pull up to the restaurant.
When we pull up at the parking lot, I’m surprised to see where she’s taken us. I recognize the sleek exterior and the minimalist green approach.
“This way,” she says, guiding us into one of Boston’s most exclusive, high-end restaurants, Luxe. When I lived here, I always wanted to dine here, but getting a reservation practically requires selling an arm and a leg, and I need mine. To my surprise, the restaurant is completely empty except for Calvin and a woman who, judging by her uniform, must be the chef. They’re standing close, too close for strangers, sharing a conversation that feels almost intimate.
Calvin stands as soon as he spots us, his smile warm and easy. “You both look lovely,” he says, kissing Abigail on the cheek. Then he turns to me. The kiss on my cheek is brief, just a light touch, but it sends a faint warmth through me. I know it’s nothing more than a friendly gesture, yet for a second, my skin tingles where his lips had been, the sensation lingering just a moment too long.
I force a smile, but my pulse quickens, a heady mix ofdesire and guilt twisting in my chest. How can something so innocent feel so dangerous?
“Thank you,” Abigail responds, smiling as we take our seats. They settle next to each other on one side of the table, leaving me alone across from them.
