Page 57 of The Illusion
There's something in her expression that makes me pause. A gleam in her eye. A satisfaction that she's trying to hide but can't quite manage. She's calm. Composed. Not fragile like Julie.
I like it far more than I should.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
ASHER
Spendingtime alone with Devon is the one thing keeping me calm, and today is a special day for her. I lie and tell Julie I have meetings all day. She doesn't question it. She barely looks at me anymore when I leave for work, just nods and goes back to whatever she's doing. This morning she was making tea in the kitchen, her back to me, when I said I might be home late. She said okay without turning around.
I'm not going to the office. I'm taking Devon out for her birthday. She's eighteen now. Legally an adult. The thought sits in my mind like a stone I keep turning over, examining from different angles. It matters. I'm not sure why it matters so much, but it does.
I pick her up at eleven. She's waiting on the front steps when I pull up, wearing tight jeans that hug her hips and a fitted top that shows just enough skin to be distracting. Her hair is down, loose and shiny, and when she gets in the car I catch the scent of her perfume. Vanilla. Not the cheap kind. Expensive, gourmand vanilla that smells like sugar and warmth and something I can't quite name.
"Happy birthday," I say.
She smiles. "Thanks for doing this."
"Of course."
We drive toward the city. It's one of those rare Seattle days where the sun is out and the sky is clear. No rain. No clouds. Just blue sky and light everywhere. Devon rolls down her window and lets the wind blow through her hair, and I glance over at her. She looks happy. Relaxed. Not the fragile, broken girl who first moved in. Just a normal eighteen-year-old on her birthday.
We go to lunch first. A place in Capitol Hill she found online and wanted to try. She orders a burger and fries, and I get the same. We talk about nothing important. She tells me about a book she's reading. I tell her about a project at work that's going sideways.
It's easy. Comfortable. There's no tension, no performance. With Julie, every conversation feels like I'm walking through a minefield. With Devon, I can just exist. She eats her fries one at a time, dipping each one in ketchup with this focused precision that makes me smile. She catches me watching and raises an eyebrow.
"What?"
"Nothing. You're just very methodical."
"I like things done right."
Fuck. I should not be thinking about the meaning of that. I need to keep my focus. After lunch, we walk to the theater. She chose a horror movie. Some slasher thing with a stupid title. I don't care what we see. I'm just glad to be out of the house, away from Julie's silent judgment and the weight of pretending everything is fine.
The theater is mostly empty. We sit in the back. Devon gets a large popcorn, a bottle of water and a box of Sour Patch Kids. I get nothing. I'm not hungry. I'm just glad to be here.
The movie starts. It's loud and gory and ridiculous. Devon laughs at the jump scares, covering her face with her hands. And then, maybe twenty minutes in, she shifts closer to me. Not obvious. Just a subtle lean. Her shoulder brushes mine.
I don't move. A few minutes later, there's a particularly brutal scene. She gasps and turns her face into my arm, hiding. Her hand grips my forearm. I can feel the warmth of her breath through my shirt.
"Tell me when it's over," she whispers.
"It's over."
She doesn't move. She stays there, her face pressed against my arm, her hand still on my forearm. And I realize what's happening. She's flirting. Testing. Seeing how I'll respond. So I don’t respond. I don't pull away, but I don't lean in either. I just sit there, frozen, aware of every point of contact between us. Her shoulder against mine. Her hand on my arm. The scent of vanilla and popcorn butter and something else. Something that makes my chest tighten.
She's beautiful. I've always known that, but I've kept it at a distance. She's my stepsister. She's grieving. She was seventeen. But now she's eighteen. And sitting here in the dark with her pressed against me, I can finally notice. Legally, I mean. So I notice everything.
The way she eats popcorn one piece at a time, her fingers delicate and precise. The way she licks the butter off her thumb without thinking about it. The way her body curves in those jeans. The way her hair falls over her shoulder when she leans forward.
She's stunning. And she's calm. Confident, at least with me. She doesn't second-guess herself or apologize for existing. She doesn't make me feel like I'm failing just by being in the same room.
With Julie, I feel like a pathetic neutered dog who's sorry for shitting on the rug. Always apologizing. Always trying to fix something I didn't break. I'm tired of pretending I care. I only need Julie to stay until the Living Trust details are distributed. Then she has to go. She's radioactive. Toxic. Bringing her into my life ruined everything.
My father made terrible fucking decisions because of her. He saw how she was with me and thought he could have that too. So he brought Caroline home. And they wound up dead. And now I'm stuck in this nightmare, trapped in a marriage I don't want, pretending to be someone I'm not.
Devon shifts again, her leg pressing against mine. I glance down. Her hand is still on my arm. She's not watching the movie anymore. She's watching me. I look away.
