Stepbrother: Impossible Love, Page 2

  I spent the next couple hours unpacking, then settled down on the giant bed which was even more comfortable than I had expected, and continued reading Wuthering Heights.

  Unfortunately, the jet lag caught up to me, and I ended up falling asleep, letting the book fall to my side. I woke up to the sound of tires squealing outside. I sat up in bed with a gasp as it took me a few seconds to remember where I was.

  So this wasn’t a dream after all I thought as I wiped the sleep from my eyes and looked outside. The sun was starting to set, and I heard a car door slam in the distance. I got up and moved toward the bay window. The sun was setting over the gorgeous green hills of England, but the sunset wasn’t what my eyes focused on.

  There were skid marks on the driveway, the obvious cause of the squealing tires that had woken me up, leading to a Lamborghini convertible that still shone bright red in the dusky light.

  Getting out of the convertible was the most gorgeous man I’d ever set my eyes on. Wearing jeans and a blazer jacket, with wavy brown hair and three days’ worth of stubble, he walked like the whole world moved at his feet. And God, with those looks, I bet it did.

  My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the man, mesmerized. I wondered who he was, what he was doing here. I could see the tip of a tattoo on his chest above the neckline of his shirt. This wasn’t the kind of guy that would fit in here, I thought.

  Suddenly I looked over at the clock. It was already after six, and I definitely needed to have a shower, wash my hair, and make sure I looked half decent at dinner.

  Luckily I found some shampoo already waiting for me in the shower of my room, and I let the hot water pour all over my skin, rejuvenating me. The next day, I decided, I would go fill out some forms at Oxford that had to be filled out in person, and do a bit of basic shopping. Maybe even do a touristy thing or two in London.

  Still, my brain kept wandering back to the gorgeous stranger in the supercar out front. Who was he? Did I have a shot with him? Of course the answer to the second question was no. I was raised by a single mom who made ends meet by marrying and blackmailing men, who had good grades but really had to get some strings pulled to get into Oxford, and without a single refined bone in my body. My mother knew how to act at charity events and that sort of thing, I definitely didn’t.

  At exactly 7pm I was ready to go for dinner, and there was a knock on the door. Anita was standing there, smiling.

  “Ready?”

  “I guess so. I’ve never had this much of a fuss made over dinner before.”

  “Well, don’t worry. It’s only like this for special occasions.”

  “I hope so,” I mumbled as I followed Anita down the hall. I wasn’t sure I could live life where the act of eating was this much of a spectacle on a daily basis. Still, I supposed I would probably put up with it if I could keep all of the other luxurious facets of this life.

  We made our way through the mansion until Anita left me at the entrance to the dining room, which, if it wasn’t for the giant table in the middle, I probably would have mistaken for a ballroom instead. The table had to seat at least thirty people, but instead there were only four plates put out.

  Sitting at the head of the table was John Alcott, to his right was my mother, to her right was an empty plate obviously meant for me, but I really only noticed the man sitting at John’s left, the stranger from the driveway.

  “Ah, Julianne, I hope you had a pleasant afternoon,” John greeted me in his clipped, upper class English accent.

  “I did, thank you. I enjoyed Wuthering Heights immensely, then slept off the jet lag,” I replied, making my way to my mother’s side. I could feel mystery man’s eyes on me, and I was sure my face was glowing crimson.

  “I’d like you to meet my son, John Alcott Jr,” he continued, and I froze.

  His son? Oh my God. That means… that means this man’s going to be my brother?

  Thoughts swirled through my head for so long, I don’t know how long before I snapped out of it and smiled at the guy.

  He looked me up and down, openly. Then a contemptuous smile crossed his face. “I go by Jack… sis” he told me, and my temper flared. The way he said it, it was like I was so far beneath him, like I didn’t belong here. He was the sexiest man alive, and he just made me feel like I was nothing with just a couple words.

  The worst part was, I was still super, super attracted to him. But I couldn’t be. He was my brother. Right?

  I glared at the man and tried not to imagine what the tattoo looked like under his shirt, tried not to think about what he’d look like naked and on top of me.

  “John Jr. goes to Oxford as well, I’m sure you’ll see each other on campus quite a bit,” John started, ignoring the obvious tension between the two of us. “He lives in an apartment near the campus, but he still comes by to see his old man from time to time. I asked him here tonight, I thought you should meet the man who will be your brother Julianne, and your son Mary.”

  Luckily the conversation was interrupted just then by another staff member (I just could not refer to them as “servants”) came by with the appetiser, a cranberry apple salad and cheese soufflé.

  The conversation was light and pleasant, with Jack participating in absolutely none of it. As far as I was concerned that was fine. He had been so rude, I didn’t figure he’d have anything nice to say. I mentioned my desire to try horseback riding and John was nice enough to tell me about the stables on the property, and that I was welcome to see the stableboy and learn to ride whenever I wanted.

  When the main course was brought out I dug into my food, trying not to steal glances at the Adonis sitting across the table from me, the Adonis with an attitude. Jack Alcott. I was glad he didn’t live here, though it suddenly came back to me what Anita said about his room being right next to mine. Well, hopefully he wouldn’t stay the night.

  At the same time, a part of me still found myself daydreaming about being alone in my room at night, and having him sneak through the empty halls, come into my room, and…

  Nope. Stop thinking about that. Absolutely not. He’s your stepbrother now.

  So why couldn’t I get him out of my head?

  Chapter Three

  I’d like to say the rest of dinner passed uneventfully and we all moved on with our lives, but that would be a lie.

  I could tell straight away that there was tension between John and Jack. I mean, how could one avoid it? John’s son was loud, crass, and obviously trying to avoid the upper class noble image of his father. I figured it was just the only son in the family acting out, and I could tell it was getting on John’s nerves.

  “So, John, how are your classes going at University?” the father asked his son, obviously ignoring his son’s nickname preference.

  “Fine. You know. Capitalist profs. Rorting rich parents for a degree that might get their child a slightly better paying job than they’d get without the fancy University name, rich pricks who think they’re entitled to everything. The usual.”

  “John, we’re trying to have a nice meal.”

  “Well don’t ask for my opinion if you don’t give a shit about the answer.”

  I stared down at my chicken kiev and seasonal roasted vegetables, trying to pretend I wasn’t in the middle of this argument between the two men.

  “It’s alright, honey. You know how kids are at that age,” my mother told her fiancé. I knew her hand would be on his arm, her voice like butter. She could definitely turn on the charm when she needed to.

  “Of course. Though Julianne, you haven’t started at University yet, are you looking forward to it?”

  “I am,” I replied. “And I’m so grateful for your help in getting me enrolled.”

  “Oh it was nothing. If you didn’t have the grades to back it up there’s nothing I could have done to help,” John Sr. replied, and I heard a small scoff coming from his son. God, how could someone who looked that amazing be so much of a douchebag?

  “Well nonetheless, I appreciate
everything you’ve done,” I replied with a smile. Hopefully it would help him to know that someone appreciated his efforts, even if it wasn’t his own flesh and blood.

  “You know what? I’m done. I’m leaving,” Jack said just then, standing up. “If you want to get compliments from some charity case by writing letters and paying for her degree then that’s up to you, but I’m not going to listen to her jack you off with thanks.”

  I sat in my chair, stunned, my cheeks reddening. Had I seriously just been called a charity case?

  “Rude,” I replied, rolling my eyes at him, but Jack Alcott never even gave me a second glance. He just threw his napkin down on his half-finished plate and stood up.

  “You will sit back down right now, young man,” his father ordered, his voice soft but deadly.

  “No, I won’t. I didn’t want to come here anyway, and it was obviously a mistake.”

  Leaving the room without another word, a dead silence hung over us for a minute or two until the roar of the Lamborghini in the driveway broke us all out of the stunned silence that had dominated us completely.

  “Mary, Julianne, I must apologize for my son. I’m so sorry.”

  “Please, John, no apology is necessary,” my mother told him. “You told me of your troubles with him, I know how children can be. He’ll come around one day.”

  I know how children can be? Thanks mom, it’s not like I’m right here or anything. Besides, I might not have been perfect, but I sure as hell wasn’t ever like that!

  I decided to give my mom the benefit of the doubt, that she was just saying that to make John feel better.

  “Of course, don’t apologize,” I chimed in.

  “Thank you, both of you, for understanding. It’s been very hard on John Jr. since his mother died. I think the fact that I have finally moved on as well is just the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

  I had no idea about that part of the family’s past, of course. My mother had told me very little about John Alcott before we moved here, and I had wondered what had happened to John’s mom, but of course would never have asked.

  The rest of dinner passed with banal, mundane conversation as we all tried to move past the events of the night, and failed. Though the major awkwardness was almost worth it for the chocolate raspberry tart with berry coulis and whipped cream served at desert. I thought my mother was trying to murder me with her glare when I asked for seconds, but John was more than happy to oblige. I knew I was going to get a lecture about having to work on my figure later, but that extra slice of cake was absolutely worth it.

  After dinner I quickly excused myself and retired to my room. I wasn’t the least bit tired, thanks to my extended afternoon nap, so I pulled out my laptop and hopped online.

  Catching up on my Facebook and Instagram, I realized that basically none of my friends had contacted me to see how my move had gone, or anything.

  The thought made me a little bit sad. I wasn’t that close to anyone in high school, but I did have a small group of friends, and while I knew they were also getting ready for the start of the new semester, it still would have been nice for one of them to care.

  I scrolled through their Instagram photos and saw memories of my city. I looked out the window now but saw only darkness. I knew the afternoon was only getting started back home, and as I looked at photos in Central Park, of great deli sandwiches, taken at Times Square, I suddenly got so incredibly homesick.

  All I had here was a mother who was obviously super into her new husband, a new father figure who I had to admit seemed really nice, and a brother that was the biggest douchebag on the planet, that I hoped I didn’t have to see again until the wedding.

  Eventually I got too depressed looking at my old life and closed the laptop. I took out my phone and tried to get through a level of Candy Crush I’d been stuck on for weeks, before getting frustrated and deciding to finish reading Wuthering Heights.

  By the time I finished the novel I was starting to feel sleepy again, and I crawled under the covers of my bed for my first night’s sleep on a different continent.

  Chapter Four

  The next two days flew by in a blur. I started off by visiting Oxford, which was even more impressive in person than it looked when I checked it out online. I filled out some forms, got a student number, and was told that for first years, course registration online began in four days.

  My next stop was London, where I quickly got lost in the Bohemian markets in the east end. There were so many great finds, I could definitely leave the giant shopping malls, this was phenomenal. Then, when I was tired of shopping, I could get Indian food that rivalled even the best in New York from random street vendors. Maybe this city wasn’t too bad after all.

  I had a car and driver offered to me, and while I took the car to Oxford, I decided to take the train to London. After all, as a New York girl, I’m pretty used to the subway. It was a quick hour long trip, which wasn’t too bad, all things considered. My homesickness diminished greatly when I saw that as different as it was from New York, London had its own charm, its own vibrancy that made me feel at home.

  Meanwhile, I was getting used to life as a princess at the Alcott family estate. Anita assured me that the staff were happy to make me whatever I wanted for breakfast every day, and to bring it up to me, but I insisted on going down to the kitchen myself to get the food, although I did allow them to make it for me most of the time.

  The cook, Sam, seemed horrified the first day I asked for just a couple of pop tarts for breakfast, then had to inform me that they did not, in fact, keep pop tarts in the house.

  Instead I was given a glass of freshly pressed orange juice and some back bacon with eggs, and a promise that the next day they would have pop tarts.

  Lunch and dinner were largely on our own. We could request for the cook to make something, of course, and the cook would prepare the food and leave it in the fridge to be heated up whenever we wanted. Generally, however, I would wait for her to leave for the night and then make my own dinner. I was just too used to cooking for myself, it felt weird to let someone else do it for me all the time.

  The first day that it was available I registered for my courses online. I had a list of subjects I had to take in order to graduate, and so I signed up for three English courses, one journalism class, and one business elective, a human resources course.

  John set me up with a credit card in my name linked to his, which apparently had no limit. That came in handy when it came to buying textbooks and books for all my classes, and I thought to myself that if I’d gone to school in the states I surely would have come out of it with some hefty student loans.

  Time continued to fly past, and before I knew it, I was scheduled for my first day of classes at University.

  “Look at my darling daughter. Nineteen years old and off to Oxford. All grown up. I’m so proud,” my mother told me as she held me at arm’s length at the front door. It was basically the exact same thing as my first day of kindergarten, and my first day of high school.

  “Thanks, mom,” I answered, wriggling out of her grasp as I’d done those other times. I didn’t really like my mom fussing over me too much. “I’m not that grown up yet though.”

  “Oh you are. I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday. Time flies so fast,” she told me, tears beginning to well in her eyes.

  “Ok, well, I gotta go. I love you,” I told her, planting a quick peck on her perfectly made up cheek and running out of the house before the waterworks really started.”

  “I love you too,” came the tearful reply from inside the house, and I got into the waiting Mercedes, the door held open by Michael the driver, the engine already running.

  As we sped towards the university, I could feel the nerves building up inside of me. My first day of university! What was I going to expect? Was Jack right? Was everyone there just some rich prick trying to get in and out before getting a good job through family connections? No way, that just couldn’t be r
ight.

  What if everyone was so much smarter than me? I was just some kid from New York who had never read Wuthering Heights until a few days ago. This was Oxford the place where Tolkien worked when he wrote Lord of the Rings. Edmund Halley, Lewis Carroll, Oscar Wilde, Edwin Hubble, TS Elliot, CS Lewis, Dr Seuss… the list of people, writers and otherwise, who attended this University was just so impressive. What if I didn’t fit in? What if I was just way, way too dumb for this place?

  Suddenly, before I knew it, it was too late to go back. Michael dropped me off at the front of the campus and I walked to my first class, Introduction to English Literature.

  I entered the room, a big hall in a semi-circle, already about half full with students, with ten minutes to go before the class was scheduled to start. It looked surprisingly modern, I was half expecting the classroom insides to look like something out of Harry Potter given the exterior of the campus, but it was well lit, with light wooden tables and modern chairs. A projector in the ceiling shone on a screen that dominated the far wall of the room.

  Looking around, I spotted a couple of empty seats about halfway up, and made my way over. They were near the aisle, too, so I wouldn’t have to awkwardly crawl over people to get to the seat.

  I sat down shyly next to a girl with short black hair and a nice smile, then reached into my bag and took out my laptop.

  “Hi, I’m Annie,” the girl next to me said with a smile and an adorable English accent that wasn’t quite the same as John Alcott’s, but also not the same as what I’d hear in the East London markets. There were so many nuances and different accents in this country, it was crazy.

  “Julianne. Nice to meet you.”

  “Oooh, you’re American! Where from?”

  “New York,” I replied. “How about you?”

  “I grew up in Manchester,” she replied. “Moved down here for University though.”

  “How long have you lived here for?”

  “Just a couple weeks. My mum didn’t want me to come at all, she wanted me to stay closer to home. My father insisted though. He thought I needed to get out and see the world.”