I closed my eyes and willed the images away. She’d just lost her husband, and here I was, my cock twitching, desperate to pick off the bones. I was disgusting. Yet I could count on one hand all the times I’d ever denied my impulses… Maybe it’d make her feel better?

Planting both of my feet on the carpeted floor, I bowed down and reached for her. With my arms ready, muscles contracting, I gently gripped the back of her knees and cupped her upper body, taking her weight in my arms. Dreamily, her arms reached up and tangled around the back of my neck, holding on tightly.

“Where you taking me?” she mumbled, her eyes remaining closed.

“Bed.”

She tucked her head into my neck as I climbed the stairs and found the master bedroom. Bracing my legs, I dipped forward to lay her down in the centre of the mattress.

“You’re strong,” she said in a whisper, sleep taking hold of her almost immediately.

It amused me how different this night could turn out if we were in an alternate universe, if she weren’t my stepsister and she hadn’t just witnessed her husband’s cold corpse hours before. Normally whenever I entered a woman’s bedroom, I didn’t leave till I was satisfied and she was a quivering wreck. But I kept the predator in me in check; I wasn't about to do anything stupid, even though my dick pleaded otherwise.

“Shh, go to sleep.”

I leaned down and pushed a lock of dark blonde hair from her face. She pulled away from my touch and turned to wrap her arms tight around the pillow, her body curled to her side, presenting me with her full ass in the shape of a heart, begging to be touched. I gathered up the side of the duvet and laid it upon her, hiding her body from my hungry eyes. I smoothed it down around her form to trap as much heat in as possible, trying to fend off the chilliness that lurked inside the room.

A quiet yet strangled noise came from her lips; they pressed into a thin line as she muttered a name I recognised clearly.

“Eric,” she sighed.

I told myself that I should leave, that she’d be OK on her own, but I was already bending at the waist and taking my shoes off, unable to persuade myself to leave. I flopped down on the chair beside her bed and like a sentry, I watched over her as the blackness of the night graduated to the safe colours of morning.

4

Sara

The sound of birds singing managed to penetrate the double-glazing and woke me. Joyful cries sounded as the sun rose in the sky. They chirped as if everything was normal with the world, when it was anything but.

As I lifted my head from the pillow, though, blinking the grogginess away, I had to admit that the colours in the room—the turquoise satin curtains, the golden hues of the shimmering wallpaper—were brighter, richer. Maybe it was just the way the light reflected off the windows.

It had nothing to do with yesterday’s events, I told myself. Nothing to do with the relief I’d felt and that now filled me with guilt.

I dug the heels of my palms into the mattress and heaved myself up into a sitting position, resting my back against the thick pillows.

I should be distraught, a wreck. Why am I not crying? I’m still in shock, I thought.

But before I could examine the lack of emotional response any further, a rustle of clothing caught my attention. Turning my head to the side, I watched in surprise as Harvey stirred in the wingback chair. He must be in agony, what with the ninety-degree angle that forced the sitter into a rigid posture. The chair was merely there for decoration, positioned in the corner of the room, never intended to sleep in. But sometimes doubling as a clotheshorse, much to my annoyance. Eric had bent me…

I cut myself short. I wasn’t prepared to revisit that memory. Not now, maybe not ever.

“You’re awake,” Harvey interrupted, looking at me with mild interest. His normally slicked-back, business-styled hair was now rustled and out of place, as if he’d run his fingers through it. His thick, dark lashes fluttered over his azure eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, you OK?”

“It’s nothing, just surprised to see your ugly mug in the morning.” He cocked an eyebrow. I wasn’t about to reveal to him what I’d been trying desperately not to think about. He’d be the last person I’d ever consider pouring my heart out to. Just the thought was comical. And though he was plenty serious, Harvey was not the type of guy you would confide in. I never expected him to stay with me during the night, let alone be here when I woke up. Didn’t he have an important business meeting to go to, or a gorgeous twig-like model to fuck?

Surely the woman from last night would be missing him in her bed this morning.

“Why are you still here, Harvey?” I asked, regretting the anger that was very present in my tone.

He mouth remained unmoving, his gaze eating away at my skin the longer he stared. Debating, perhaps, his response. I fully expected him to say something rude and calculating to counter my words, and then he’d leave me in peace.

Twiddling with the blanket in my hand, I glanced down at my nails, unable to look at him anymore. How could I, when I had been nothing but an obvious nuisance to him last night? And now I was being an ungrateful bitch. I was never good at staring matches anyway, but his eyes were like the sun—stare too long and you’d go blind. And I couldn’t stand the itchy feeling that prickled upon my agitated skin when he looked at me like that, making me want to throw off the blankets and claw at my flesh; it was unnerving. The silence was oppressive, thick, and his glare was unwavering. I almost screamed at him.

“Want some breakfast?” he said, surprising me, as if he was oblivious to the intensity in the room.

“No,” I replied, my voice hushed and soft.

I puzzled over how I’d ended up in my bed. I couldn’t remember making it up the stairs. Did he carry me? The thought made me self-conscious. The extra pounds that plagued me made me blush with embarrassment.

I cleared my throat and sent an apologetic look his way. “I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

His words came out in rumble. “Don’t worry about it.”

I nodded, feeling stupid as we continued to sit there, not knowing what either of us should do, but a clattering from below made caught our attention. Light footsteps made their way up the stairs before Harvey even had the chance to get to his feet. The bedroom door opened, and my mother entered, her face creased with worry. Her white hair was dishevelled, and her eyes widened in concern.

“Sara!” my mom cried as I gave Harvey a thunderous stare. Why had he called her? “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry.”

She flung her arms around me for a moment, and I barely registered the light squeeze, her attempt at comfort. It was devoid of any emotional intent, lacklustre. At least Harvey’s embrace had been full of real feelings. I tried to shake the mental thought away and instead decided to focus on my mother’s high-pitched blabbering. She would insist on knowing every single detail of Eric’s death, from the moment the police turned up on my doorstep right up until the time I last laid eyes on my husband’s battered body in the morgue. She’d make me relive it. Over and over again, without a thought to how it’d make me feel.

“It’s OK, Mom,” I answered, waiting for the interrogation to start. I tried to catch Harvey’s eye, but he’d wandered over to look out the window. Trying to be considerate, I guess.

“It’s not all right, darling,” she reasoned and pushed back from me to look at my face. “You’ve just lost your husband. Of course you’re not OK!”

Her words sank into me. She was right, I shouldn’t be OK. I shouldn’t be able to hold a conversation, let alone sit upright in bed. Widows were meant to be in a ball of agony, unable to think of anything but the loss of their loved one. I nodded my head and brought my gaze down, just as my twin sister, Anita, came hollering at me. Her loud, whiny voice cut through the migraine that was beginning to settle in my skull.