Chapter 4: Marie

School is going by so slow today. I keep looking at my watch hoping it’s three p. m., and it keeps being before noon.

“You’re distracted,” my best friend, Olivia, nudges me as we ‘study’ in the library.

“Boy stuff,” I say quietly.

“Oh? Spill, bitch!” Olivia whisper-screams. I scan the stacks around us, paranoid, but nobody’s within earshot—not like they’d care. “I might have a date,” I say, barely above a whisper. I feel a nuclear blush blooming across my face.

Olivia gasps as if I told her I singlehandedly assassinated the Dean. “With who?”

I can’t tell her it’s my stepbrother. I can barely admit it to myself. “No one. He’s just… older. My mom would have a stroke.”

She narrows her eyes. “Older? Like how much older? Did you finally DM that T.A. you swooned over all semester?”

I almost snort. “He’s not a T.A. And he doesn’t work here.” I look at her. Olivia’s brown eyes are practically vibrating with curiosity. “He’s a… contractor. Forty. Maybe?”

Olivia’s jaw drops so fast I worry she’ll choke on her iced coffee. “Hot. Where did you meet him?”

“Through family,” I say, not entirely untrue.

Olivia’s eyes narrow as she leans in. “Through family? Wait, Marie. Who is he, really?”

I fidget with my pen, clicking it nervously. “I can’t tell you.”

“Oh my God,” she whispers, realization dawning on her face. “It’s not... it’s not one of your stepdad’s friends, is it? Because that would be—“

“No!” I cut her off too loudly, earning a stern look from the librarian. I lower my voice. “No, it’s not that. It’s complicated.”

Olivia slides her textbook aside, giving me her full attention. “Marie, you’re scaring me a little. Is this guy dangerous?”

“Only to my sanity,” I mutter. “Look, it’s nothing serious. He’s coming to fix something at my apartment later. That’s all.”

“And yet you’re blushing like a virgin on prom night.” She studies my face carefully. “You really like him.”

It’s not a question. I nod, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

“But you’re worried about your mom,” Olivia continues. “Because of the age thing?”

I laugh bitterly. “My mom has zero right to judge anyone’s relationship choices. She’s been married—what, four times now?”

“That’s harsh,” Olivia says, but her tone tells me she doesn’t disagree.

“It’s true,” I insist, leaning forward on my elbows. “It’s left me feeling like the love I want—the one like in my books—doesn’t exist. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

Olivia reaches across the table and grabs my hand, squeezing it. “Marie, listen to me. Just because your mom has a complicated relationship history doesn’t mean you’re doomed to repeat it.”

I roll my eyes, trying to play it cool even though her words hit something deep inside me. “Yeah, right. Four marriages and counting doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in the whole ‘happily ever after’ thing.”

“But that’s her story, not yours,” Olivia insists, leaning closer. “Look, I’ve known you since freshman year. You’re not your mother. You’re thoughtful and careful with your heart—maybe too careful sometimes.”

“Being careful keeps me from ending up divorced at twenty-five,” I mutter, but Olivia’s not having it.

“Being too careful means you might miss out on something amazing.” Her voice softens. “I’ve never seen you this worked up over a guy before. That has to mean something.”

I stare down at my textbook, tracing the edge with my fingertip. “What if it’s just... lust? What if I’m making up this connection in my head?”

“Then you have hot contractor sex and move on,” she says with a wicked grin. “But what if it’s not just that? What if this is your romance novel moment?”

“Those aren’t real,” I say automatically, but my voice lacks conviction.

“Says who? Your mom?” Olivia scoffs. “Marie, not everyone treats relationships like your mom. She’s… a special case.”

“Yeah,” I concede, letting a small smile peek through. “You’re right. This could be my moment.”

“There we go—that’s the spirit. Now, are we ready to talk about my guy problems?”

“You mean the professor that doesn’t know you exist.”

She sighs. “One day.”

I laugh softly, placing a comforting hand on hers. “One day, babe.”

———

Later that afternoon, I’m pacing in my apartment. I’ve cleaned it three times, I’ve checked the thermostat, I’ve swept the place looking for anything embarrassing. You know, besides the wall of taboo romance novels in my bedroom.

I’ve even rearranged my bookshelf so my most embarrassing reads are hidden behind my textbooks. Not that Drake would judge me for my reading choices, but still—I don’t need him thinking I’m some romance-obsessed girl with unrealistic expectations.

I’ve already changed outfits three times—too casual, too dressy, too obvious. Finally settling on a simple denim mini skirt and white crop top. Bra? No way.

The kitchen light flickers again, reminding me of the excuse for his visit. I smile to myself. At least it’s not completely made up. I’ve prepared lasagna—my mother’s recipe, ironically. Nothing too fancy, but something I know how to make well.

I’ve set the small table in my kitchen nook with my best dishes—the ones my last stepfather gave me when I moved into this apartment. The irony isn’t lost on me. I light a candle, then second-guess myself and blow it out. Too romantic. Then I light it again. What’s the point of pretending this is just a casual dinner between siblings?

My phone buzzes. A text from Olivia: “Good luck tonight! Remember—you’re worthy of love! And epic sex… especially that.”

I smile, grateful for her support, even though she doesn’t know the full story. I text back: “Thanks. Will update tomorrow!”

The apartment suddenly feels too small, too intimate. I open a window, letting in the cool autumn air. My reflection in the mirror catches my eye—cheeks flushed, eyes bright with anticipation. I look like a woman waiting for her lover, not her stepbrother.

My stomach flutters with nervous excitement. This is crazy. We shouldn’t be doing this.

We are.