The Runaway Sister

eighteen | holly & jolly

I swing my legs back and forth, clutching onto the branch of the sturdy old oak tree in my backyard. "My daddy was being mean last night," I sigh, glancing over at Warren. 

"What'd he do this time?" 

"Just yelled and threw some things around... He was yelling about Uncle. But I love Uncle! I don't understand why they don't love each other. They're family." 

"You're just too loving, Lily. You think everyone is good inside," Warren points out. I stick my tongue out at him. 

"Am not." 

"Are too." 

"I love you, though," I say. "You're perfect." 

Warren stares at me for a moment. His eyes go almost black. Where did the green go? His looks away and down at the grass below us. 

"Not really, Lily," He breathes out after a moment. 

"What do you mean, Warren? You are perfect. You're pretty, nice, and fun. You don't make people scared like my brothers and daddy do."

Warren bites his lip. He clenches onto the tree branch tighter. I slide closer to him, stopping when our arms touch. 

"I..." He pauses.

"What, shorty? What is it?" 

He cracks a small grin when I call him his nickname. He glances over at me, and lightly taps my nose. I giggle. 

"Says the girl who's a whole foot shorter than me." 

"I'm only an inch shorter!" 

"No. More like 10." 

I roll my eyes. "Stop being so rude, Warren! Hasn't anyone said you should be nice?" I whine, pouting.

He smiles at me. "I'm only nice to you, Lil." 

I frown. "No. That's not true." 

He only smiles. 

Suddenly I hear Luke running out into the backyard, yelling, "Warren! Evelyn! Time for your birthday cake, Ev!" 

"Come on, newly seven-year-old," Warren says. I lightly smack his arm and begin climbing down the tree trunk. 

When I reach the bottom, and when Warren stands next to me, I say, "Come on, ancient eight-year-old." 

I glance over at Warren, who sits next to me at Daphne's dinner table. There aren't any adults around us besides the Saint's servants. 

I think my face has become a ripe tomato. 

Instead of looking at him, I've made the decision to be in denial. 

Why do I have to like him? 

Why do I even like him?

Because he calls me 'Lily' and we bicker sometimes? Because he was strong abs and a chiseled jawline? 

Because I was able to talk to him about anything when we were kids? 

Where are all of these memories coming from? 

Why am I just now remembering our extensive past? 

Warren glances over at me, and smirks. He tilts his head to the side. I roll my eyes at him, but a small smile is playing on my lips. 

Maids come out, placing food in front of us on the table. Ham. Mashed potatoes and gravy. Salad. Pie. Lots and lots and lots of pie. 

Where are the mince pies? Yorkshire pudding? Roast potatoes? Soup? I frown. I've gotten used to food in England... this is nothing like the Christmas Eve feasts I remember.