𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬| 𝑅𝑎𝑓𝑒 𝐶𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑛

twenty

When Banksie got home with Mr. Pérez, she wasn't bothered in any way, shape, or form about a dinner with her parents and Rafe Cameron.

She thought she'd gotten lucky when she missed out on the last party her parents held.

"Why don't you do the dinner tomorrow?" Banksie asked, slumped in a chair in the kitchen. One hand reached up to rub both eyes in frustration.

"Your father's not here tomorrow," Mrs. Pérez said. "And neither am I," she smiled.

"What?" Banksie said.

"Yes, your father decided tomorrow would be a nice trip to visit your nan and grandad," she added, taking a sip of whatever was in her glass.

"And why aren't I going?"

"Oh, you know, stuff..."

"I see," Banksie said with a squint.

"Aunt Joe will be going too, and Uncle Lou," Mrs. Pérez smiled, setting her drink down on the island table.

"Oh, so will the cousins be going?" Banksie asked.

"No," Mrs. Pérez shook her head.

"Oh, so just the rents?" Banksie said, leaning back, arms crossed over her chest, causing Elizabeth to roll her eyes.

"Go get changed, you smell."

"As you wish," Banksie sighed.

She dragged herself upstairs, the weight of the long day still hanging on her shoulders. She thought about how much freedom she'd have with her parents off to Oxford for a while, but she also knew that if she got into trouble, everything would go "arse over tit," as her Uncle Lou would say.

She reached her room, closed the door softly behind her, and leaned against it for a moment, exhaling slowly. Today had been harder than it needed to be.

She felt mean when she thought of Harvey. But it was hard to like someone who doesn't listen to a word you say.

Banksie kicked off her shoes, her feet aching. They almost felt too sore to walk on.

She walked slowly to her closet to pick an outfit for later. She'd much rather wear pajamas, but her mother and father would strongly prefer she didn't. Still, she didn't want to wear anything fancy in her own home, so she chose a simple pair of jeans and a nice top. If her mother complained, Banksie would seriously consider moving to the moon.

Dramatic, our Banksie.

All she had to do now was get her towels from the cupboard in the hall. Couldn't be too hard, surely.

Wrong.

Well, no, getting the towels was easy. Waddle over, open the door, pick up the towels, blah blah blah. What wasn't so easy was being swiftly pulled into the guest bedroom, dropping her towels in the process.

"Rafe—" she started, her heart jumping in surprise. She wasn't sure why she was surprised, though. He was living here temporarily.

He shut the door quietly behind her, positioning himself between her and the door, leaving her no room to escape. His expression was serious, and the small space between them felt charged, as if the air itself had thickened.

"You're avoiding me," Rafe said, his voice low, his gaze locked on hers.

Banksie blinked, looking left, then right, before focusing back on him. "Am I?" she said, eyebrows furrowed. "I don't think I am, sunshine," she smiled.

"You are."

"See, the thing is," she said, "I don't think I am. I've done nothing but have a nice conversation with you recently."