Like icarus, drawn to the flaming sun, he craved to be burned by her.
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Rich girl SOLANA MCLAREN is a mess. When she gets kicked out of her family home, she's forced to move halfway across the country to live with her golden child brother, the one...
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S O L A N A
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AS SOON AS we arrived at Josef's apartment, he gave me all of three seconds to acclimate before he launched all of his house rules at me. He hovered above me while I sat in a dark green armchair that seemed suspiciously unused and recited all his laws.
"First, home by 10 pm every night." My lips parted to argue automatically but he quickly added, "No exceptions." It wasn't starting well.
"Second, no drugs. No parties, no bars, no clubs," he had his arms crossed firmly, a striking resemblance to our father in this light. "Answer my calls and texts within an hour and if you don't respond, I'm gonna assume something is wrong. No sneaking out, if you leave, I need to know where and who with."
My jaw gaped as he didn't stop.
"No going through our things. You have your room and the kitchen, anything else is off-limits. You get me?"
I narrowed my eyes but nodded to appease him.
"No one comes here without my permission. No friends, no random guys— no one." The authoritative tone in his voice was unwavering.
"Anything else?" I muttered.
"Every Sunday. We eat together."
Like we used to were the unspoken words in the air— a custom that died with our father.
By the end of his list, I was sure that he had to have been joking. But then his face softened and he grabbed my hand to say, "I'm only doing this to show you I care. I know it'll take time to regain your trust but I'm going to try." The confession stunned me but we didn't speak of the rules past that.
I had resigned to my fate until his phone began buzzing on the living room table. Both our eyes shot to the device and Josef groaned under his breath before picking up the call.
"Hello?" I couldn't hear the other person on the phone, but I could tell it was an unwelcome conversation by the way Josef held his fingers to the bridge of his nose frustratedly. "I can't, right now."
He glanced at me before muttering under his breath. "Estoy con mi hermanita... no puedo."
Since when could Josef speak Spanish? Mom hadn't taught either of us any Spanish, despite coming from straight from Cuba, and Dad was as American as it got. And then it dawned on me that he was speaking in Spanish intentionally so I wouldn't understand. Suspicious. Unfortunately for him, I understood enough but I wasn't going to let him know that. We could both have our secrets.
