Forbidden Games

Before the storm

Home, sweet home!

Well, maybe not "sweet." But at least HE will be there.

Since we've all started living together, Christmas vacation at the Lombardi-Quinn-Sawyer household abides by a strange tradition. First there's Christmas Eve where everyone is basically pissed off. Then Sienna leaves with Harry to spend the holidays with her family – Tristan has been excused since he started behaving badly enough to embarrass his mother. My dad uses the time to enjoy a long weekend with his friends – old colleagues from the real estate biz who he goes skiing with. Business is always slow this time of year so he can afford the time off. And that means I'm free. Officially, I'm under Betty Sue's responsibility, but my grandma is the laziest and therefore best, chaperone on the planet. For most people, the holidays are a time to get together. At our house everyone does their own thing. Funny that it never tipped off my dad or stepmom with their dream of the perfect blended family.

Anyway, I'm not usually a big fan of Christmas. But the thought of seeing Tristan again after five long days away from him makes me tingly all over, especially after finding his thoughtful gifts.

Damn nerve endings driving me insane!

I was disappointed I didn't get to see him yesterday when I got back to Key West. But the rock star had responsibilities – practice with the band, then a meeting with the producer who's interested in them. The image of him, lead singer, there with his band mates negotiating their first contract made me swoon. And waiting for him became even more exciting. I was also disappointed that I didn't see him this morning, his hair mussed from sleep, wearing a tee-shirt and boxer briefs, and that gorgeous face grumpy at having to get out of bed. It's one of my favorite Tristan looks. But my dad said he came home late and left again early this morning and I had to pretend this explanation was enough. I think back on the night I just spent in my bed, so close to him in his own bed, separated by such a thin and yet such a cruel barrier.

[Stop playing hard to get, Quinn. Show yourself!]

[I can't.]

[Why not? :( ]

[I won't be able to stop myself from attacking you on the spot! :) ]

[You're such a tease! <3 ]

This little exchange is enough to keep me from getting angry at him. As the day drags on, lazy and apathetic as I wait for Christmas Eve dinner, it's silly, but my heart begins to pound every time I hear a noise in the street or near the front door. But I have to keep waiting, and waiting. Sprawled on the couch with Harry, Alfred and a bowl of popcorn, I slowly start to get over the jet lag, cuddling up to this sweet kid, who cuddles up to his stuffed alligator. We watch cartoons full of elves and reindeer and then they show the Christmas movies I've seen at least six times.

And still no Tristan . . .

This Christmas there seems to be a weird vibe around the house. It feels empty and unusually calm. If I were superstitious, I'd say a big storm is on its way. Or maybe everyone's just given up. Apparently Sienna hired a caterer instead of cooking herself. And the holiday decorations are sparse considering her usual taste for extravagance: a smaller tree than usual, a few candy canes hung on the branches and a strand of lights that never seems to be on. And Harry's big red stocking is the only one hanging over the fireplace, as if no one else wanted to take part.

"Knock knock!" Betty Sue cries as she comes in the front door without ringing the bell. "Whoa, now aren't things festive around here!"

She lowers her voice, surprised to see me in such a state and at the fact that the house is so empty. She makes an embarrassed face in apology for her enthusiasm and tiptoes over to join us on the couch.

"What happened, is everyone on strike?"

"I think dad is packing upstairs. Sienna is in her office. She had some things to take care of for the hotel. They're leaving early tomorrow morning."

"Us too!" exclaims Harry, talking about him and his beloved alligator.

"And Tristan?" Betty Sue asks with a mischievous grin.

"No news," I say, pretending I couldn't care less. "And I can't stand waiting anymore. I know he's staying here next week," I whisper in my grandma's ear.

"Hmm . . . Do you think . . .?"

"Oh, Betty Sue, here already?" Sienna interrupts.

"Yes, but I can leave and come back just for the presents if you want!"

"That's not what I meant. I just didn't hear the doorbell. And that's usually how people enter when they are invited to dinner."

"Sorry, I left my good manners at the gate when I squatted to pee in your flowerbed," Betty Sue jokes.

While my step mom and grandma manage to be cordial most of the time, they have never been best friends. And when Sienna gets rude, Betty Sue likes to exaggerate her hippie ways. But today is off to a particularly virulent start! Luckily, Sienna seems to be making an effort to control herself and doesn't even reply. I laugh under my breath while the two women force a smile at each other. And a glare that reveals a lot about their hostility.

"It's already 7:15, we should head to the table!" Sienna says, clapping her hands as if to muster her courage.

She goes to unwrap the food from the caterer in the kitchen and carries the plates into the dining room two by two, yelling out orders:

"Harry, honey, go wash your hands and leave that silly stuffed animal on the couch! Liv, can you call Tristan? He promised he'd be here at seven! He just can't be trusted! Craig!" she screams toward the staircase, "we're all waiting on you! It doesn't take that long to pack a suitcase!"

Betty Sue and I sigh in unison, dragging our feet as we walk to the table. Harrison obeys and my dad finally appears at the bottom of the steps.

"May I ask why you're yelling?" he says in a weary voice.

"Because I'm tired of being the only one who makes any effort so we can have a nice family Christmas! Tristan acts like our house is a hotel! Liv did nothing to help. And you're so obsessed with your little bachelors' weekend that you've had no time for anything else! Can't we just have a nice time together as a family? Or is that too much to ask?"

"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black," Craig mutters, his features stern.

"What did you just say?" Sienna barks with her fists clenched, pushing into her hips. She's so tense her skin turns white at the knuckles. Betty Sue holds back a laugh and pulls her colorful scarf up over her pinched lips. Harrison looks between his mom and stepdad, a frightened expression on his face. I get up to try and distract him when I see his little lip start to tremble. That's when Tristan decides to walk in, nonchalant as he waves to my grandma and makes a funny face at his little brother.

Then his blue eyes turn to me, piercing, kind and playful, as if he were smiling with his eyes. And there's something there that seems to shine brighter than before. The nerve endings all over my body begin to dance their frenetic dance again. But my grandma clears her throat loudly to break the silence that has become uncomfortable. I pull my hair back into my habitual nervous, fake ponytail and Tristan notices the general tension in the room. He goes cold:

"You know, if no one wants to be here, we don't have to pretend we're the model family," he says in a deep voice, shrugging his shoulders.

"I'll have you know you're 15 minutes late!" Sienna interrupts, still furious. "And maybe you don't care, since you don't care about anything, but it's important that we celebrate Christmas for Harrison!"

"You know he's right here in the room with us, right? He's little, but he's not deaf or dumb!" her oldest soon sighs.

"Tristan's right . . . for once," my dad says. "I don't see why we should pretend, if it's to have a Christmas like this. I'm going outside for a cigarette."

"Craig, stay here! What is that supposed to mean?" my stepmother screams.

"If that's how you speak to your husband, it's not that surprising he runs away from you," Betty Sue says coolly.

"Who asked you for your opinion? Liv, do not leave the table!" Sienna barks as I pick up Harry to take him to another room.

"Let's all calm down . . ." my dad says. He hates conflict. "Never speak like that again to my mother or my daughter," he says in a low voice, looking his wife straight in the eye.

The six of us have never been a model family, or any type of family at that. Yelling and fighting are the daily routine, but the tension has never run so high before. It's as if the grudges built up over several years have all exploded tonight. And I feel the moment coming on where the Italian tornado will storm through the dining room. Tristan takes Harry from my arms and whispers "you ok?" and walks away with his little brother. Betty Sue raises her empty glass and jokes:

"Health, happiness and joy in our hearts! Thanks for the invitation, but I'm going to go. There are dogs, pigs and pelicans waiting for me at home. And they have a better sense of hospitality."

"I'll take you back," my dad says, guiding his mother by the shoulders, trying to keep her quiet. He's also looking for an escape route.

I'm standing there alone with Sienna in the dining room, surrounded by six empty chairs and about ten serving dishes full of food. I almost feel sorry for her. She's paralyzed by this horrible failure and all the silence. She loves a big, noisy table of people. She's probably also in shock that my dad stood up to her for once and that it hit so hard. Maybe she's also disappointed in herself for not managing to keep up the appearances she holds so dear. But she doesn't seem to understand that she's the one who added the last straw. She's the one who has been loading the back of that poor camel with her screams and criticisms, her selfishness and hypocrisy. And it kills me that she can't step back and analyze her own actions, not even once. Instead, it's as if she's already thinking about the future, calculating everything she could lose. And I'd like to tell her everything will be okay, but I settle for a look that says "I'm sorry," and leave the room without saying a word. I'm lost in the infinite number of scenarios as well.

And in thinking about what I, selfishly, could gain . . .

I join Tristan and Harry in the living room: Tristan is playing the guitar for his little brother and has turned Christmas carols into melancholy, folk-inspired ballads. I curl up into a ball on the couch, right next to them. Tristan leans in and discreetly presses his shoulder against mine, never looking up from his guitar. I let the music cradle me, calmed by his warmth as I silently write my list for Santa.

"I'd like to see my dad smile again, act like a dork and make me dance the tango.

I'd like Harrison to have the parents he deserves – loving, sweet and normal.

I'd like Sienna and Craig to get a divorce without ripping each other apart, for us to move back into our old house. The three of us, with Betty Sue and Dad.

I would like Tristan Quinn to sing ballads to me, to stare deep into my eyes, wrap his arms around me, right now. I want all that to be possible and not forbidden anymore. I just want to love him without wondering if I'm allowed to or not."

***

The next morning, everything seems to be back to normal, or almost. In the kitchen, Sienna acts like nothing happened. She kisses Tristan as she gives him useless instructions and hands us each a Christmas card containing two green bills – the only gift she's capable of giving us. Then she tells Harry for the thousandth time that she's taking him to see his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins in Virginia. As if to reassure everyone – especially herself – as to the reason for their leaving. It has nothing to do with last night's fight. After saying her long goodbyes, she takes her little boy and her huge suitcase outside to wait in the December wind for their taxi. Usually my dad drives them to the airport. I don't know how their evening ended last night, but there's a pillow and blanket on the living room couch. And I know my dad – he must be hiding in the backyard, chain-smoking and complaining about the wind that makes it impossible to light his cigarettes. Then he'll start cleaning the pool with the big net, just to have something to do, picking every single leaf out of the turquoise water. He'll only come back in when the coast is clear.

"It's blowing hard out there!" he says with an embarrassed smile.

"No need to talk about the weather, Craig, you can go meet your friends. We won't think you're abandoning us!" Tristan says, a hint of insolence in his voice.

"I wasn't waiting for your permission, but thanks anyway. Be careful, you two, they're forecasting a storm this weekend."

"As far as storms go, we've had good training."

Oh how I missed his rude nonchalance and casual shoulder shrugging . . . And he's already getting on my nerves.

When are we finally going to be alone so we don't have to pretend anymore?

"It'll be alright, Dad, don't bother answering him."

"What you do or don't do with my mom is none of our business, Craig," Tristan goes on, provoking him with a smirk.

"Shut it, Quinn!" I say, pressing my palm against his mouth to shut him up.

Oh what I wouldn't do, just to touch him . . .

"Green olive, are you sure you want to stay here with this nutcase?"

"I should be able to survive."

"You know you can always go stay at Betty Sue's if you can't stand him."

"Believe me, I will if I need to."

"As for you, you little brat, what you do or don't do with my daughter is my business."

My dad utters these words in a mock-threatening tone, his index finger wagging in front of Tristan's face. I hold my breath, feeling that everyone must be able to hear my heart pounding in my chest.

"If you make her life difficult, make her cry or drive her insane, you'll have to answer to me. You're supposed to watch over her and protect her. Capisce?"

Then my dad grins, and affectionately taps Tristan's shoulder. He kisses me on the forehead.
"Have fun!" he says, and picks up his little suitcase in the hallway and leaves the house

"Breathe, Sawyer! He said it without thinking. He was just trying to put me in my place. He doesn't know about us."

"You have no idea!"

"Relax, he wouldn't be joking about it if he knew we were . . ."

"Jesus, Quinn! Why do you always have to go looking for trouble? Always play with fire?"

He just shrugs his shoulders as if it wasn't important or like I was making a big deal out of nothing. I can't understand his detached attitude, like nothing matters – when we should be so happy to be alone, unable to keep our hands off each other. I want him so bad, but it feels one-sided. And that just makes me angrier.

"You promised you'd be careful, why are you taking risks by provoking him? It's like you're trying to sabotage everything!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Us! You were perfect when I was 5000 miles away. But you can't just be normal when I'm here!"

"May I remind you that you're the one who asked me to be discreet in public. All I'm doing is respecting your choice, don't hold it against me."

"Discreet, not distant!"

"You don't know what you want, Liv . . ."

"Yes, I do. I want you. Since I left for France, it's all I've been dreaming about. You! The two of us, alone!"

"Do you know how hard it is for me? To know you were back and I couldn't even touch you? To only be able to look at you through pictures on my damn phone? And not even be able to make eye contact with you in person, afraid it'd be too obvious? To write all the things I want to do to you, and not be able to do anything? You're the one who insists on this fucking secret! If it were up to me, none of this would even be an issue!"

His anger, my disappointment, his frustration, my anxiety, our failed reunion – all of it makes it impossible for me to stay in the same room with him. I run up to my room and slam the door. For two hours, I relive the last few days and the last few minutes in my head. The conversation with my dad gives me the chills. Tristan's careless attitude kills me. I had all these expectations about being alone with him. I thought he was as impatient for it as I was, after all these days apart. And I didn't sleep a wink all night, thinking our parents might split up, thinking of all the freedom we'd have. But apparently I was getting carried away. All I got this morning was Tristan in his role as the annoying stepbrother, rebellious and insolent, unable to act with simplicity. I'm disappointed in him, in my expectations and my naivety.

I spend two hours re-evaluating, wondering where I went wrong. But I also listen to the quiet in the house. I listen to Tristan who doesn't come talk to me. I hear no footsteps coming to find me. A loud siren suddenly interrupts the flow of questions in my head. I don't know if it's in the house or the street, but it's unbearably loud. I don't think I've heard it before. The stress rises in me. Cold sweat. Racing pulse. And then I hear his voice.

"Liv, move it, we have to go downstairs!" I hear from the other side of the wall.

"What? Where?"

"It's a hurricane warning," Tristan yells, opening the door to my room.

"Are you joking?"

"I wish, but no. You don't joke about these things here! Come on!"

"I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"Sawyer, it's not the time. Follow me, no questions asked. Please!"

"Where are we going?"

"To the safe room downstairs."

"That room doesn't even exist!"

"Jesus, Liv! Tropical storms are very common in the Keys! Almost everyone has a place to hole up in case of danger. And that siren is a warning to the island! It means the storm is close."

I'm petrified by everything he's just told me. I've never once been in this situation in the six years I've lived in Florida. I think of my dad, Harry and Betty Sue. Fergus and Bonnie. And even Sienna. I look at Tristan, who is rubbing his head, trying to find another way to convince me. I look at myself, still wearing the shorts and tank top I sleep in. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is how it should be. But my brain starts to work again when I see the trees bending in the wind outside my window.

"I'm scared!" I stutter, panicking.

"Come on! If you die, your dad will kill me!"

"You'll be dead already, you moron!"

Tristan ignores me and puts his hand on the back of my neck, sliding his fingers under my long hair – a gesture of reassurance but also possession. Then he rushes me down the steps and we go into the den on the ground floor. He opens a heavy door at the back that I didn't even know existed. He comes in after me and closes the reinforced door behind us. We are in a room, painted white from floor to ceiling. It's the size of a bedroom, but there are no windows. There are metal shelves along the back wall containing canned food, boxes of cereal, cookies and bottles of water. Two benches forming an L-shape in the corner are the only pieces of furniture. Tristan sits down on one of them and I go to the other, holding my bare legs tightly in my arms, trying to contain the knot of anxiety growing in my stomach.

The deafening siren eventually stops, replaced by a voice that gives safety instructions. Go to the nearest shelter. Do not leave until further notice. Do not stay in your car. Do not use the telephone lines unless absolutely necessary. Do not try to call your family or friends.

"I'm sure Betty Sue doesn't have a shelter."

"I think she does. Otherwise she'll be at a neighbor's. You're part French, Liv. But people in the Keys are used to this kind of warning. They are smart about it. Your grandma is crazy, but she's not suicidal."

"And my dad? And your brother and your mom?"

"Planes do not take off when there's a hurricane warning. They're probably stuck at the airport. And they'll be safe there."

"So they'll be back?"

"Not for a few hours."

"Do you have your phone?"

"No."

"Shit. Me neither."

"I guess it's just the two of us, then . . ."

Tristan sounds apathetic, almost indifferent, and he's got that damn smirk on his face. Since I don't do anything, he lies down on the bench, crossing his hands behind his head and lets out a long sigh.

"What five things would you want to do if you knew you were going to die today?" he asks, his voice suddenly serious.

"What kind of question is that?"

"Just answer!"

"Hmm. I'd like to sit on the beach and watch the ocean. Eat popcorn until I felt sick. Dance a silly tango with my dad. Roll in the grass with Betty Sue like we'd do when I was little, her dogs running all over the place. And . . ."

The first four came to me spontaneously as I counted on my fingers. The last one is up in the air as crazy ideas fill my brain.

"And . . .?"

"And I'm having trouble deciding."

"Between what and what?"

"Slapping you. Biting you. Strangling you. Or throwing a pointed object at your face."

"And since you don't have a beach, popcorn, your dad or Betty Sue here now, I'm the only one who can carry out your final wishes . . ."

"Don't tempt me."

"I'm waiting.

He smiles up at the ceiling and his dimple melts my insides and annoys me at the same time. I throw my pillow at his head. His smile gets bigger, but he doesn't move.

"What are your five wishes?"

"Play one last concert. Give Harry a big hug. Annoy your dad. And make love to you."

"That's only four," I say, surprised.

"The fifth is to make love to you a second time."

Now he looks at me with those shining, blue eyes. Beauty and temptation incarnate. I jump up, as if something had just burned me. I throw myself at him, unable to resist a second longer.

My mouth devours his. I kiss him as if it were the last time. Or the first time in a long time. I kiss him with rage, to avenge all the conflicting emotions he ignites in me. I kiss him with a wild passion I didn't even know was in me. Then he pins me onto the bench and holds my arms captive above my head.

"Why are you so mad at me, Liv Sawyer?"

"I don't want to talk," I say, fighting to reach his mouth again.

"I won't kiss you until I'm satisfied with your answers. Tell me what I've done wrong."

"I thought you'd be here when I got back from France," I say quietly.

His lips touch mine, so softly it makes me close my eyes.

"What else?" he murmurs.

"I thought you'd leave me a note telling me you weren't around. Or that you'd send me a text before I had to come begging for answers. Or . . ."

"I'm not that kind of guy."

He kisses me again, on the neck, his hand caressing my chest through my tank top. Goosebumps rise all over my body.

"What 'kind of guy' is a perfect boyfriend when I'm far away, and then completely non-existent when I'm here?"

"If you want a real boyfriend, full time, in plain sight, all you have to do is ask, Liv . . ."

Tristan slips his tongue between my lips and kisses me again, ever so sensuously.

"I just thought that after your surprises and sweet notes in my suitcase, you wouldn't be so distant . . ."

'You really think I'm . . . distant?" he asks, his voice deep and dizzying.

Then his muscular body presses harder against mine. His tongue enters my mouth again, smooth and teasing.

"Keep going," he commands, breaking off the kiss.

"I thought Craig and Sienna's fight would make you think about the future, like it did me . . ."

"You don't even know all the things I've wanted to say and do to you since they started fighting."

He moves his knee between my thighs, actions and words coming together. Then his hands release my wrists and move to grab my breasts. Tristan kisses me again, filling me with heat, straight to the core.

"Any more complaints?" he asks playfully.

I wonder if I should surrender so we can get down to serious business – that's definitely what my body wants me to do. But my mind is in a tizzy and loves this little game of his. Tristan's seductive smile pushes me to continue our little Q&A session, his teasing voice, his quickening breath on his wet lips, the growing intensity of his touch. Everything that makes me crazy about him.

"I thought that once we got the test results, you'd be in a hurry to be alone with me," I whisper, adding a hint of defiance to my voice. "That you'd avoid playing at 'who's the alpha male' with my dad right before he left. That you wouldn't let me sit there sulking in my room, making me hate you. I stupidly thought you'd jump my bones the second everyone was out of the house."

"Listen here, Sawyer!"

His voice is deeper. A shadow of pride can be seen in his blue eyes. His jaws are tight, as if his young, male ego had been hit.

"Number one, I'm the alpha male."

His hand creeps up under my tank top.

"Number two, you love to hate me."

His fingers pinch my nipple, making me yelp.

"Number three, I've been sitting here by myself for seven days waiting for you, having to see pictures of you all over the house. The least you could do is wait a couple of hours."

Asshole.

His smirk reeks of vengeance. His arrogant lips come so close, teasing me, but they veer toward my chest at the last minute. Then he keeps moving down. And he doesn't stop. I don't want to listen to him talk anymore. I'd rather watch him in action. He kisses my stomach. Slowly. Stopping at my navel. Teasing it. He bites the elastic of my sleep shorts, sliding them down. The fire in my loins intensifies. My desire makes me brave.

I sit up on the bench and pull my top over my head, still watching him. He's not smiling anymore. He devours me with his eyes, his lips slightly parted. He stares at my naked breasts, as if he were hypnotized. I slide my thumbs under the cotton to undress myself, one leg at a time, in too much of a hurry to feel shy.

Tristan seems to have stopped breathing for a second. He gulps and his Adam's apple moves up and down in his throat. I'll never get tired of admiring that manly part of his body. He runs his hand vigorously through his hair. I don't think I'll ever get over that adorable nervous habit, either.

He quickly gets a hold on himself and kneels on the floor, pulling my butt forward, so I'm right at the edge of the bench. This safe room could not be more aptly named. Everything seems to have disappeared, the threat of the hurricane, our worry about the people we love and, most of all, the constraints that suffocate us and the constant anxiety of being found out. Here, everything is allowed.