Shame: A Stepbrother Romance by Emma Soule Read Free Book Online Page B

he?”
    “What?”
    “Giving him a chance?”
    “He doesn’t talk about it. Anyway, I think Andrew should be here by now. Let’s get downstairs and see.”
     
    Sometimes I feel like Joe has glass eyes. He never blinks and he never changes expression. He looks like a reptile in the face and I can’t picture my hot-blooded mother ever going to bed with him. Not that I spend a lot of time picturing my mom going to bed with people…
    It’s still light outside when we sit down at the enormous dining table. Rich people seem to always dine early and then stretch the process well into the evening. Dinner is an event, an everyday one. Joe is dressed up too in a crisp white shirt and a dark olive dinner jacket. His snow-white hair is combed to the side. He still hasn’t lost a hair of it.
    I can never get over the luxury of their home. I feel like a country mouse that has stumbled into the big city. Looking at all the polished hardwood floors, the vintage dining chairs, the high ceiling and the trio of maids hurrying in and out through the tall door, I’m glad I decided not to live with them here. It’s like a tomb of times long gone and everything is so large-scale and extravagant that it doesn’t feel like a home at all. It feels like a museum.
    I sit down and place the cloth napkin across my lap. Vintage furniture and vintage manners are still in in this home. Joe sits at the head of the table, as always, and mom is opposite him. It feels like they need to shout to hear each other across the ridiculously long table. The seat in front of me is still empty.
    I’ve made an effort too. I’ve washed and brushed my hair and put some concealer under my eyes, though the dark circle situation has improved a lot since Sunday morning. I’ve also put on the only pair of khaki pants that I own and borrowed one of mom’s twin sets. She tried to force pearls on me, but I fought it off. I can go as far as changing my top for a dinner ‘at home’, but changing my entire personality is out of the question.
    “I guess we should get started,” Joe says quietly from behind his clasped hands.
    “No, honey,” my mom says soothingly, “We can wait a bit more. We are not very hungry, are we Jo?”
    “No,” I say, snapping out of my little daydream, “No, not hungry yet.”
    “How’s the bookstore going, Jo?” Joe asks me. How could I ever think of this guy as ‘dad’? He is more formal than my boarding school principal, and that’s during his downtime.
    “Great,” I lie. It’s great, yes, but not financially and I know that’s the thing that interests him. “I’ve started doing these poetry reading nights on Thursdays. Still not a lot of interest, but I’m throwing a little campaign next week to get the word out, so hopefully more people will come.”
    If I’m boring him to death, he doesn’t let it show.
    I’m just about to go into more detail about the other events I’ve planned for the bookstore next week, like the book club, a book signing, a crafts books sale and workshop, when the door opens and we all turn to look.
    I gasp.
    One of the maids is escorting Andrew into the room. My new brother. Also, the man I had careless, irresponsible, unprotected sex with.
    Last time I tried to attribute his appearance to me dreaming didn’t prove effective. Regardless, I try it one more time. I must be dreaming. In what twisted world have I picked to have a blow job shot out of the crotch of the only man in town I’m semi-related to? Well, besides Joe, but then the world would have been even more twisted.
    If I was in a Victorian novel right now, which I wish I was, I would have conveniently fainted, but I’m not, so I have to live through the next few hours. My heart is in my throat and I fear that everyone must be looking at me right now and reading the shame written all over my face.
    In truth, no one is looking at me. Both my mom and Joe are staring at Andrew who is still standing at the door where the maid left