The uncle

chapter 19

Laura watched Chris go, a flicker of suspicion crossing her face before she turned her attention back to Betty. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” Betty said, avoiding her mother’s gaze.

Laura sighed and shook her head, then stepped closer, holding something draped neatly over her arm — a pale blue dress.

“I thought you might want this,” Laura said, setting it carefully on the bed.

Betty frowned. “What’s it for?”

“For Saturday,” Laura explained. “The community social at the center. Bennette is hosting, and it’ll be a nice chance to see everyone. I mentioned it last week, remember?”

Betty bit her lip, shaking her head. “I don’t know, Mom. I have school the next day, and I really don’t feel like being around a bunch of people.”

Laura touched her shoulder gently. “It’s on Saturday night, so you’ll still have Sunday to rest. It might be good for you, honey. You’ve been carrying so much alone. Even a couple of hours out might help.”

Betty stared at the dress, something tight and heavy pressing against her ribs. She wasn’t sure she could survive a party, not with everything going on — but a tiny part of her wondered if she might feel almost normal for a moment.

“Just think about it,” Laura said softly. “You don’t have to decide now.”

Betty nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

As soon as her mother left, Betty sat on the edge of the bed, running her hands over the dress. A social event on Saturday. School on Monday. Her life felt like it was splitting into two — the normal teenager she was supposed to be, and the chaos of secrets she was hiding.

Her phone buzzed suddenly, startling her. Dean.

She closed her eyes and answered. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Dean’s warm voice came through. “I was wondering — would you come with me to the social on Saturday? You know, the one at the community center?”

Betty swallowed. She’d planned to break things off with Dean. It had been repeating in her head like a warning siren. But here he was, asking her so sweetly, and she didn’t know how to say no.

“Betty?” he asked gently.

She forced a smile. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Really?” His relief was obvious. “That’s awesome. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Seven,” she agreed softly.

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

They hung up, and Betty dropped her phone on the bed. She traced the edge of the dress with trembling fingers, her mind spinning.

Maybe after the social, she told herself, I’ll tell him then. No more hiding.

The afternoon sun cast slanting rays over the school courtyard, painting everything in a soft golden haze. Betty stood by the entrance gate, her bag slung over one shoulder, glancing down the road for any sign of the driver. Tasha leaned against the wall beside her, scrolling through her phone, while Dean lingered nearby, casually tossing a stone between his hands.

The usual after-school hum was beginning to fade as students trickled away, leaving behind scraps of conversation and the faint scent of freshly cut grass.

Betty sighed, shifting from foot to foot. “I wish he’d hurry up,” she murmured, half to herself, half to Tasha.

Tasha didn’t look up from her phone. “Maybe he got caught in traffic.”

“Or forgot,” Dean added, smirking. He was teasing, but Betty didn’t have the energy to argue.

Just then, the low purr of a car engine reached them. Betty’s head snapped up as a sleek, dark sedan turned into the school driveway. Her heart gave an involuntary lurch when she recognized the driver—Chris.

Chris rolled down the window as he pulled up beside them, one arm resting casually on the steering wheel. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the late afternoon light played across his face, making his usual half-smile seem more mischievous than ever.

“You three stranded?” he asked, his voice light.

Tasha immediately straightened, her eyes wide. “Oh! Thanks, Chris. We were waiting for the driver, but he’s late.”

Chris’s gaze flicked to Betty, his smile softening slightly. “I’m heading home anyway. Hop in—I’ll give you a ride.”

For a moment, Betty hesitated. The familiar pulse of nerves coiled in her stomach. Living in the same house with Chris had become a quiet torture she kept locked behind polite smiles and hurried conversations. His sudden offer made her pulse race, but she knew there was no reason to refuse.

“Thanks,” she said softly, stepping forward. Tasha was already opening the back door, while Dean hesitated.

“I’m good,” Dean said, backing away. “I’ll wait for the driver.”

Chris nodded, but his attention remained on Betty as she slid into the front seat. Tasha climbed into the back, already chattering away about how lucky they were.

As Chris pulled away from the curb, the school fading into the rearview mirror, the air inside the car felt charged—an invisible thread of tension pulling between them. Betty kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead, but she could feel Chris’s glances, quick and almost hesitant, from the corner of her eye.

“Long day?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tasha, oblivious to the quiet exchange, filled the silence with talk about a funny moment in class, but Betty barely heard her. Her mind was tangled in the fact that she was sitting next to Chris, the faint scent of his cologne making her head spin.

And as the car sped down the familiar streets toward home, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if things were different—if the distance between them wasn’t marked by bloodlines and unspoken rules.

As they turned onto the long, winding driveway leading to the house, Betty felt her pulse quicken. The car slowed as Chris guided it through the gates and up to the front of the sprawling estate. The sun dipped low behind the house, casting the walls in a warm, golden glow.

Chris parked, cutting the engine with a quiet sigh. Tasha was already gathering her things from the back seat. “Thanks for the ride, Chris,” she said brightly, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’m heading to the quarters—I promised to help with supper.”

Chris nodded absently, his eyes flicking to Betty as she slowly unbuckled her seatbelt. Tasha waved and hurried around the side of the house toward the servants’ quarters, her steps light and carefree.

For a moment, the air between Betty and Chris was thick with silence. Then, with a subtle but deliberate movement, Chris reached across and took her hand. His fingers curled around hers, firm and possessive, his thumb brushing softly against her skin. The simple touch sent a rush of heat through her body.

“Come with me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Betty’s breath caught in her throat. She hesitated for the briefest second, her mind screaming that someone could see them—anyone could be watching. But when Chris tugged gently, she allowed herself to be pulled from the car. Her legs felt shaky, her heart hammering against her ribs as he led her up the steps and into the house.

They moved quickly but quietly, Chris’s grip tightening as they passed the quiet hallways. He didn’t care who might see them. The house was large, but someone—anyone—could have turned a corner and caught them. The thought made Betty’s cheeks flush and her pulse race faster.

When they reached his room, Chris closed the door behind them with a soft click, locking them inside. His hands were on her in an instant, cupping her face, his lips crashing down on hers in a kiss that was hungry and desperate. She melted into him, her arms winding around his neck as his body pressed her against the door.

“Chris…” she whispered, her voice trembling between a moan and a plea.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her jaw, his hands roaming her body as if he couldn’t get enough. “No one’s going to interrupt us. Not this time.”

She clung to him as he guided her toward the bed, the world around them fading into a blur. Her bag fell to the floor, forgotten, as his lips found hers again, softer now, but still insistent. His fingers tangled in her hair, drawing her closer, his breath warm against her cheek.

The weight of their secret, the danger of being caught, made everything more intense. The taste of his skin, the feel of his hands, the heat of his breath—all of it filled her senses until she was drowning in him.

Their clothes fell away piece by piece, a trail of fabric leading to the bed. When he finally lowered her onto the soft sheets, his body hovering over hers, his eyes met hers—dark and full of something she couldn’t name but had felt for so long.

“I want you,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve tried to fight this, but I can’t anymore.”

Betty’s breath hitched, her heart threatening to burst from her chest. “Me too,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

When they finally parted, breathing ragged, Chris brushed a strand of hair from Betty’s damp forehead. His fingers lingered against her cheek, warm and careful, as if he was afraid to let go.

For a moment, the quiet between them was steady, almost peaceful. Betty’s pulse was still thundering, her body trembling with the aftershocks of what they had shared. She’d never been this close with anyone before — never allowed anyone to see her, to touch her, in this way.

Chris seemed to sense it, his thumb tracing along her jaw with a tenderness that made her eyes sting.

Chris lay beside her, his chest rising and falling with each breath, one hand gently tracing the curve of her waist. Betty’s head rested against his shoulder, her fingers absently toying with the edge of the sheet tangled around them. For a few moments, there was only the sound of their breathing and the faint ticking of the old clock on the wall.

His hand stilled and he pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice warm and low.

She nodded, though a lump was forming in her throat. “Yeah,” she whispered. But the truth was, her mind was spinning. The weight of what they’d done—the thrill, the guilt, the danger of being caught—made her feel lightheaded.

Chris turned onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at her. His expression had softened, his usual teasing smile replaced with something more genuine, almost tender. He reached out to brush a stray curl from her cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he said quietly, his voice husky.

Betty’s cheeks flushed, but her heart ached. She wanted to stay in this moment, wrapped up in his arms, safe from the world outside. But her thoughts kept spiraling back to her mother and stepfather—how they’d finally started to form a family, how her mother had begun to trust again, to smile. How it would all shatter if they found out about her and Chris.