Between The Lies

Chapter 16: The Morning After

LUCA

I wake up slowly, awareness creeping in piece by piece.

Warmth. Softness. The smell of vanilla and something floral—Stella's shampoo.

My arm is around her waist. Her back is pressed against my chest. Our legs are tangled together under the sheets.

For one perfect, suspended moment, I don't think about what this means. I just feel it—how right it feels to wake up next to her, how perfectly she fits against me.

Then reality crashes in like cold water.

Fuck.

My eyes snap open. Early morning light filters through her curtains, painting everything in soft gold. I can see her bare shoulder, the curve of her neck, the way her hair spreads across the pillow.

We're both naked.

Last night wasn't a dream.

My heart starts pounding as the memories flood back. Her hands on my skin. The way she said my name. The moment I pushed inside her and felt everything else fall away.

The way she looked at me after—vulnerable and scared and something else I couldn't name.

I should move. Get up. Get out before she wakes up and we have to face what we did.

But I can't make myself move. Can't make myself let go of her.

God, what have we done?

She stirs in my arms, and I feel the exact moment she wakes up. Her body goes still, then tense.

"Luca?" Her voice is small, uncertain.

"I'm here."

She doesn't move for a long moment. Neither do I.

"Last night..." she starts, then stops.

"I know."

"Did we really—"

"Yeah. We did."

Silence. I can feel her heart beating fast against my arm.

"I should probably..." She starts to pull away.

I let her go, immediately missing the warmth of her. She sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest, her back to me. Her shoulders are rigid.

"Stella—"

"Don't." Her voice cracks. "Just... don't."

I sit up too, running my hands through my hair. "We need to talk about this."

"Talk about what?" She still won't look at me. "Talk about how you're my brother? My actual brother? Talk about how we share DNA and parents and we just had s*x?"

The words hang in the air like poison.

"You're not f****d up—"

"Yes, I am!" She whips around to face me, and I see tears streaming down her face. "We both are! Brothers and sisters don't—they don't—" Her breath hitches. "Oh god. Oh god, Luca, what did we do?"

"Hey." I reach for her but she flinches back. The rejection stings more than it should. "Stella, breathe. Just breathe."

"I can't breathe! I can't—" She's spiraling now, panic taking over. "Everyone's going to know. They'll look at us and know what we did. Mom and Dad—"

"No one is going to know."

"How can you say that? How can you be so calm?"

I'm not calm. I'm terrified. But one of us has to hold it together.

"Because freaking out doesn't help." I keep my voice steady. "We made a choice last night. Both of us. And yeah, it's complicated and scary, but—"

"Complicated?" She laughs, but it's edged with hysteria. "Luca, we're blood relatives. We're brother and sister. That's not complicated, that's—it's incest. That's what this is."

A door slams downstairs.

We both freeze.

The panic in Stella's eyes multiplies. "What was that?"

"I don't know. Maybe—"

"Luca? Stella? You kids home?"

Mom's voice drifts up the stairs.

The color drains from Stella's face. "No. No, no, no—they're not supposed to be back. They said next week!"

"Shit." I'm already scrambling out of bed, looking for my clothes. "Get dressed. Now."

"I can't—Luca, I can't face them!" She's frozen, tears streaming down her face. "They'll know. One look at me and Mom will know!"

"They won't know anything." I find my jeans, yank them on. "You just woke up. That's all. Can you do that?"

She's shaking her head, hyperventilating.

"Stella." I grab her shoulders, make her look at me. "Breathe. In and out. You can do this."

"I can't—"

"Yes, you can." I cup her face, wipe away her tears with my thumbs. "I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But right now, we have to hold it together. Can you do that for me?"

She closes her eyes, takes a shaky breath. Nods.

"Good. Get dressed. I'll go down first, give you time to pull yourself together."

"Luca?" Mom's voice is closer now, footsteps on the stairs. "Your door is open. Are you awake?"

Fuck.

"Yeah, Mom! Just getting dressed!" I call out, trying to sound normal.

I look at Stella one more time. She's pulling on clothes with shaking hands, mascara smudged under her eyes.

"You're going to be fine," I whisper. "Just wash your face and come down when you're ready."

Then I slip out of her room just as Mom reaches the landing.

"Oh!" She looks surprised to see me in the hallway. "You're up early for a Saturday."

"Couldn't sleep." Not a lie. "You're back early."

"We caught an earlier flight—wanted to surprise you!" She beams. "Your showcase is this weekend and we wanted to be here to help you prepare."

The showcase. Right. I'd almost forgotten.

"That's great, Mom. Thanks."

"Where's your sister? Still sleeping?"

The word 'sister' feels like a knife.

"I think so. You know Stella—not a morning person." I force a smile, praying I look normal. "Let me help Dad with the luggage."

I follow her downstairs, every muscle in my body tense, hyper-aware of every movement, every word.

This is it. This is our life now.

Lying. Pretending. Keeping this massive, terrible secret.

And I don't know how long we can keep it up.

STELLA

The door closes behind Luca and I collapse.

My legs won't hold me anymore. I sink onto the floor, back against my bed, and let the panic take over.

I slept with Luca.

My brother.

Not my stepbrother. Not some kid Mom or Dad brought into the family.

My actual, biological brother.

We share the same parents. The same blood. The same DNA.

And last night I let him inside me. I begged him not to stop. I came apart in his arms.

The thought makes me want to vomit.

Except—that's a lie.

The memory makes me feel something else entirely. Something warm and electric and wrong.

So, so wrong.

I can still feel him. The weight of him. The way he looked at me—like I was the only person in the world. The sound of his voice when he said my name.

And god help me, some part of me doesn't regret it.

That's the worst part.

Not that we did it—but that I liked it. That I wanted it. That if he were still here, I might let him do it again.

What's wrong with me?

We're siblings. Full siblings. There's no technicality, no loophole, no way to make this less horrifying than it is.

I force myself to stand, to look in the mirror.

My hair is a mess. Mascara smudged. Lips still swollen from kissing.

I look different. I feel different.

Like everyone will be able to tell just by looking at me what I did.

I hear Mom's voice downstairs, bright and cheerful. Dad's deeper tones.

Normal. Everything sounds so normal.

But nothing will ever be normal again.

I grab a makeup wipe, scrub my face clean. Fix my hair. Change into fresh clothes—a baggy sweatshirt and leggings, nothing that shows skin.

In the mirror, I look like myself again.

But I'm not. I'll never be that person again.

The person who didn't know what it felt like to have her brother inside her. Who didn't know the taste of his mouth or the sound he makes when he—

Stop. Just stop thinking about it.

I take a breath. Then another.

I can do this. I can go downstairs and act normal. I can smile and hug Mom and eat breakfast and pretend everything is fine.

I've been pretending for months. What's a little more?

Except this feels different. Heavier. Like the weight of it might crush me.

I force myself out of my room and down the stairs.

The kitchen smells like coffee and Mom's vanilla candles. Everything looks the same as always. White cabinets. Granite counters. Family photos on the walls.

There's one from last Christmas—all four of us smiling at the camera. Mom has her arm around me. Dad's hand is on Luca's shoulder. We look like a normal, happy family.

The photo makes me sick.

"There's my girl!" Mom pulls me into a hug and I go stiff before forcing myself to relax. "We missed you so much!"

"Missed you too." The words taste like ashes.

She's my mother. The woman who gave birth to both of us. Who raised us. Who loves us.

And I just slept with her son.

"Sit, sit!" Mom gestures to the counter where Dad and Luca are already settled. "I'm making pancakes. Your favorite."

I sit on the far side of the counter from Luca. I can feel his eyes on me but I refuse to look at him.

"How have you been, honey?" Mom asks, whisking batter. "How's school? Your dancing?"

"Fine. Everything's fine."

"And that boy you were seeing—Derek? How's that going?"

My throat tightens. I can feel Luca's attention sharpen.

"We broke up."

"Oh no! What happened?"

He wasn't you, I don't say. He kissed me and all I could think about was what it would feel like if my brother kissed me instead.

"Just didn't work out. We wanted different things."

"Well, his loss." Mom sets a plate of pancakes in front of me. "You're young. Plenty of time to find the right person."

If only she knew. If only she knew the right person is her son and that's the whole problem.

"Luca, your showcase is tomorrow night," Dad says, folding his newspaper. "You feeling ready?"

"Yeah. As ready as I'll be."

His voice sounds normal. How does he sound so normal?

"We're so excited," Mom says. "We've been telling everyone about it. The Hendersons are coming, and the Chens—"

"Mom, you didn't have to invite the whole neighborhood."

"Of course we did! We're proud of you. Both of you." She smiles at us. "Our beautiful, talented children."

I want to scream.

We're not beautiful. We're broken. Twisted. Wrong.

I risk a glance at Luca and immediately regret it.

He's looking at me. Really looking at me. And even though his expression is carefully neutral, I can see it in his eyes—concern. Worry. Question.

Are you okay?

I look away quickly.

No. I'm not okay. Nothing is okay.

"And Stella, your recital is the following weekend, right?" Dad asks.

"Yeah."

"Perfect. We'll be here for both." Dad smiles at both of us. "My talented kids."

The word 'kids' makes bile rise in my throat.

We're his kids. His children. Brother and sister.

And we had s*x.

I push pancakes around my plate, not eating. Can't eat. My stomach is in knots.

"Stella, you okay?" Dad's looking at me with concern. "You're awfully quiet this morning."

"Just tired. Didn't sleep well."

Not a lie. I didn't sleep well. I slept with my brother instead.

The thought almost makes me laugh. Hysterical, inappropriate laughter that I have to swallow down.

"Well, rest up today," Mom says. "We want you both at your best this weekend."

I nod. Smile. Play the part.

After breakfast, I escape upstairs as fast as I can without running.

Back in my room, I finally let myself fall apart.

I sink onto my bed, wrapping my arms around myself, and cry.

Not gentle tears. Ugly, gasping sobs that shake my whole body.

What have we done? What have we done to ourselves, to our family, to everything?

We're siblings. Full siblings. There's no excuse, no justification, no way to make this okay.

There's a soft knock on my door.

"Stella?"

Luca's voice makes my chest tighten.

I don't answer.

"Stella, please. We need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about." My voice is raw.

"Yes, there is. Let me in."

"No."

Silence. I can picture him on the other side of the door, hand pressed against the wood. My brother. Close but impossibly far away.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

Such a simple question. Such a complicated answer.

"I'm fine. Just leave me alone."

"Stella—"

"Please, Luca." I'm crying again. "I can't do this right now. I can't see you and pretend—I just can't."

Another long pause. Then I hear his footsteps retreating down the hall.

I curl up on my bed, hugging my pillow, breathing in the scent that's still mixed with his cologne.

My phone buzzes. Derek's name lights up the screen.

Can we talk? I miss you.

I delete the message without responding. What would I even say? Sorry, I'm a little busy having a breakdown because I slept with my brother?

Everything is ruined. Everything we had, the careful distance we tried to maintain, any hope of being normal—it's all gone.

And I don't know if we can ever get it back.

I don't know if I even want to.

Because as wrong as it was, as f****d up and inappropriate and horrifying—

For those few hours last night, I felt more myself than I ever have.

And that's the most terrifying thing of all.