Heated: A Stepbrother Romance (Full Length Novel)

by Stephanie Brother

  "You heard that right, folks", his female assistant adds. "His stepsister. And we have the photos to prove it. Exclusive interviews with friends and family members coming up later in the show."

  "This is the front page of the New York Times this morning."

  The anchor holds up the page to the camera. It is one of the more risque photos, with the more sensitive parts obscured by black censoring blocks.

  Above, in huge block capitals, the headline reads:

  BILLIONAIRE AND STEPSISTER SECRET AFFAIR.

  "-And this is one of several photos, all of which you can see on our website."

  The anchor turns to his assistant. "What was he thinking?"

  Before Sash has a chance to react, Dante takes the words right out of her mouth.

  "Fuck", comes the resonant scream from the terrace, so loud it could probably be heard all over the state of California.

  "Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck."

  ***

  Tess sits on the edge of her seat, Oliver on the floor to her left, playing away happily. In her hand she holds several photos of Dante and Sash, including some taken at the hymen reconstruction clinic and the Los Angeles hotel.

  In the background the TV drones on, a different news channel to the one Sash was watching, but exactly the same story.

  "Now we'll fucking see who wins, won't we Oli?"

  Chapter 35

  Wet hair lies against the fluffy thread of an expensive hotel gown that Sash wouldn't even be wearing if Dante hadn't put it on her. She watches him pace back and forth, cell phone pressed against his ear while she deliberately avoids her own, tears muddling with bath water and dripping down her chin to explode against the laminate floor.

  Jason Walker is dead.

  Not missing.

  Not injured.

  Dead.

  She can hear the words as a wall of noise, senseless and foreign. When Dante finally finishes speaking, he looks at Sash as though staring at something he can't understand.

  "You need to get dressed."

  It's the third time he has said it.

  Sash feels numb inside, but Dante's too busy to notice her silence. As soon as he's pulled clothes out of the wardrobe and thrown them on the bed for Sash to put on, he's back on his cell phone organizing the details of their travel.

  When a few moments pass and he notices Sash still hasn't moved, he puts the call on hold and quickly comes over to her.

  "Darling."

  He places a finger under her chin. "We need to get back to New York and sort this out."

  Sash stares into his eyes. He couldn't have. Not her stepbrother. Not Dante. It has to be a coincidence, a piece of bad luck woven into their story.

  "Sash. I know it's a shock, baby, but we need to go. I thought this was what you wanted anyway, huh? To tell the whole world?"

  Baby.

  Having him say it sends shivers up and down her spine.

  On the TV in the background, the news story continues. Crowds collect outside Dante's sleek black office tower and people in the street give opinions. At Sash's family home, Tracy refuses to comment, both on the whereabouts of her husband and the relationship of her son and stepdaughter.

  Sash nods. She braves a smile. She pushes the thoughts to the back of her mind and wipes the tears away from her eyes.

  Baby.

  "Ok", she says finally. What she feels is nothing like it.

  She takes the toweling robe off and lets it drop to the floor like swept snow. In the mirror she catches a glimpse of her belly, the light hitting it in such a way it seems to be accentuated. There is no stopping what's coming for them both, and soon enough she'll be showing.

  Sash pulls crumpled clothes over sticky skin while Dante waits patiently, fielding calls as they come into him, barking orders and refusing to answer questions.

  In the elevator, they stand side by side, the words burning Sash's lips as they descend.

  I'm pregnant.

  I'm pregnant.

  I'm pregnant.

  "Are you ready for this?" Dante asks.

  When she turns to look at him, he's already turned himself, his eyes tilted downwards, sharp and hungry like a hunting wolf. Is he enjoying this?

  Sash doesn't know what to say. When she opens her mouth, the only words she wants to come out of it are the words that seem like they'll never come. Because of that, she wonders for a moment whether it's true.

  Before she even has a chance to form a single sound, the elevator indicates they are at the lobby, and the doors slowly slide open.

  It hits her like a train coming out of a tunnel in the countryside. One moment absolute silence, the next a cacophony of pushing and screaming. Dante takes his hand in hers, fights his way through the collected paparazzi, follows the guided instructions of terrified hotel staff and makes his way through to the private corridor behind the concierge's desk, that will eventually lead them through the kitchens, laundry room and staff's private quarters, and out to a driver at the back of the hotel.

  Sash can hear them thick in behind her. More than once she feels someone pull her arm, only for Dante to pull it back the other way. She feels like one of the fish in the tank in the antechamber to his office. Flash bulbs sting her eyes, while Dante and several other staff members do their best to protect her.

  Outside, a huge crowd have gathered. Here, general public stand shoulder to shoulder with journalists, cell phones primed and ready to upload any salacious content immediately to social media. Dante refuses to answer questions. For Sash, the whole thing is completely bewildering.

  Eventually, they push their way past the gathered throng and force their way inside the waiting car. Surrounded by people, Sash feels less safe here than she did in the lobby. Like this, she feels completely trapped. Some of them have banners, some pound on the car windows with their fists, others smile like lunatics and try to take selfies.

  "Drive", Dante orders.

  As the car revs, jerking forwards threateningly, the crowd begin to part. Up ahead, police officers are beginning to arrive on the scene, already far too late to make a difference. At the window by Sash's side, a woman is screaming fiercely.

  "Sick", is all Sash can't make out. "Fucking sick."

  Spit explodes against the windscreen just before the car pulls away. As they make their way out onto the street, a huge crowd trying to be controlled by the police behind them, the driver makes streaks with it in the hands of the wipers.

  Sash's heart is beating much more wildly than she realized. Looking at him, Dante seems to be less affected. Distracted by something else, he stares out of the window, losing himself in the peaks behind the city line.

  How the fuck is he going to deal with this one?

  In New York, Alex stares blankly at the unfolding news, flicking from time to time to other channels, hoping a bigger story will come along to mute it. On her desk is a spread of several of the morning's newspapers, all of which have run with variations of the same headline, ranging from mild surprise to complete disgust.

  There are profiles of Dante and Sash, intimate details of their lives, half of which have clearly been fabricated, and promises of more juicy tidbits to come in subsequent editions.

  In short, it's a complete fucking shit storm, and one Alex is not happy at all about having to put out, especially since Dante was so convinced that his head of public relations would do it for them.

  Chapter 36

  Caulder sits in a highway diner, half lens glasses perched on the end of his nose bringing into focus the morning paper he has folded up in his hands. On his plate sit remnants of a large fried breakfast, almost every item of which he saw fit to cover in torrents of salt and ketchup so what remains looks like the miniature crime scene of a chilling murder.

  Up on the TV in the corner, footage plays of Dante and Sash leaving through the hotel lobby in L.A., eagerly pursued by a swarm of journalists. Watching this are several staff members and almost all of the handful of other customers.

 
; Someone comes over to refill Caulder's coffee. As she pours the syrupy liquid into his chipped enamel cup, she can't help but look over his shoulder at what he's reading.

  "Can't believe there's space in there for anything else today."

  Caulder looks up to her and smiles. He takes off his glasses and sets them on the newspaper. The waitress, a mid forties housewife called Betty, thinks he's either about to say something profound or propose to her. Silence hangs in the air like a winter chill.

  "Check, please", Caulder says finally.

  Framed in the concave lens of his glasses is the body of Jason Walker, grayed out even further by newspaper print. Half a column has been dedicated to the apparent death by drowning of the twenty one year old boy, while the news of Dante Hix's improper affair dedicates over eight of the newspaper's front pages.

  Caulder can't help but feel the timing of both plays quite nicely in their favor.

  Outside, he finds the phone booth and places a call to the police.

  On a cold slab of morgue metal, the autopsy has already begun. Jason Walker is one of six other bodies in the dimly lit room, most of which are still covered with white sheets to preserve what little remains of their dignity.

  Even in this state, it's clear that he looked after himself. His body is toned and his arms are tight with muscle. A tribal tattoo wraps itself around his bicep, while another one, a badly rendered female face, clings to the inside of his upper thigh.

  The mortician closely examines legion marks around his wrists and ankles, making detailed notes as she goes, before doing the same around the underside of his neck. Even without the torch it is clear that his neck is red, and shows marks that wouldn't normally come up if the victim was desperately trying to save themselves from drowning.

  She examines cuts on his upper arm that have long since scarred over, and light puncture marks on the crease between his forearm and upper arm.

  Here, gray skinned and dead beyond compare, Jason Walker looks like the perfect plastic mold of a juvenile ghost.

  The mortician takes a knife and begins to cut him open.

  Chapter 37

  Special arrangements have been made at LAX airport for Dante and Sash to coordinate all normal security protocols in a more favorable manner, in order for them to avoid unnecessary embarrassment before departure.

  Sash, still utterly bewildered by what's happened already this morning, thinks nothing of their unusual approach to the airport, the clandestine checks conducted in utter silence and the first rate, sovereign style treatment. It is only when she's aboard Dante's private jet does she finally begin to let reality sink in. Their relationship is no longer a secret. Abbey will know. Her dad will know. Hell the pilot probably even knows.

  There are newspapers already aboard the plane. Sash pushes them around carefully, soaking up the in depth coverage.

  "How did they know?"

  Dante is already preparing himself a drink. Normally he'd have someone to do it for him, but getting hold of staff members on such short notice didn't seem as important as ensuring the pilot was able to fly them back home.

  "That was the blackmail threat I told you about. They wanted a hundred million dollars not to print them."

  "You didn't pay it?"

  Sash wants to believe he didn't do it for them, but she knows the truth wouldn't be quite that romantic.

  "I didn't pay it. Perhaps I should have done."

  Sash concentrates on the New York Times. Without even reading the content, she turns the pages just to take the photos in.

  Intimate.

  Personal.

  Unmistakably theirs.

  "How did they even get these?"

  Something about it makes her mad. If she was able to allow herself to be so, she might scream, but too much nothingness all over her body won't let it come out. If he'd done it her way, they wouldn't have something that should only belong to them. It feels like they are taking everything they have between them away from her. At least there is one secret they don't know yet.

  One secret Dante doesn't know either.

  Dante comes over. He's made a drink for them both, and the one for Sash he places in front of her. Ice cracks against the treacle brown liquid.

  "You might need that for the shock."

  Sash turns the glass in her hands.

  One secret they can never take away.

  "Dante. I have something I need to tell you."

  Dante sits forwards on the edge of his seat. He's sat away from Sash, distracted perhaps by what's going on, to feel the need in this moment to be close to her.

  His concentration has shifted in the last couple of hours. He has to set this right, and he still has no idea what he's going to do. Not only that, he's clearly made a mistake with Henry, and for that, he's going to have to take responsibility. For a brief moment, Dante wonders whether what Sash wants to tell him is something he should have seen already.

  After all, it was Sash that wanted to let the whole world know about their affair. He cocks his head, tastes the possibility of it, works it around his lips and over his tongue. Surely, she couldn't. Surely Sash didn't have the balls to do that.

  "Go on", he says, more curious now than ever to hear her confession.

  Was this her plan all along? Coming back to him and forcing him to stay by making the whole world know about them? She didn't have to, not like this. Oh, Sash, you didn't have to.

  Sash bites her lip. She puts her hand on her belly without thinking about it, but Dante doesn't pick up on the gesture. He's too busy framing her for something she didn't do.

  She looks to the ground and then back up to her stepbrother, her skin already flushing red.

  She can feel two hearts beating inside her.

  The words on the tip of her tongue.

  Her mouth open, ready to say them.

  One simple sentence.

  Dante, I'm pregnant.

  The photos in the back of Henry's car. He didn't put them there, Sash did, it's obvious now. The intimate way they were shot. Who else could have known, but her? How did he not see it before?

  Dante stands, and before the words can come out of her mouth, he's clapping.

  Sash looks at her stepbrother like he's gone mad.

  "Brilliant, Sash, absolutely brilliant."

  He can't work out whether he's mad she's deceived him or impressed she's been able to.

  "I had no idea", he continues.

  Sash wonders whether he's guessed. They regard each other a moment, Sash utterly confused about what's going on. She doesn't know whether she needs to tell him, or whether she needs to worry about how he's reacting. In the end she doesn't say anything at all, and just sits there in her seat, her shoulders and cheeks going crimson red, which only serves to reinforce Dante's misguided beliefs even further.

  "Why did you do it, Sash?"

  Dark storms are brewing in his eyes.

  Her secret.

  And without her telling him, he knows.

  "Did you think I didn't love you, was that it? You didn't trust me?"

  "I'm sorry, Dante", Sash blurts out. "I did it for us."

  "There might not be an us. Did you ever think about that?"

  "No."

  Sash shakes her head, embarrassed.

  For Dante, it's unclear whether she says it as a response to his question, or for the real reason, which is as a denial to the prospect of them not being together.

  "This is the last thing that we need if you want us to be together. I thought I was clear on that."

  "Please, don't say that. I love you, Dante. We can make this work."

  Dante swirls the dark liquid around in his glass, clattering the ice against the edges. Sash can tell he's pissed off. Maybe she's made a huge mistake. Maybe she should have aborted it.

  "That wasn't your decision to make alone."

  "I'm sorry. I was going to tell you before, it's just, I never got the chance."

  "Yeah, right. You would have gone through wit
h it anyway, wouldn't you, no matter what I did? That was your plan from the very start wasn't it? Your plan to make sure you got me."

  Sash shakes her head. She's up on her feet now, in front of Dante, trying to placate him. Dante shakes off her touch.

  "No, I promise. It wasn't like that."

  "I've done everything for you, Sash. I've been open and honest, and more than generous with my affection and my money. I don't know why you continue to distrust me, and which parts of 'I love you', you don't seem to understand.

  "This will ruin us, although it's too late to go back now, I suppose. You'll see what you've done when we get to New York and we have to deal with the shit storm. You saw it already this morning."

  Sash is confused again. She has no idea what the events of this morning have to do with their baby, unless he's talking about what happens after people find out.

  "Please, Dante. I thought you'd want this. Don't you think it's perfect?"

  "How is jeopardizing my career perfect?"

  "People will understand."

  "You have too much faith in people."

  "Yeah? And maybe you have too little."

  Dante finishes his drink and stares at the semi-melted ice cubes, sat in the bottom of the glass like snowmen's bollocks. Sash uses the moment to close the distance between them again. She takes Dante's glass away, and he lets her do so, only because he thinks she might fill it up again for him.

  "It'll be fine."

  Sash takes his hand in hers.

  This is the father of her unborn child. This is Dante, her one true love. She has to know, she can't hold it in any longer. Sash takes his hand and places it against her belly, spreading out his fingers in a gesture that can mean only one thing.

  Dante's eyes go wide as it finally dawns on him.

  Sash looks up.

  "Jason Walker is dead", she says.

  "You're pregnant", Dante says, pulling his hand away. "Fuck, Sash, you're pregnant."

  He can see it now, he can see it so clearly he can't believe he didn't before. Her glow, her smile, everything about her. Dante stumbles back to his seat, overwhelmed by this new information. Sash watches him, keen to try and pick out sense in his reaction.