Chapter 2
The pot was scorching hot.
When the boiling coffee was poured into the cup, a cloud of steam rose, stinging my eyes.
I remembered a dinner party at the Shelton Manor when I was seventeen.
I always felt like an outsider.
During meals, I never dared to help myself to any dishes that were out of reach, and when I got thirsty at night, I wouldn't dare turn on the lights and go downstairs for a drink.
Selena Shelton's friends started egging me on to sing.
I didn't know what to do, standing there in the middle of everyone, feeling so awkward that tears were about to spill from my eyes.
Matthew came to my rescue.
He said, "Monica's shy, so don't tease her."
Later, he gave me an orange candy.
He said, "Don't be scared. If they pick on you again, come find me."
That candy tasted sweeter than anything I'd ever had.
It was so sweet that I never forgot it, even after all those years.
I used to think he was the first person in that unfamiliar house who truly saw me.
That was how I fell for him.
I loved him with so much care and never dared to say a word about it.
On my twenty-second birthday, Matthew pulled me aside under the maple tree in the Shelton family's backyard.
He looked at me and said, "Monica, do you want to give us a shot?"
At that moment, I was so stunned that I literally forgot how to breathe.
Later, he said we should keep things between us for the moment.
I nodded.
He said Regina didn't like seeing the younger generation get tangled up in messy relationships.
I agreed.
He said plenty of people in our circle loved to gossip, and he didn't want me to become the subject of their talk.
I said I understood.
For two years, I kept myself in the shadows behind him, always the girl no one knew about.
And I finally realized that it wasn't that he was afraid people would talk about me.
It was that he never meant for me to be someone he'd acknowledge as his girlfriend.
"Monica?" Matthew's voice pulled me back to reality.
My hand shook as I held the cup, and the hot coffee spilled over my fingers.
It burned like hell.
Matthew frowned and rushed over, grabbing my hand.
"Oh god, are you okay?" Matthew said.
He leaned in to check the burn on the back of my hand, his brows furrowed in worry.
If this had been before, I would've thought he cared about me.
But now, it felt ridiculous.
He could act all concerned in front of everyone over a tiny burn from hot coffee, but he couldn't admit that for the past two years, he had kept me hidden in the shadows.
I pulled my hand back.
It wasn't a big gesture, but it threw Matthew off for a second.
"I'm fine," I told him.
I put the cup back on the table.
Someone laughed and said, "Monica's still as quiet and gentle as she was when she was little.
"Whoever ends up marrying her is in for a treat. She never makes a fuss, so easy-going."
Regina chimed in with a smile, "She's a bit soft, but it's good for a girl to be understanding."
There it was again.
That word stabbed into my heart like a thousand tiny needles, one after another.
Matthew looked at me, sensing something was off, and asked quietly, "What's wrong?"
I looked up at him.
The living room was bright, and his eyes were as clear.
Those eyes used to watch me late at night, always with a gentle smile.
He'd lean down and kiss the corner of my eye, whispering that everything was okay.
When I was curled up in pain during my period and couldn't sleep, he'd drive halfway across town to get me a cup of hot cocoa.
When I was up late restoring old book illustrations, he'd drape his jacket over my shoulders and say, "Monica, I'm here."
With everything Matthew did for me, I couldn't believe he didn't have feelings for me.
But it was this same Matthew who, moments ago, with only a door between us, looked me in the eye and said he'd seen me as his little sister.
I stared at him, then quietly called out, "Matthew."
As soon as the word left my lips, I caught the faint shift in his eyes, a subtle darkness flickering there.
Since the day we started dating, he wouldn't let me call him that when we were alone.
He said it sounded too formal, too distant.
He said I should call him "Matt" or "babe."
But he had put me back in the 'little sister' spot.
I stared at him, making sure he heard every word.
I asked bluntly, "Tell me, Matt, do brothers kiss their little sisters on the lips?"
The laughter around us cut off in an instant.
Matthew's fingers clenched tight.
The guy nearest to us stared, thrown off.
"What?" he said, dumbfounded.
I gave a faint, almost bitter smile. "Nothing."
Matthew looked at me, and his expression finally darkened.
Regina frowned as well. "Monica, what nonsense are you talking about?"
I looked down.
"I'm not feeling so great. I'll go and grab some water in the kitchen," I said.
With that, I turned and left the living room without looking at anyone.
Footsteps quickly followed behind me.
The moment I stepped into the hallway outside the kitchen, someone caught my wrist from behind.
Matthew's grip wasn't tight. It was gentle, but there was no way I could shake him off, like he'd done this a thousand times before.
"Monica," He called out.
I turned around.
He pulled me to the end of the hallway, making sure no one could see us.
It was dark outside, and our figures were mirrored in the glass.
He stood so close that the familiar cedar scent clinging to him wrapped around me.
I used to love that scent more than anything.
Every time I got close, it made me feel safe.
But now, it made it hard to breathe.
"How much did you hear?" Matthew asked.
He didn't explain or apologize.
All he cared about was how much I'd overheard.