Nestled beneath her is an even smaller penguin, her baby. It’s not black like it’s mother, but instead grey. It’s tiny, basically just a ball of fur with webbed flipper-feet.

These penguins are the most adorable things. Barely longer head-to-foot than my forearm, they appear at once to be so small and vulnerable, and yet so resilient. Atop the cliff face that we climbed down are signs warning people not to touch them or feed them.

Pierce told me that drunk people are always fucking around with them, kicking them or even taking them to keep as pets.

I feel my stomach tighten. The image of someone kicking one of these tiny, helpless penguins makes me sick.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” I say, walking toward him. I climb up onto the large, flat rock and sit down next to him. The stone is still warm from the day’s sun. “How did you find this place?”

“Oh, people around here know about it.”

“You like the penguins?”

“Sure.”

We sit in silence for a while, listen to the gentle sound of the sea slapping sand.

“You know, you can be pretty nice when you’re not being a dick.”

He grins.

“What are you thinking about?”

Pierce looks at me, but just shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What’s your shop going to be called?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Isn’t Tina worried about introducing new competition into the market? By training you, I mean.”

“She’s a bit more romantic than that. She believes in the artistry. She says she appreciates talent.”

“And you’ve got talent.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“I think you do. That plant thing on your foot is great.”

“Thanks.”

I take a deep breath, and ask a question that’s been on my mind. “Pierce, what’s going on with us?”

“There’s an ‘us’?”

“Are you just fucking around?”

“I never fuck around.”

“That’s a big fat lie.”

“Don’t think so much,” he says. “Thinking never fixed anything.”

I snort, shake my head at him. “Let’s go. I should get home. I’ve got to work tomorrow. You know where I live.”

“Uh-uh,” he says, getting up and offering me a hand. “We’re going back to mine.”

“Pierce.”

“Your phone’s at my house.”

“Shit. It is.”

“Oh well,” Pierce says, shrugging. “Tough luck.”

“Wait,” I say after a moment. “You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You wanted to stay. Psychologists say there’s no such thing as mistakes.”

“There you go, being a dick again. For a moment you were tolerable.”

“You’ll live.”

When we get back to his apartment, he pulls me into the shower with him. He holds me, kisses me, and even helps me to wash and rinse my hair.

It’s weird, the feeling of somebody else’s fingers in my hair. I’ve never liked it. I’ve always hated going to the hairdresser. But when he does it, it’s okay.

And when we go to bed, alarm set to ring in three hours. He holds me tight, kisses the back of my neck. I can feel his hardness.

At the edge of wakefulness, as sleep is about to pull him under, I hear him say, “You’re mine now, Pen. I’m never letting you go.”

All night he stays true to his word. I’m in his arms, feeling warm, safe… loved. It takes me a while to fall asleep – I’m not used to the height of his pillows – but he nods off quickly, and he lies still as a doorstop. The rhythm of his breathing – so slow and steady – is comforting, somehow. With his lips against the skin of my shoulder, I can feel his warm exhales.

Eventually, the world fades away, the sound of the ceiling fan drowns out, and I fall into a dreamless sleep, only to be woken by a piercing ray of sunlight making its way through a crack in the curtains.

It’s half-past five, thirty minutes before I had set my alarm. It’s the second time in two weeks I’ve barely gotten a couple of hours sleep, and I feel it now. I’m slow, groggy, tired… a little irritable.

I pull my phone to me, see the notification light blinking, and slowly pry Pierce’s arm off my body. He rolls onto his back.

Unlocking the phone, I see that I’ve got an email from dad.

Fuck, I think to myself. Last night I was supposed to call him on Skype. I had completely forgotten.

I tap through the screens until I bring up his email. My heart stops dead.

It reads:

I proposed to Isabelle and she said yes! We’re thinking of having the wedding in Melbourne so you and Pierce can attend. Hope you’re well. Love, Dad.

Chapter Twenty One

I stare at the email on my phone. The blood in my veins has gone cold. All my hairs are standing up on end.

I’m so angry at myself that all I can think about is how this affects me. I should be happy for Dad! But all I can think about is myself.

And Pierce.

He is beside me, still asleep in bed. He’s thrown all the sheets off, and he’s just lying flat on his back, naked, sleeping. His hard muscle looks oddly relaxed, completely lacking in any kind of tension.

I take a moment to look down his body, and that’s when I notice he’s got a fucking erection.

“Oh my God,” I groan, rolling over.

Even in his sleep!

I refocus on the email, and read it again, and again, and again. I can’t believe it. This has got to be a joke. Pierce and I are going to become stepbrother and stepsister?

That’s so messed up. I don’t want to deal with that. The phone slips out of my hand and lands loudly on the floor, thudding on the wooden tiles… and waking Pierce.

He rolls over, looks at me, looks down at his naked body, and his erection, and then back at me.

He grins, sliding a hand over to my breast. I slap it away, irritated.

“Okay,” he says in a quiet voice, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He gets out of bed, and walks to the bathroom without looking at me. His dick bobs with every step.

I hear him running a glass of water, he downs it in one go, and then starts brushing his teeth.