All The Pretty Little Lies (Second Sons Duet #1)

21. Vesper

VESPER

I'm back there again, the screeching of metal and shattering glass piercing my ears. But this time, it's different. Instead of the oppressive darkness closing in, a familiar figure emerges from the wreckage. Oscar. His blue eyes, usually so cool and calculating, are wild with concern as he reaches for me.

"Vesper!" he calls out, his voice cutting through the chaos. "I've got you. You're safe now."

His strong arms wrap around me, pulling me from the twisted metal that threatens to consume me. The scent of his sandalwood cologne envelops me as he cradles me against his chest. I can feel his heart racing, matching the frantic beat of my own.

The world around us fades away, the carnage of the accident melting into a hazy backdrop. All I can focus on is Oscar's face, his features etched with relief and something else...something that makes my breath catch in my throat.

"I thought I'd lost you," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. His thumb traces my lower lip, and I shiver at the contact.

Without warning, he leans in, closing the distance between us. His lips meet mine in a searing kiss that sets every nerve ending alight. It's passionate, desperate, filled with all the words we've left unspoken. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer as I return the kiss with equal fervor.

The taste of him is intoxicating, a heady mix of mint and desire. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance, and I grant it willingly. The kiss deepens, and I feel as though I'm falling and flying all at once.

Just as I'm about to lose myself completely in the sensations, a jolt runs through me.

My eyes fly open, and I find myself bolt upright in my bed, my heart pounding and my breath coming in short gasps. The dream fades quickly, leaving me disoriented and flushed. I bring a trembling hand to my lips, still feeling the phantom pressure of Oscar's kiss.

I close my eyes, willing my racing heart to slow. The dream clings to me like a second skin, refusing to dissipate entirely. Oscar's touch, his scent, the taste of his lips—it all felt so real, so vivid. I can still feel the ghost of his fingers on my cheek, the warmth of his breath against my skin.

With a frustrated groan, I throw off the silk sheets and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The cool wooden floor beneath my feet helps ground me but does little to quell the fire still burning in my veins. I catch a glimpse of myself in the ornate mirror across the room - flushed cheeks, tousled blonde hair, and eyes bright with a mixture of confusion and desire.

"Get it together, Vesper," I mutter to myself, running a hand through my tangled locks. “It was just a dream.”

I move to the closet Talon seems to be filling for me. Between ice cream, and new clothes, he seems to always have what I need without having to ask for it. I settle on a pair of high-waisted black leggings, a white t-shirt, and a pair of flip-flops.

The delicious smell of Talon's cooking wafts through the air, further rousing me from my slumber. Expecting to find Talon at work, I am surprised to find Oscar's bare back facing me as he tends to the stove. His toned physique is accented by the low-slung gray sweatpants clinging to his hips.

I freeze in the doorway, my breath catching in my throat. Oscar's movements are fluid and graceful, a stark contrast to his usual guarded demeanor. The muscles in his back ripple as he reaches for a spatula, his skin golden in the early morning light streaming through the kitchen window. There's an ease to him that I've never seen before, a quiet confidence that radiates from every pore.

My eyes trace the line of his spine, following it down to where his sweatpants sit dangerously low on his hips. I find myself wondering what it would feel like to run my fingers along that path, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath my touch. The thought sends a shiver through me, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to quell the sudden surge of longing.

Oscar hums softly as he cooks, a melody I don't recognize but find oddly comforting. It's as if I'm witnessing a private performance, a side of him that he keeps hidden from the world. I lean against the doorframe, content to watch this unguarded version of Oscar for as long as I can.

But then, without turning, his voice breaks the spell. "Enjoying the view?" There's a hint of amusement in his tone, and I can almost hear the smirk I know is playing on his lips.

Heat rushes to my cheeks as I realize I've been caught. I open my mouth to respond, but the words stick in my throat. How long has he known I was here? Has he been aware of my presence this entire time?

Oscar turns slowly, his blue eyes locking with mine. There's a spark of something in them, mischief perhaps, or challenge. "It’s rude to stare.”

I swallow hard, trying to regain my composure. "I was just surprised to see you cooking," I manage to stammer out.

He shrugs, the movement causing the muscles in his chest and abdomen to flex. I force my eyes back up to his face, hoping he didn't notice my wandering gaze. "Talon deserves a break," Oscar says. I step further into the room, drawn by both the delicious smell of whatever he's cooking and the magnetic pull of his presence. “Plus, he’s passed out on the floor in Alex’s room.”

“Take a seat. Want some coffee?”

“Sure?”

He retrieves a mug from the cabinet and pours me a cup. He hands it over to me and goes back to the stove. With practiced efficiency, Oscar slides a perfectly cooked omelet onto a plate, the edges golden and crisp, the center promising a creamy decadence. He sets it before me, the aroma of herbs and cheese wafting up tantalizingly. Our fingers brush as he passes me a fork, and I feel a jolt of electricity at the brief contact. His eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment, a storm of unspoken words swirling in their depths, before he turns away.

"I'll be right back," he murmurs, disappearing down the hallway toward his room. The soft click of his door echoes in the quiet kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the steaming plate before me.

I stare at the omelet, my appetite warring with the knot of frustration in my stomach. The yellow of the eggs seems too bright, too cheerful for the melancholy that has settled over me. I push the food around with my fork, creating abstract patterns in the creamy surface as if I could divine answers from the swirls and valleys.

Oscar returns, now clad in a fitted black t-shirt that does little to diminish the effect of his presence. He moves with the grace of a predator, all controlled power and fluid motion, as he settles into the chair across from me. The table between us feels like an ocean, vast and impassable.

We eat in silence, the only sounds are the scrape of forks against plates and the distant crash of waves against the shore. I steal glances at him between bites, trying to decipher the puzzle of his expression. His jaw is set, a muscle ticking there betraying some inner tension. His eyes remain fixed on his plate as if the secrets of the universe are hidden in the folds of his omelet.

As I finish the last bite of my omelet, I find myself staring out the window at the sun-drenched beach beyond. The sand glitters like a carpet of diamonds, and the waves roll in with a hypnotic rhythm, their foam-tipped crests beckoning invitingly. A flock of seagulls wheel overhead, their cries carrying on the salt-laden breeze that rustles the curtains. Oscar clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him. His eyes, usually so guarded, now hold a flicker of something I can't quite place. "Are you going down to the beach with Z today?" he asks, his tone deceptively casual.

There's something in the way he says it that sets my teeth on edge. Is it the slight emphasis on 'Z', or the barely perceptible tightening around his eyes? Whatever it is, it strikes a discordant note in the morning's fragile harmony.

I take a slow sip of my coffee, using the moment to study him over the rim of my mug. The tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drum an erratic beat on the table, it all speaks of an agitation he's trying hard to conceal.

"I haven’t made any plans yet," I reply carefully, setting my mug down with deliberate gentleness. "Why do you ask?"

Oscar shrugs, the movement too studied to be natural. "Just curious. You two seem to have made it a habit."

There it is again, that undercurrent of something. Jealousy? Concern? I can't quite put my finger on it, but it makes me bristle.

"Well," I say, meeting his gaze squarely, "You could go with me."

The words hang in the air between us, a challenge and an invitation rolled into one. Oscar's eyes widen fractionally, surprise flitting across his features before he schools them back into neutrality.

For a moment, I think he might refuse. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring, filled with unspoken words and half-formed thoughts. Then, just as I'm about to retract my offer, a slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features.

"I'd like that," he says softly, and suddenly the tension in the room dissipates like morning mist under the sun's warmth.

Oscar rises from his chair, the wooden legs scraping softly against the tile floor. He gathers our plates with practiced ease, the porcelain clinking gently as he stacks them before depositing them in the sink.

"Give me a second to grab my shoes and a hoodie," Oscar says, his voice low and warm. "Then we can head out."

I nod, watching as he disappears down the hallway. In his absence, I find myself drawn to the window, gazing out at the beach beyond. The sand stretches out like a pale golden carpet, meeting the tumultuous blue-gray of the ocean. White-capped waves crash against the shore in a relentless rhythm, sending sprays of foam into the air.

Oscar returns, now wearing a pair of well-worn sneakers and carrying a dark blue hoodie. "Ready?" he asks, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

We step out onto the porch, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath our feet. The air is crisp and salty, carrying the plaintive cries of seagulls overhead. As we make our way down the weathered steps and sandy path through the tall weeds, I can't help but steal glances at Oscar.

I find myself comparing him to his twin. Where Zaire is all sharp edges, Oscar moves with a calm assurance that seems to still the very air around him. Z's presence fills a room, demanding attention, while Oscar's is more subtle – a quiet strength that you don't notice until it envelops you completely. The wind ruffles his dark hair, shorter than his twin's, emphasizing the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones.

The sand shifts beneath our feet as we reach the shoreline, the grains cool and damp in the morning air. I wrap my arms around myself, a shiver running through me as a particularly strong gust cuts through my thin shirt. Oscar glances over, concern etching lines around his eyes.

Without a word, he shrugs off his hoodie, revealing a sliver of toned abdomen as his shirt rides up. He holds it out to me, his expression softening. "Here," he says, his voice low and warm. "You look cold."

I hesitate for a moment before accepting the offered garment. As I slip it on, I'm enveloped in warmth that goes beyond mere physical comfort. Oscar's scent surrounds me – a heady mixture of sandalwood and sea salt. The hoodie is far too big, the sleeves falling past my fingertips, but I've never felt more secure.

"Thank you," I murmur, nestling deeper into the soft fabric. Oscar's eyes linger on me, a strange mix of emotions swirling in their depths. For a moment, I think he might say something, but instead, he simply nods and turns back to the sea.

Oscar's presence beside me is steady and constant, his stride matching mine effortlessly. The wind has tousled his hair, giving him a boyish charm that softens his usually serious demeanor. I find my gaze drawn to the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his neck disappearing into the collar of his t-shirt.

After a while, Oscar breaks the silence. "So, what do you usually do out here with Z?" His tone is carefully neutral, but I catch the slight tensing of his shoulders as he mentions his brother's name.

"We talk, mostly," I reply, watching a seagull dive into the waves. "Usually about nonsense. Yesterday, we had a heated debate about whether a hot dog is a sandwich."

I expect Oscar to laugh, but when I glance over, his expression is tight, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The jealousy I'd sensed earlier is now palpable, radiating off him in waves.

"Oscar," I say softly, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches slightly at the contact but doesn't pull away. "Why does it bother you so much? Me spending time with Zaire?"

He tries to brush it off, shaking his head with a forced laugh. "It doesn't. Why would it?"

But I press on, determined now. "Don't do that. Don't lie to me. I've seen the way you look when Z and I come back from our walks. The way you withdraw. Why?"

Oscar's face darkens, a storm brewing in his eyes. He pulls away from me, taking a few steps back. "Drop it," he says, his voice low and tight with barely contained emotion. "It's nothing. Forget I asked."

I follow him, my feet sinking into the sand as I try to keep up with his now longer strides. "Oscar, wait!" I call out, frustrated by his evasion. "Talk to me, please!"

He whirls around suddenly, his eyes blazing with an intensity that takes my breath away. "You want to know why?" he asks, his voice low and tight with emotion. "I'm jealous, okay? I'm jealous of what you have with my brother."

I blink, taken aback by his admission. "What?"

Oscar runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in every line of his body. "You cling to Zaire like he's your lifeline. You seek him out when the fear creeps in. But it was me, Vesper. I was the one who didn't give up on you. He almost did."

His words hit me like a physical blow, leaving me reeling. Oscar's eyes bore into mine, a tempest of emotions swirling in their depths. His chest heaves with ragged breaths as he struggles to contain the flood of feelings he's kept bottled up for so long. The wind whips around us, mirroring the storm brewing between us.

“Watching you with Zaire and Talon, it kills me.” Oscar's eyes meet mine, filled with a desperate longing. "I know it's selfish. I know I should be grateful that you're healing, that you're finding happiness again. But I can't help but feel like I'm losing you all over again. And the worst part is, you don't even know what you mean to me...”

The world seems to still around us, the crashing waves and crying gulls fading into a distant hum. Oscar's words hang in the air between us, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths and forgotten memories. I stand there, my mind reeling, trying to process the flood of information he's just unleashed.

Oscar's eyes, usually so guarded, now shine with a vulnerability that takes my breath away. The intensity of his gaze pins me in place, and I find myself lost in the depths of blue that seem to hold entire universes of emotion.

"I...I don't understand," I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper. "What do you mean? What I mean to you?"

He takes a step closer, and I can see the internal struggle playing out across his features. His jaw clenches and unclenches as if he's fighting against the words that want to spill out.

"From the moment I saw you at St. Jude's," he begins, his voice low and rough with emotion, "I knew. God, Vesper, I knew you were it for me. You walked into that classroom, and my whole world shifted.”

The sand beneath my feet suddenly feels unsteady, and I sway slightly. Oscar reaches out instinctively to steady me, his hand warm and strong on my arm. The touch sends a jolt through me, awakening something deep and primal that I can't quite name.

"But I couldn't let myself have those feelings," he continues, his eyes never leaving mine. "You were untouchable. The Rossi princess, destined for a political marriage to strengthen alliances. And I was just me. A second son with no real power or influence.

Oscar's hand slides down my arm, his fingers intertwining with mine. The contact sends shivers racing up my spine. "I kept my distance because I knew that having you, even for a moment, and then losing you would destroy me. So I watched from afar, content to be in your orbit, even if I could never truly be part of your world."

Oscar's eyes meet mine, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. "Having to sit across from you, pretending to be my Uncle’s obedient nephew when your father told you about your engagement was pure torture. Worse, having to be my Uncle’s spy to make sure you were as pure as your father led my uncle to believe.”

“Then why did you do it? Why did you risk everything to get me away from Dmitri?”

“Because I am a selfish fucking asshole who would rather rip you away from the family and life you knew than allow you to marry my monster of a cousin. He would have stolen the light out of your eyes,” he admits. “I couldn't bear the thought of you being tied to him, being forced into that life. It was unbearable."

I can see the pain etched into every line of his face, feel it radiating off him in waves. My free hand moves of its own accord, reaching up to cup his cheek. Oscar leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment.

“That’s why you offered to get me out? Because you had a crush on me?”

“A crush doesn’t begin to explain the way I feel about you, Vesper. School boy idolizations don’t even come close. The lengths that I would have gone to touch you back then. When I stole you away during that fight, my control was carefully leashed. To be so fucking close to you, to touch you, it drove me crazy. I wanted to claim you in that classroom. To take you and ruin you so you would never be able to marry Dmitri. I would have defiled you, my evening star, until your light blinded the world.”

Oscar's free hand comes up to cup my face, his touch impossibly gentle. "I know I have no right to feel this way. No right to be jealous of the comfort you find in Zaire or Talon. But every time I see you smile at them, it kills me. Not because I begrudge you finding comfort, but because I know it should have been me. I should have been the one to help you heal, to be there for you. But I failed you, and now I have to live with that guilt every single day."

My heart aches for him, for the pain and guilt he's been carrying all this time. Without thinking, I step closer, closing the distance between us. My free hand comes up to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm.

"Oscar," I whisper, my voice barely audible above the crashing waves.

His eyes widen in surprise, a flicker of hope dancing across his features before doubt clouds them once more. I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. The wind tugs at my hair, sending strands dancing across my face. Oscar reaches up instinctively, tucking them behind my ear with a tenderness that makes my heart skip a beat.

"When it mattered most, Oscar, you were there," I continue, my voice growing stronger. "You found me. You saved me. And even now, when I wake up screaming in the middle of the night, terrified and lost. You're always the first one there, anchoring me back to reality. Yes, Zaire and Talon have been there for me. Yes, I have a connection with them. Maybe it’s a trauma bond. Maybe it’s more. I don’t know. But what I do know right now is this, I need you, too.”

Oscar's eyes widen, a mix of hope and disbelief swirling in their depths. His hand trembles slightly as it cups my cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle arc across my skin. The touch sends shivers down my spine, awakening nerves I didn't know existed.

"Vesper," he breathes, my name a prayer on his lips. “Is this okay?”

I'm acutely aware of every point where our bodies connect; his hand on my face, mine on his chest, our fingers still intertwined. There’s not a single prickle of unease now. His hands feel like home to me, helping me shove down my fear and anxiety.

“Yes. Please touch me.”

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Oscar leans closer. His breath fans across my face, warm and sweet. My eyes flutter closed as the distance between us narrows, anticipation coiling tight in my belly.

When his lips finally meet mine, it's like coming home and stepping into the unknown all at once. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if he's afraid I might disappear. But as I respond, pressing closer and parting my lips, something inside Oscar seems to snap.

His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His other hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back as he deepens the kiss. A low groan escapes him as our tongues meet, the sound sending shivers down my spine.

I clutch at his shirt, desperate to eliminate any remaining space between us. Oscar's body is hard and warm against mine, a stark contrast to the cool ocean breeze.

Oscar breaks the kiss, trailing his lips along my jaw and down my neck. He finds a particularly sensitive spot just below my ear, and I can't hold back the breathy moan that escapes me. I feel him smile against my skin before he returns his attention to that spot, alternating between gentle kisses and teasing nips.

My head falls back, giving him better access. The sun warms my face as Oscar's mouth sets my body on fire. His hand slips under the hoodie I'm wearing, his hoodie, fingers splaying across the small of my back. The skin-on-skin contact sends jolts of electricity through me.

"Fuck, I’ve dreamed about this," Oscar murmurs against my throat, his voice low and rough with desire. The sound of my name on his lips in that tone makes me weak at the knees.

His fingers trail up my spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I arch into him, craving more of his touch, more of this intoxicating connection.

Oscar captures my lips again, the kiss deep and passionate. His tongue explores my mouth as if he's trying to memorize every detail. I respond with equal fervor, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The world fades away until there's nothing but Oscar, the taste of him, the feel of his body against mine, the sound of our ragged breathing mingling with the crash of waves.

Suddenly, the crunch of footsteps on nearby rocks shatters the moment. I stumble back from Oscar, my cheeks burning as I see Zaire approaching. His long strides eat up the distance between us, and I can't help but notice the way his eyes narrow as they flick between Oscar and me.

Zaire clears his throat. "Well," he says, a hint of amusement coloring his tone, "that was quite a show."