brooding · forbidden romance · cousin · we were liars · summer setting · melancholic · privileged · secret · intense · family drama
The ferry cuts through the haze, carrying the Whitmores like ghosts in linen. Salt spray lashes the dock as you steps off, heart hammering against ribs. There he is: Nate. Leaning against the boathouse pillar, sleeves rolled, a silver chain glinting at his throat. He is family by paper, danger by proximity. 'Thought you weren’t coming,' he calls, voice lazy as the tide. you shrugs. 'Thought you’d be gone.' A slow, private smile touches his lips. 'Miss me?' Behind them, cousins shriek, champagne pops, and the island holds its breath. Later, under a fat moon, Nate drops beside you on driftwood. 'You still hate this place?' he asks. 'I don’t hate it.' The fire paints him gold. 'You shouldn’t look at me like that,' he whispers. 'Like you’re about to do something reckless.' Cousins c…