Marnie leaned across the dresser, looking in the mirror at the redhead who stared back at her. What was wrong with her? Half of her had a mind to smash her head through the mirror. Why was she so sick? Her stomach churned into knots. Kissing Danny had felt wonderful. She remembered how gently his hands had wrapped around her waist. If thoughts of Brian hadn't flitted through her mind, she would've melted into that kiss. His gentleness surprised her. Quite a contrast from the abrasive man she'd become accustomed to on the tour.
His kisses—light against her lips, quickly brought about a need to taste him. Bringing forth a hunger she hadn't known lay hidden beneath her layers. But he wasn't her type.
Isn't he? A tiny voice inside her asked.
He was too much her type. Marnie raked a hand through her hair, causing stray hairs to stand on end.
Arrogant, spicy, posh, and she couldn't tell the difference between his bark and his bite. That is how she thought of Danny. A veritable Don Juan wrapped in rich cottons and crisp denim. He carried a devil‐may‐care smile that could melt the iciest of hearts. He was just like Benny. But she could never be with another Benny.
Brian, on the other hand, was a gentleman.
But wasn't Danny as well? The voice piped in.
He'd stepped back when she placed a hand on his chest. But Brian's hands were soft and safe. She could imagine them sitting together next to a fireplace, wrapped in a blanket watching the rain and thunder outside their apartment. Brian was naïve of malice and had no trace of the urbanity that swirled around Danny. Were they really brothers?
Who was she kidding? Brian would never be interested in a street rat. Danny had given her a sleek hairdo, dressed her in luxurious cashmere, silks, and her own crisp denims. But she would always be dangerous.
How could she daydream about one brother while making out with another? On some level this was pure incest. She was sick! A sick freak. Anger swelled from the pit of her stomach, encapsulating her in a whirlwind of fury.
She shook her head, trying to erase the image of making out with Danny and the fantasy she'd had of kissing Brian. She looked at the contents on her dresser, reckless energy coursing through her veins. She had half a mind to throw the tray and everything on it.
“Are you going to act a fool in front of these white people?” Her mother's voice echoed in the back of her mind. She always said that to her when she wanted to cry as a little girl. Her face heated at the memory of how her mother's backhand had stung her cheek. Marnie tried to hold back tears. She could see her mother's stern face. “I can't take you anywhere,” her mother said.
“No, you can't,” Marnie whispered into the mirror.
She heard a knock at the door, but this wasn't the time for conversations. What could she say anyway?
“Get the hell away from my door!” she screeched.
She didn't want to talk to Danny, or anyone for that matter. She sank onto the hardwood floor in front of the dresser. Dejection brought her thoughts back to him. The past and present collided in front of her, ripping her to pieces and there wasn't a thing she could do about it, ‘cause it was all her fault anyway. Wasn't it?