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father had married my mother. Both came from “society,” albeit the rarefied Catholic merchant aristocracy. Despite our moneyed background, Miles's father threw himself into the medical field, working as the head of thoracic surgery at the big downtown hospital. Miles regularly had lunches with him, since the internship was a brisk walk to the hospital. My mother came from money, but she devoted herself to philanthropy and humanitarian endeavors.
     
    After attending my high school graduation, they left for a three month vacation in Europe.
     
    “They're secretly swingers,” Miles whispered into my ear one night.
     
    “Shut up! Gross!”
     
    Typical Miles, acolyte of the flesh.
     
    On that summer day, I was in a chaise lounge by the pool, adjusting my sunglasses and soaking up the afternoon rays. I wore a tiny black bikini. I wouldn't have dared wear something so scandalous when my parents were home. But even if I wore a more conservative one-piece, I would get looks from Miles. He couldn't keep his eyes off me. Part of it came from his paternal side, his desire to protect his little stepsister. Although another part came from a desire for conquest.
     
    He wanted me and I wanted him.
     
    We both knew it was wrong.
     
    I’d confessed my feelings to our priest, Father Walsh, and he counseled me into entering a convent. He knew of one particularly suited to my needs in an isolated area of Kansas.
     
    I think I saw it as the perfect solution. No worries about college. No more hot nights wrapped up in damp sheets, tortured by thoughts of my stepbrother. The convent was real—and I could actually go there. Escape. The perfect solution. That’s what it felt like to me, and that’s how I talked about it to Miles.
     
    “Is that what he said? Really?” Miles scoffed when I told him. “Get thee to a nunnery!”
     
    Then he laughed again.
     
    “Fuck you!”
     
    “Language! Your Mother Superior wouldn't like that. Bet she would strip you to your panties and give you a spanking. Don't believe me? It could totally happen. I've seen proof. There are movies on Pornhub.com that show what happens in nunneries.”
     
    “Convents. And gross. You're such a perv. Is everything about sex with you?”
     
    “If it involves sex with you .”
     
    “Asshole. Stop twisting my words around!”
     
    Every conversation was an argument, much to the annoyance of the live-in maid and her daughter. They kept to themselves when our parents left. Probably for the best. It seemed in those lazy hot afternoons we reverted to a feral, yet more innocent, state.
     
    Miles wallowed in the pool and I worked on my tan.
     
    I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind.
     
    Another season of debutante balls and marrying an heir to a fortune?
     
    No.
     
    Going to college to study? But to study what? And what about all the parties, the drinking, the peer pressure? No.
     
    The convent? Father Walsh mentioned the place out in Kansas. But that's so far. I'd miss Miles. I'd miss certain parts of Miles.
     
    Cold water hit my body and I screamed.
     
    “You bastard!” I yelled.
     
    “Not much of a bikini if it doesn't get wet,” he said. With his arms folded beneath his chin, he stared at me from the pool.
     
    “Maybe I should go away to a nunnery or whatever.”
     
    “And miss all this?” He scoffed, pulling himself out of the pool.
     
    Water beaded over his muscular chest, running in rivulets down to his navel. And further.
     
    He plopped onto my chaise lounge.
     
    “Be careful,” I snapped, closing my book.
     
    He shook his head like a dog, sending more water onto me.
     
    “Stop it!” I said, not sure if I meant it or if I was kidding.
     
    “Make me.”
     
    Only then did I notice his hand on my stomach.
     
    “What are you doing? Don't.” I tried to keep my voice even. He may have worked in an office and stared at a computer screen for hours on end, but his rough hands energized me. In another life, I could see him