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Cillian is the unpredictable element in my routine. I never know where he’ll be when I wake up, or if he’s in the garden at all. Sometimes, I’ll find him shirtless, tool belt slung around his waist, digging, planting, or watering one of his precious flower beds. Other times he’ll be behind the glass, pacing the length of his office as he takes call after call. When he leaves, he never tells me where he’s going, and true to his rules, I never ask. But when he’s here, the world he’s carved out underneath this dome feels electric. My pulse is in a never-ending race; the butterflies in my stomach never sleep.
He’s unpredictable in a way I’m not used to. Unpredictable in the most exciting way possible. I never know when, where, orhowhe’ll take me. The cocktail of excitement and anticipation simmer on a constant low heat in my gut, boiling over whenever he darkens the doorway of the hut, or his shadow looms over me on the bank of the river. Or whenever he pins me with that lustful stare, or in his velvet-and-nails voice, tells me to ‘come here’.
Every moment spent with Cillian is different. The only constant is that I sleep alone.
Between the sex and the studying, it’s easy to forget about the world on the other side of the glass and the storm clouds that come with it.
Rain doesn’t fall in the Garden of Eden.
When I woke up this morning, Cillian wasn’t here. I spent the day studying, swimming, and eating, and after a chicken Alfredo dinner, I return to the dining table with my textbook and a glass of wine.
Despite his silent footsteps, I know he’s close because all of the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention and the butterflies slam against their cage.
“You ate dinner without me.”
I whip around to see him in the doorway, dressed in all black—as usual—and arms folded over his chest.
My brow creases. “We’ve never eaten dinner together.”
“Well, let’s start.”
My heart leaps as he crosses the floorboards and sinks into a chair at the opposite end of the dining table. There’s a fistful of questions I want to ask him, most loaded with sarcasm, but I’ve gotten used to leaving the question mark off the end of my sentences.
“That’s very civil of you.”
“You’re right,” he says, eyes sparkling as he strokes his jaw. “Maybe I’ll eat dinneroffyou instead.”
I take a sip of wine, staring at him over the rim of the glass. “That sounds messy.”
He purses his lips. “True.” Then, he rises to his feet, strides towards me and slams my textbook shut. “Come with me.”
Here we go.
Wordlessly, I down the rest of the wine for a boost of liquid courage and follow him out to the garden. He leads me down to the river, and we follow it upstream to the waterfall. Set against the glass, the cliff marks the perimeters of the dome, and there’s nowhere else to go unless we turn back on ourselves or get into the water.
I glance up at him, wondering what the hell we’re going next. Without warning, he grabs my hand and tugs me around the side of the cliff.
“See it?”
I blink at the rocky cliff face, wondering what the hell I’m meant to see.
“Uh, no? Wait—”
Something small and shiny catches my eye. A hinge! As I take a step back, I can just about make out the small crack that runs along the cliff, forming a rectangle. “It’s a door! A secret door!”
Cillian smirks down at me, amused, and pushes his palm against the cliff. It hisses, like it works on hydraulics, and then swings open.
“You know, you told me you weren’t aBondvillain, but that’s becoming more and more unlikely every day.”
He lets out a gruff laugh and tugs me into the dark room. I’m painfully aware he’s still holding my hand, engulfing my fingers in his big bear paw. It feels deliriously intimate, even more so than sex, especially for the man that has a no-kissing rule.
My nervous excitement instantly diminishes the second we step inside. Something hits me. A smell, thick and repugnant, sends me reeling.
“What the fuck,” I choke into the sleeve of my shirt. “Did someone die in here?”
Cillian laughs softly beside me. “You’re not far off.”
Breathing in the scent of washing powder entwined into my sleeve, I scan the room. It’s small, box-like, with a skylight just big enough to frame the moon. In the middle, there’s a big glass cabinet with a flower inside. It’s almost as tall as me, made up of green and red outer leaves, and a towering yellow spike at its center.
