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12
RAVEN
He dwarfsme while I pull my shoulders back and thrust my chest out, bravely holding his gaze.
I feel like shit.
Despite my stance, beautiful dress, necklace, and hair rolling in waves down my back, my tears pull a trick on me, helping him see what he was never supposed to see.
Not him. Not them. And no one else.
Of all emotions, this one is only mine. It doesn’t belong to a man, and I’m already crafting plans to erase this horrible impression as soon as I can.
Now, he has that knowing smile on his lips, and I wonder if this isn’t actually a setup. And not only this. Everything else.
What happened this morning. And him spending the entire day at the Homestead–Miami Speedway.
And him picking me up. Giving me more coldness than the winter storms battering Long Island.
I shouldn’t forget that we are barely entering week four, and I am on the cusp of a major meltdown. And if it turns out to be the way I think, I might kiss goodbye a lot of things.
This new development comes way too early, and I’m playing catch up here, trying to figure out the best course of action.
Undeterred by the magnetic storm gripping my soul, he brings his hand to my neck, slides it under my hair, and fans it over my skin.
His touch is soft, warm, and calm, and his thumb moves tenderly, his eyes dripping into mine. Drip, drip, drip… Showing some emotion.
His emotion is not like mine.
If mine is a twister that picks up stuff from the ground and slams it into everything in its path, his emotion is cool and calm, like a stretch of water. Deep like a stretch of water, too.
I can’t read much into his emotion, but I know this is not a good idea. Us spending time alone? Us in this beautiful apartment that is supposed to host an orgy a few hours from now?
Us on this terrace, with the ocean near us and the sky painted by a magnificent sunset?
I don’t think his touch or the smile encased in his eyes can bring anything but tears of emotion to my eyes.
Tears already glinting between my lashes like dewdrops on grass blades on a summer morning.
He brings his other hand to my neck and rolls his fingers over the necklace.
My eyes are linked to his, and I can’t even blink. If I blink, my tears fall. And if they fall, they’ll stain my face and dress.
What’s worse, they’ll say I’ve failed myself.
Maybe he will pretend it never happened. Even if he does that, it won’t erase the memory of me all teared up.
This is something I need to fix. But right now, I’m in his hands. Literally in his hands.
And my skin is warm under his touch.
He opens his mouth to speak and looks at the ocean as if searching for words in the immense stretch of water.
“You’ve done well so far…” he finally says, distracted, maybe, truly, honestly, thinking about something else.
Is he going to lie to me now? Or is he playing with me?
I hold my breath, waiting for him to continue.
