3. Scarlet
Chapter 3
Scarlet
“You know, you could be friendlier,” I say as I sway against Oliver’s side, desperately trying to distract myself from the mortification threatening to take over. I frantically search for something, anything, to take my mind off the overwhelming embarrassment that threatens to consume me. The moment Matthias spoke, I ran away from him like a frightened little bird.
He meant that he caught me as I fell, but it triggered memories of the brief period when I thought he wanted me. That I was somehow special to him. The last ten years did a great job of proving me wrong.
I stumble on the next step, and Oliver steadies me easily, putting several inches between us as we walk up the five steps to my front door.
“See. It’s like you think I have the plague. You’ve been my security guard for a freaking—” Hiccup. “—decade.”
Oliver grumbles something under his breath, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was about not losing his fingers.
“Silly. Why would you lose your fingers?”
He blanches but just shakes his head at me as he unlocks the entrance and heads inside before me while I wait patiently in the entry. This is the way it’s been ever since that guy broke into my place and lay in wait for me. It had left me feeling vulnerable, unsafe in my own house.
Honestly, prior to that, I kinda thought having my own security was excessive, but he saved my ass that day. So here we are. Me against the exposed brick wall, trying to convince myself I’m not as tipsy as I am, while Oliver goes and searches my place for bad guys .
The attempts to trap me into a marriage to claim my family’s spot have calmed down since then. I guess the sight of my potential kidnappers’ mangled face put a dent in their plans.
Well, that is, until tonight’s proposal. I guess he thought if he came at it sideways, that would somehow make his attempt more likely to succeed.
I huff out a breath. All it did was piss me off.
My cozy home is shaped like a long, narrow alleyway. I renovated it when I got back from college, doing my best to keep the charm intact. The original red brick wall runs along one side, serving as a focal point for the furnishings. The kitchen is in the middle of the layout. It’s small, less than ten feet wide, but functional, leading into a dining nook at the back. I embraced the vintage charm of the space and went with a Victorian girly theme, keeping the original crown molding and wainscoting intact. But to add some drama, I painted the walls a deep, rich green color that makes the space feel warm and inviting.
“All clear.” Oliver says the same words he does every evening.
I make my way into my living room and try to escape the confines of my dress. It’s pretty, I’ll give it that, but I haven’t been able to take a full breath in the last hour. My fingers fumble with the black clasp that needs to come undone before I can slide the zipper down, but the thing will not unlatch.
“I’m off.” Oliver’s already walking to the door.
“Wait! Help me get out of this first.”
His feet pause midstride, and he turns to me with a look of horror. “You can’t just…tear it?”
“Are you kidding me? This torture device costs a fortune.” I reach back as if showing how impossible the task is. “Just undo the top clasp, and you can go.”
He looks out the window before his shoulders hunch over as he walks to me. Jeez, you’d think we were strangers with how he’s acting.
I turn to give him my back, trying to make this as easy as possible, and make a mental note to not wear this type of closure again.
His fingers don’t so much as graze my skin as he makes quick work of it, sliding the zipper down a few inches, finally giving me enough room to inhale properly.
Oliver’s phone rings, the sound shrill in the quiet, and I turn to face him.
“Hello.” His face drains of all color as he listens to whoever’s on the other side. “Of course, sir.”
He’s already walking backward toward the exit by the time he hangs up. “I’ll lock up.”
“I know.” We’ve done this countless times. I tilt my head to the side. “Are you okay? You look sick.”
“I fucking hope so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?—”
The door slams behind him before I can finish.
Strange. Something’s off with him. My skin starts to prickle with anxiety, but the champagne is dulling the sensation until I brush it away.
I tug at the back of my dress, letting it fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but a navy blue bra and panty set.