4. Margot #2
A soft laugh leaves me at that, and I roll my eyes as I take a seat on the bed. "You'd look pretty wearing a trash bag. Who are you kidding?"
Blushing at my compliment, she hunts down shorts to go with the shirt before asking me for help out of the death trap that is her dress. Helping her loosen the ribbon squeezing her tight, she breathes deep once she's cradling the front to her chest to keep it up.
"I'll shower first, and then you'll take your turn." Already making up her mind, her nose scrunches. "I can't share a bed with you if you stink."
Motioning her to go on, she slips into the bathroom and notes that there is a lock on the handle. It helps bring a small comfort, even if I'm sure he has a key to that, too.
Once I'm all alone, left with the sound of a shower running, I look over to the closet. Getting off the bed, I pull one of the shirts off the hanger and look at it long and hard. The fabric is soft to the touch, but it's stiff, newly bought.
This must've cost him a good amount of money. How hot can hatred burn to be willing to spend so much money on making something happen?
He's bought plenty of clothes, enough to make me wonder if he owns a washer and dryer.
They're perfectly shaped for Madalyn. Returning the shirt where it belongs, I pick through the others, searching through them.
When I can't find what I'm looking for, my gaze drifts to the door separating us from him.
If I had a choice, I'd hide in here for the entire time he needed to use us. Being in my own space like this is all I've ever known.
Slowly, and all too hesitantly, I move toward the door. Knowing my sister doesn't need me right now, I force my feet to keep moving. Leaving the room, I find Dante exactly where we left him.
He doesn't turn to look my way when I approach. I can't tell whether he doesn't deem me a threat or is too busy waiting for any new updates to appear on the screen.
"What is it?"
Not a threat, then.
Chewing on my lip, I try not to cower out just because he's gruff. "Were you serious about going to you if we need anything?"
He suddenly tips his head back, finally looking at me. Up close, I can see the depth of the scar running from cheek to cheek, but that's not what has my attention. It's those deep, brown eyes of his. "What do you need?"
God, this is embarrassing.
"You bought clothing for my sister." My eyes drag to the side. "I'm not the same size as her."
Getting silence in return, I consider telling him to forget about it. I can make it work, one way or another.
"I can sleep in this tonight, that's not an issue—"
He gets up, setting down his bottle next to an empty one. "Don't move."
I don't, because where else am I supposed to go? He's moving toward the room I assume is his, and there's no way I'd follow him inside.
He returns quickly, a crumpled white shirt in his grip. He's wrinkling it from how tight he's holding it. "Will this do until I can get you something else?"
Looking at his shirt in confusion, my eyes coast over the back of his hand, and my throat goes completely dry.
His grip on the fabric is pure, rigid tension.
Thick, prominent veins map their way from his wrist down to his heavy knuckles painted in more faded scars, shifting under his skin with a dangerous, quiet strength.
It’s a hand built for violence, coiled incredibly tight, yet the sheer size and heat radiating from it makes a sudden, rebellious shiver chase down my spine.
Taking his offering, I nod, careful not to let my fingers brush against his. "Thank you."
He nods and doesn't budge. Instead of returning to his seat, his hands curl at his sides. "Is there anything else you need?"
A tiny voice in my head encourages me to ask for anything. The way it reminds me that I don't normally get to make requests, it kind of sounds like Madalyn's voice.
Instead, I cling to reality because it’s the safest route. "Am I going to have to sleep with one eye open?"
My question makes him frown, and he finally turns to face me fully. "You're very protective of your sister. Do you believe I want to do something to her?"
I nod, because that's what is expected for this situation.
Plus, it's my sister. Madalyn is gorgeous, a classic beauty, and every single man with working eyes who has ever crossed her path has wanted her in some form.
Before I gained a little weight, back when I still felt like I could be seen, I used to feel those same gazes pointed my way.
"Believe me, or don't, but I promise you, I have no interest in that woman outside of her value."
His voice is firm, dead serious, and it doesn't sound like a lie.
His frown seems to deepen, his features tightening in a way that makes him look in pain.
Then, without warning, he lifts his hands.
I can feel the heat radiating off his fingers as they almost make contact with my face.
Before they can, his jaw tightens and his hand curl into fists.
Dropping them to his side, he turns back toward the couch.
"Get your rest, Margot."
Hearing him say my name in that softer tone hits me deep in my chest. A pathetic, buried part of my mind suddenly wants to feel hope.
Maybe this man is looking at me for a reason. Maybe he sees me as I am right now, and he isn't repulsed.
Have I been denied for so long that it only takes one man to make me this affected by some words?
My knees feel weak from the sheer weight of the thought, but I instantly force the feeling back down. This isn't good. I can't afford to give into a fantasy, not here, and absolutely not with him.
I have to see this man as a monster. If I start seeing him like a human being—if I start hoping he sees me—I'm going to slip and make a fatal mistake.
Using what strength I have, I walk away as he settles back on the couch. I promise myself that I won’t be a victim of Stockholm syndrome or anything like it.
I won’t fall for him.