24. RAFE #3
“Like I’m helpless and useless. Weak. I’m not.
I refused to walk down the aisle with a man my father chose.
I refused to marry a man I didn’t love. I didn’t do what my father wanted, and finally pushing him away took so much strength it nearly broke me.
” A frustrated groan breaks her flow. “I’m working really hard to get this business off the ground.
To bring in my own money. To make something of myself.
To launch my course. I hate feeling like all of that doesn’t count because I still need someone like you to step in and fight for me. ”
“I didn’t intend for you to feel that way. I—” I cut myself off because she’s anchoring her bottom lip with her teeth, and her eyes are welling with tears.
“And you know what’s worse?” she says, voice trembling. “It feels like maybe you did it because…”
Her breath hitches.
“Because?” I coax.
A helpless-sounding sob slips between her lips, which she covers with her fingers before she mumbles, “Because you care.”
The words, which she obviously didn’t want to say, thump against my ribs.
I let my eyes fall shut momentarily. I do care.
I care too much about this young woman; it feels like I always will.
“I did it because your father is an ass, and I didn’t think you were going to be able to shake him off.
I also didn’t want you starting a brawl in the middle of the street. ”
She offers me the tiniest of nods, a repetitive, nervous motion that’s not much more than her chin quivering. “Okay. Thank you. That’s a good reason.”
“I thought so.”
Her hand flits to her mouth and away again. “I’m really trying.”
I step closer, and she glances up at me through her lashes. “I know. Do you think I can’t see you? Do you think I haven’t noticed how hard you’re working? How capable you are? How organised and competent?”
She lowers her head, but I ease her chin up with my forefinger. I shouldn’t touch her. Absolutely shouldn’t do it, but it feels necessary. Her large brown eyes meet mine. “What happened out there doesn’t set you back. You’re doing so well. I’ve been watching your videos.”
Her eyes widen. “You’ve been watching without me?”
I nod, wanting to tell her she looks beautiful in every single one. That I can’t stop watching them. That opening my phone and scrolling her content is my new favourite thing to do. “They’re good. Engaging. You’ve got so many followers.”
“Yes. It’s going well. I’m pleased.”
“You should be. You’re very good at what you do.
You’re not helpless or hopeless. Quite the opposite.
Soon, you won’t need anyone to provide for you.
You’ll be doing it all on your own. But even if you have everything figured out, have all your needs met, it’s okay to accept help.
It doesn’t make you weak, and if your father thinks it does, then that’s on him.
” My next confession stalls on my tongue, but only for a moment.
“And I do care about you. Very much. How could I not care after sitting at your side and watching you work? Seeing you grow? How could I not care when I’ve spent so much time with you? How could I not care when you—”
Are everything to me.
“When I?” she asks, so, so quietly.
“When you live with me,” I finish, but it’s painfully obvious that’s not what I was going to say.
She takes shallow breaths, her eyes locked on mine. For a few twisted seconds, we stay like that, my forefinger pressed beneath her chin.
Connected.
We’re alone and standing too close. Far, far too close.
There’s no one around, and only the distant hum of guests arriving in the main atrium serves as a reminder that there are other people in the building.
An impulse strikes me to stroke my thumb across her cheekbone or slip my hand around her neck. Press my lips to hers. It would be so easy. Automatic, almost.
I need to step away from this woman.
I drop my hand, fisting it at my side, then letting my fingers flex, but I don’t step away.
“Thank you,” she whispers, leaning a little closer as if she means to hug me, and the scent of her perfume hits me afresh.
This time, I know exactly why it made me think of Delirium: because that’s where I was the last time I smelt it.
The woman from that night wore this exact scent.
God, I’ve hardly thought of her since Diana took up residence in my mind, occupying all the space, but now, here she is, memories swirling.
What an unbearable coincidence.
Before I can process what’s happening, Diana shifts, and her lips meet mine. It’s an awkward collision of mouths, a grazing of lip to lip. Her mouth is both soft and hesitant, yielding like she wants it, but unsure and afraid to stake her claim.
This cannot happen. Not now. Not tonight. Not ever.
And yet I want it, more than anything.
My muscles lock with tension as my awareness swings between the present moment and the night at Delirum. My thoughts are a mess, scattered by the touch of her lips to mine and the scent of her perfume. I’m mentally floating in a sea of confusion, possibilities and what ifs.
But as the tip of her tongue slips between my lips and glides against my own, I forget all about Delirium and the woman I met there, because Diana is here, kissing me, and a desire more intense than anything I’ve ever felt ignites in my bloodstream.