Chapter 15 Why couldn’t it be real?
Why couldn’t it be real?
Roman
The entire wretched day after Isla left, I wanted to die.
I stepped inside my home, usually cozy, warm, and filled with her magnetic energy, and it was empty and cold.
Sad, lonely, silent, gray. She took all the light, all the joy, all the happiness.
I showered and changed, trying to just power through and distract myself, but once I caught sight of her empty room, vicious resentment clawed at my chest.
I had to do something—I had to see her; I couldn't just sit there alone and fucking cry like a loser.
Without thinking much of it, I drove over, and my oh my, did she look as good as ever.
It was downright criminal that she was not in my house.
Like she was not mine. And she fucking wasn't. And it was tearing me apart.
I had no idea what the fuck got into me when I saw her in those nonexistent shorts. It was like I was no longer in control of my own thoughts and words; it was some kind of out-of-body experience.
I needed to know how she felt, but she stayed silent, like a goddamn spy. So I pushed it and pushed it, and finally, I said what I wanted. But it came out all wrong. I didn't just want her in my bed. Fuck, I wanted her, all of her, with me forever.
She obviously thought I was going to fuck her and discard her, just like she said before, but she couldn't have been more wrong.
I was in love with her.
The night before she left, when I said goodnight to her for the last time, I understood. But I had no idea how to communicate it to her, never having said those words to anyone before. What was I supposed to say? I love you? Just out of the blue like that?
The week slithered by, my heart feeling heavier with each passing day, but on Thursday, I meticulously picked out her outfit and had it delivered in the evening.
A strapless ivory dress with art deco beading decorations, complete with a strapless bra with little red hearts on it that I knew she would love.
I couldn’t pass up on adding a matching silk thong that I was dying to take off her with my teeth.
There she was, at seven in the evening on Saturday, appearing outside her little building, and I literally had to bite my tongue before I fucking moaned at how gorgeous she looked.
Her voluptuous dark brown hair cascaded down one side, and whatever make-up she was wearing accentuated every single one of her beautiful facial features.
All of her was one of a kind. All of her riveted every single fiber of my being.
This whole situation was breaking me apart. She acted like she would never give in and had every reason not to. I was not good for her.
"You look stunning." I only managed to half whisper, clearing my throat.
"Thanks. You look great too." She shot me a warm smile as she climbed inside my car.
I despised these events, but they were crucial to know whose palm to keep greasing to maintain our business. All of my insides shook as I intertwined my fingers with hers, introducing her as my date, as if this was real.
Why couldn’t it be real? Why couldn’t she be by my side, mine, my woman, my better half?
I pulled her closer into me, acutely noticing how she flinched at the touch. But then she relaxed and wrapped her arm around my waist, giving me the deep satisfaction I chased.
“Any closer and you will absorb me inside you,” she added with a giggle, her light attitude a welcome change to how I last left her.
“Yeah? Then you could shed some light onto my black soul.” Both of us looked on at the grand and overdone ballroom as we chatted. Private, just us two, just like a couple.
“You don’t have a black soul. What are you talking about?” She looked up at me, the innocence in her eyes and her voice too pure for this world.
The facts were always there—I burned down her apartment, lied to her about it, kept her in my home, fell in love with her, and was too much of a fucking coward to tell her what I really did for a living. And here she was, a pure angel in front of me, still believing in the goodness of people.
She was not from my world, and she should stay out.
She should lead a normal life, one that I could never offer her.
That thought led me to the annoying realization that she was, indeed, already living her life without me.
But her random nine-to-five job didn’t sit well with me, and while I pondered how to broach the subject with her, I had started figuring out how to get it done.
Isla should have gone back to school, and I had more than enough funds and connections to set it up for her.
I gave my secretary a blank cheque last week, and she called around, finding out the right amount of donation money that was needed.
Columbia accepted it with gratitude, and voila, Isla had her spot back for the beginning of September and could transfer somewhere here.
Or…she could go back to New York. My heart literally ached at the thought, but I had to give her the choice. And somehow, the topic came up by itself at the dinner.