21
Broadway
S ix hours. That’s how long I’ve been away from Violet. And every fucking second of those six hours, I was thinking about her.
The girl is the center of my attention. Has been since day one. Now she’s under my roof, the pathological worry isn’t as strong... too bad it’s been replaced with an overwhelming need to head home and look after her.
I’ve also spent those six hours kicking myself for touching her without asking. I didn’t think it’d startle her, given I held her in my arms earlier today. All the blood froze in my veins when she jumped away, eyes wider than silver dollars.
With a bunch of takeout boxes in hand, I step into the elevator, which quickly fills with the mouthwatering scent of garlic, basil, and cheese.
Pasta isn’t a very precise description. It doesn’t exactly narrow down the options. When I went in to place my order, the man at the small Italian restaurant in town asked me what pasta and I was at a loss. He handed me a menu with thirty-three different dishes, twenty of which were pasta. Having no clue which kind Violet likes, I tried to cover all the options and now we’ll have enough food to last us three days.
I hope she’s hungry.
Music assaults my ears as soon as the elevator opens into my living room. It’s just as I left it, not a single thing out of place.
Not that I’d mind.
Violet might be the only person who could turn my personal space upside down without me batting an eye.
It’s almost pitch-dark here, only the moonlight seeping through the huge windows illuminating the space, though it doesn’t show much.
Stepping in, I fiddle with the touchscreen, turning the ambient lights on, expecting Violet to round the corner, but as I turn, I spot her on the sofa.
She’s asleep in the most uncomfortable position imaginable, her neck resting against the back of the sofa while she half-sits, half-curls into a ball.
I’ve not seen her like this before. So calm and... peaceful. She’s confident around me. Almost relaxed. Almost . I know it might take a long time before she stops hiding behind her defenses and allows herself to be vulnerable around me like this.
I openly stare at her white hair, the purple almost completely gone, the bow of her lips, small nose, white eyelashes casting shadows over her porcelain cheeks.
She’s breathtaking, this girl. I twitch toward her, every instinct inside me begging to have her close. I’d give so much to curl her into me and feel the warmth of her small body against mine.
She shifts slightly but doesn’t wake... I don’t know how she can sleep through this noise. The music’s loud enough to drown out my steps and the thump as I drop the takeout boxes onto the coffee table.
Switching the music off, I grab a blanket from the back of the wingchair to cover Violet, but her purple eyes pop open the moment I step toward her.
She looks up at me, a fearful expression marring her pretty face for a few seconds before she blinks her emotions away.
“Hey,” she whispers, jolting into a seated position.
Her little nose wrinkles while her hand flies to the back of her neck.
I bet it’s sore as fuck.
My fingers itch to massage the spot and feel her relax into my touch. I’m about to move, but the way she jerked away earlier plays on the backs of my eyelids, reminding me I can’t just touch her as and when I please.
“What time is it?” she asks, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Almost midnight. I didn’t mean to wake you. Did you sleep long?”
“I’m not sure... I think I dozed off soon after you left.”
“I brought food.” I gesture to the takeout boxes. “You’ll have to be more specific next time. There are way too many varieties of pasta.”
“Any pasta’s fine,” she assures, watching me unwrap the food.
I check every box, telling her what’s inside, and a moment later she’s settled in the corner of the couch with a carbonara, her feet tucked under her butt.
I hand her a glass of white wine, watching her full lips close around the rim, eyes sparkling. A small smile lights up her features, sending a shot of adrenaline through my bloodstream. Jesus, it’s just a fucking smile and my heart’s speeding like a race car on a track. Her genuine smiles are so rare... I’ve only seen a few.
“Good?” I ask, keeping my tone level.
“So good. It’s been a while since I had wine.”
My jaw clamps painfully, fingers tightening around my fork. Taking a few deep breaths, I stop myself wondering about her time in Blaze’s mansion. I don’t want to contemplate whether the fuckers who bought her numbed her mind with the sweet delirium of alcohol while they used her.
I don’t think they did. And that means she remembers every second.
No wonder she’s been in daily therapy for two months, working through the trauma.
No wonder she still flinches at the prospect of being touched.