Chapter 11 That Smell #2
I wave it away. "Does not matter, she checked out as you said. My point. At first, it’s light.
Almost deceptive. Like sunlight cutting through winter.
Something bright and clean that wakes you up whether you want it to or not.
There’s fruit in it, but not sweet in a stupid way.
White peach, maybe. Plum. Fresh, ripe, controlled.
It makes you inhale deeper without thinking.
Then it warms,” I go on. “Settles. The florals come through. Smooth ones. Not loud. Jasmine, something tropical but controlled.” I glance at her, just once, then away again.
“And under all of it there’s this clean skin note.
Not perfume, really. More like… it stays close.
Doesn’t travel far. It doesn’t seek attention.
I wanted to know what you wear, so I stalked your page to see if you post it, like influencers, with each meal or spot you visit.
They post, get ready with me for fuck sake.
" She smirks and nestles into my pillow, one that will now smell like her. "You post nothing like that." She tries not to look amused, but those emerald, green eyes are brightening again. This is good, so I keep going. "You post nothing but you and those close, you hide Savannah’s face and blur people enough so they can’t be touched. An annual family photo. You never post at the time; typically, it’s a week later. And I went back to your college years, your sorority days. You have never given more.”
“Wow, so you dug deep?" She asks, hiding a smirk.
I roll my eyes, "No answers on socials.” She looks pleased with herself. “So circling back to the goal, I want to know what you wear so I can desensitize myself and maybe, just maybe, our circles that seem to intertwine will not be disrupted."
“You won’t find it,” she says.
“You underestimate me when I am on a mission.”
She holds up two fingers, “I wear a mix of two. A tiny bit of my mother’s favorite perfume and a spritz of mine.”
“Which are?”
“Clive Christian, number one was Moms.”
“And yours?”
“Julliette’s Got a Gun, the not perfume line.”
I don’t know why that makes me smile, but it does. “So, it’s timeless beauty meets bad ass, it’s your armor.” She looks amused. “You’re clearly feeling better.”
“For the moment, I am, thank you. Now what do you wear?”
“No idea. Faulker buys that shit, and I give him money.”
She pulls the blanket close, and then she sniffs it. “Hermès.”
I arch a brow. “You’re guessing.”
She shakes her head, still holding the blanket. “No. I know.”
She looks up at me, eyes sharp again, present in a way that tells me she’s steadier than she was five minutes ago. “It smells clean first. Not bright-clean. Dry. Like citrus scraped against stone. Bitter orange, maybe. Like heat on concrete after rain.”
I stay quiet.
“Then it settles. Wood. Spice. Earth. Not heavy. Grounded. Like it’s meant to stay close to the body, not announce itself.” Her fingers tighten slightly in the fabric. “It works for you because you care about well-made clothes, about how things fit, about function, and of course, restraint.”
I snort softly. “Do I?”
“You do, you just don’t call it fashion.” She looks me over. “It’s your armor. Same as your SUV. Big, solid, practical, intimidating. Nothing flashy, built to take impact and keep moving.”
That one lands.
“And,” she finishes, “it smells like someone who expects the world to hit hard and plans accordingly. I rage-stalked you, too.”
“You’re unsettling,” I tell her.
She smiles faintly. “You’re predictable.”
“I’m sorry you lost your mother,” I tell her, honestly. “You clearly miss her if you keep her with you every day.”
“Thank you.” She’s quiet and then, in typical Sofie fashion, she’s not. “And what else are you sorry for?”
There’s no sense in picking a fight to stay comfortable, especially not when she’s had something happen tonight that landed her in a place I’m sure she never wanted to be.
“You’re not your sisters,” I state.
“What?” she giggles, the surprised kind, and then confused.
“I may have put you in a category you don’t belong in, but they seem to soak up. Their nepotism is very loud, whereas you,” I shake my head. “You’re not them.”
“You have no idea.” She says, covering her face. When her phone’s messenger chirps, she pulls the covers away and sits up, “Shit.”
I push out of bed and grab her coat, pull her phone from its pocket, and see the name James on the screen. “What’s your password?”
“Oh, hell no,” she snatches it, and I allow her to.
“You didn’t want him to pick you up; you were frightened of him.” I remind her… firmly.
“I just,” She shakes her head as she taps out a text. “He’s fine. He’s been my driver since I finished college. He’s ex-military and,” she drops her phone on the bed and flops back, clearly comfortable. “I am not going to live a life thinking everyone is out to get me. No matter what.”
“Are you fucking him?” I ask and wish I hadn’t.
“Am I what?” She sits up and doesn’t wait for me to redirect the question. “I sure hope not, his husband would be pissed.” She shakes her head. “I trust him, and I trust Matteo and—”
“Who’s Matteo?”
“My Dad’s oldest friend. And before you ask. I’m not fucking him either.” She scrunches up her nose. “Eww, you are so gross for even thinking that.”
“I didn’t say a—”
“I’m leaving,” she cuts me off and stands.
“Like hell you are.” I sneer.
“You can’t make me stay here,” she says, darting past me, or trying to.
I grab her up and toss her on the damn bed. “You’re going to calm down before you have another fucking panic attack.”
“I did not have a panic attack,” she stabs herself in the chest with her perfectly manicured finger. “I’m Sofie—fucking —Fairfax, I don’t panic.”
“I’m Aleks fucking Kilovac, and I know what one is. I saw my mother have them until she bolted overnight, never came back, and left me and my brother with a fucking sadistic drunk.”
Before it even registers that I’ve just told her more than anyone has ever heard me say, fucking ever, she gets soft.
“Aleks,” she whispers.
“Neyt.” I shake my head. “No.”
“Aleks, I—”
“This is not about me, this is about —”
“Her.”
“No, fuck her, she made a choice. This is about you, and fear that crippled you and the bullshit armor of being Sofie—fucking—Fairfax, and thinking that’s going to protect you, when the opposite is the truth, it puts you more at risk, Tsarina.”
“Why do you even care?”
“Because I’m human.” I climb into bed and grab the pillow, placing it between us.
“You believe this could keep anyone away if they wanted to fuck you? That’s bullshit, regardless of what your name is, yet you seem to believe it.
So right now, you’re going to lie your little ass down and rest, and then you’re going to let me keep you calm. ”
“Newsflash, Killer, you don’t have a calming effect.”
“Well, tough shit.”
“If you can’t stand me, why would you even try?”
I roll my eyes as I kill the light, “Because I’m a selfish prick and don’t want this affecting my game.”
Her phone spouts off again, and this time I do snatch it out of her hand.
“Hey!”
“Password,” I sneer, holding it up, knowing she won’t answer, but the screen will open because it’ll scan her.
“Never going to happen.” She grabs for it, again, I pull it back and look at the screen.
“Matteo is asking if you’re coming home.” I type back a response. “Staying with the girls, send.” I turn and look at her… after sending myself a text, fucking with her phone a bit, and deleting all evidence off her phone so she doesn’t know the information I just gained. “He lives with you?”
“He’s my father’s best friend.” She holds out her hand.
“Do you want me to put it on my charger, or do you want to hold a phone that’s on ten percent until it dies?”
“I need an alarm. What time do the guys get up?”
“Practice at ten.” I grab my phone. “What time can I give you a lift home?”