Lennon
Istudied myself in the mirror, smoothing my hands over the front of my dress, my gaze fixed on the fabric as if it might offer me answers.
Was this my first date?
I swallowed hard, clearing my throat as nerves crept in uninvited. Why did I even care? He wasn’t going to stick around or anything. He would get tired of me, get sick of my shit. He would leave, just like everyone else who had ever made me believe they loved me.
Except, he didn’t love me. He never could. There was nothing here worth loving.
I lifted my eyes to the mirror again and felt something unfamiliar stir in my chest. Something fragile. Something strange.
What if he did?
I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away. It was impossible. No one ever had. No one ever would.
A memory surfaced, unbidden. My father dancing with my mother in the kitchen when I was little. I didn’t have many memories of him, but the ones I held onto were precious. Mundane moments that meant nothing then, and everything now.
His hand rested respectfully at her waist, his other hand clasped in hers.
His face tucked in the crook of her neck.
I could still see the soft, unguarded smile on her face.
There was happiness in the ordinary. Contentment braided with love.
There once was a time, I’m certain of it, that my mother had felt emotions the way normal people did.
But what is normal, if it could so easily rot and shift into something evil?
Inside me, wars were being waged. The battle between love and evil. Memory versus reality. The collision of two worlds that didn’t make true sense. The pieces didn’t fit, no matter how hard I tried to force them together.
Maybe I should change.
This dress meant something to me—about as much as something could. I had passed that little boutique countless times on my way home from therapy, watching it hang in the window. From the moment I’d laid eyes on it, I’d known. This was meant for a special occasion.
If I was being honest with myself, I had wanted to kill myself in it. I had wanted it to be what I wore in the afterlife, should one exist for someone like me. I wanted to be beautiful in another life—if I couldn’t manage it in this one.
The dress was soft, timeless. Elegant in a way that didn’t beg for attention. It was a fitted silhouette with a hem that skimmed my knees and a modest slit in the side—nothing overtly sexual, just undeniably feminine. The neckline scooped gently, offering a subtle suggestion rather than a promise.
The velvet beneath my fingers felt foreign, grounding. Real. Like something meant to tether me to the very moment I was in.
Asher could be someone like my dad had been. He could be gentle. Protective. Safe. He carried the kind of quiet steadiness you wanted beside you for the long haul, the kind that didn’t vanish when things got hard.
Maybe I could…
I shook my head, snapping myself out of it. Nothing long term. Nothing committed.
Before I could rationalize any further, I stepped out of my room to face him. When I did, I noticed he’d changed, too—and damn, he cleaned up well.
“W-when did you…” I stuttered.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed what I could only assume were nerves. “I came prepared,” he whispered, his voice staggered. Then softer, almost reverent, he said, “Jesus, Lennon, you look…”
He trailed off, trying to conjure up the right word to use. And when he couldn’t, he shook his head and crossed the space between us. The look in his eyes was intentional—dangerous in the way that felt thrilling rather than frightening. He reached down and picked me up into his arms.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, my legs instinctively locking around his waist as he subtly growled into my neck.
“You are everything that’s right with this world,” he said quietly. “The way you light up a room, Lennon—I’m…lost for words. You are so fucking beautiful.”
The compliment was pure. It lived within every feeling of his bones. And somehow, that made it hurt more. I couldn’t see myself the way he saw me, and the discomfort hollowed something out inside my chest.
I leaned in and bit his ear playfully. “Just so we’re on the same page—this isn’t a date.”
A soft chuckle vibrated against the space near my neck. “Oh, it’s a date,” he chimed. “Whether you want to put a label on it or not.”
I pulled back to look at him. His eyes were bright, curious, teasing. A faint wrinkle at the crease of the crow’s feet outlining his eyes made my heart flutter. He would look so good growing old with someone. The thought landed heavier than it should have.
“Just this once, Asher,” I said softly. “Just for tonight, I’ll say it is. Okay?”
A wide, genuine smile spread across his face. “I’m going to treat you so good you won’t even remember any other date you’ve ever been on.”
Then his lips collided with mine, deliberate and all-consuming, washing away all the demons that had been clawing at the edges of my mind—if only for that moment.
* * *
Sitting across from Asher, I felt as though I was having an out-of-body experience.
He sat there, effortlessly dapper, the embodiment of old money while this blonde sat beside him—wide-eyed, chin resting on her clenched fists—hung on to everything he had to say.
The couple shared laughter and exchanged knowing glances throughout the night.
But it was me.
The restaurant held a warm, golden hue, the soft lighting glinting off the chandeliers and creating an ambiance fit for the wealthy. The wait staff moved gracefully, dressed in tailored shirts and modest dresses, their smiles dazzling and effortless.
Our waiter had loose, short curls that fell across his forehead as he poured our wine. I watched him carefully, wondering if his cheerful demeanour was genuine or simply a well-practiced act.
Our eyes met momentarily, and I quickly averted my gaze, looking anywhere but at him. A flush crept up my neck, warming my cheeks, and I was certain it was obvious.
When I dared glance back, he was still staring at me, his smile flirtatious and his gaze soft. My attention travelled to Asher, who watched me with an intensity that suggested I was in big trouble.
A flip in my stomach sent the grin on my lips curving upwards. He was jealous.
“My wife here would love the Orto di Lumache to start,” Asher said with an authority I had never heard before, his words sending a shiver down my spine.
He was claiming.
The waiter cleared his throat and nodded. “Of course, right away.”
As he turned to walk away, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Your wife?”
“I’m sorry,” Asher said, his voice low and playful, “did you just roll your eyes at me?”
I giggled. “And what are you going to do about it, hmm?”
He extended his hand across the table. When he noticed confusion brushing my features, his voice dropped, firm and unyielding. “Hand ‘em over.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Hand what over?”
Leaning closer, he hissed, “The underwear you’re wearing.”
I scoffed, splaying a hand over my chest and enthusiastically drawing in a sharp breath. “Well, I would, but that would mean I’d have to be wearing them in the first place.”
The expression that flitted across his face was enough to send me off the ledge of pure bliss. He loved these games, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just as intrigued. The silence between us was a brief, charged pause—both of us contemplating the next rebuttal.
“I was going to give them to the waiter to remind him who’s in charge here, since he couldn’t keep his fucking eyes off of you,” he began, his voice low and cruel. “But I suppose mentioning that I’ll be taking you to a luxury hotel with the finest bed in the city will have to do.”
My belly did a flip.
“Why would you do that?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended, the edge of my voice cutting through the moment.
Asher met my eyes, anticipating my resistance.
“What? You didn’t think you’d be getting off that easy, did you?
No, little siren, I plan to take my time with you.
I’m going to pamper you, give you all the space I can to make sure everything you need—or want—on that list in that beautiful brain of yours is taken care of. ”
I was taken aback. Sometimes I forgot he was someone who lived a life where people treated others the way you always dreamed of being treated. The kind of romance you saw in movies, where the hero was the Prince Charming—the one you rooted for.
But me?
I wasn’t destined for Prince Charming…
So why was there a part of me that craved to see where this would go? What did I expect would happen in the long run? These mere tidbits—things I’d never experienced—were offering a sliver of light in the deep, dark tunnel I had unknowingly walked into.
He was making me feel…more.
“Nova?” I asked, barely a whisper.
Without a blink, he replied, “Duke’s already on his way to pick her up.”
I chuckled sarcastically. “So, you allow your driver to commit breaking and entering on a whim? Just like that, huh? What else have you planned?”
The smile on his lips was dark, sadistically sexy. In that instant, I wanted nothing more than to be all over him.
The waiter returned with the appetizers, bread, and topped up our wine glasses. Time seemed to stretch endlessly between us as we locked eyes, neither of us willing to be the first to break the spell.
“More house red, miss?” the waiter asked, holding the bottle poised to pour.
Without breaking eye contact with Asher, I said with fierce undeniability, “The only thing I want more of in my mouth right now is him.”
The waiter and Asher both froze, suddenly choking on air. Asher’s dimples appeared, lighting up his face, and before I could stop him, he raised his hand. “Cheque, please.”