Chapter 41 Forty One
AMELIA XAVIER
The night was great for walking. Most people had gone to bed and the streets were empty making the night air pass freely without any obstacle.
I walked down the road marking my way so I wouldn't get lost especially since my phone wasn't with me. My mind wandered off to my business here in Paris. The letter requesting an audience with Kayla had been rejected and there were no other ideas that crossed my mind.
Subconsciously, I walked off the road into another street that looked darker and more sinister. The streetlights were either dying or were completely dead and puddles of water filled the road.
I hadn't seen this street before. I jerked back to reality immediately my shoes stepped into the water.
“Oh fuck!” I cursed out staring angrily at the water. It was best I went home, but turning back, I knew at the moment that I was lost.
“Great!”
I decided to just keep going straight, maybe a cab could miraculously appear, but the deeper I went, the darker the street became. The atmosphere seemed eerie as the breeze came slower and colder… .
I was being followed.
Swiftly, I took to my heels, my legs working as fast as it could. Dying in Paris wasn't part of the plan.
Before I could take a turn to the next junction, a hand grabbed me by the wrist and shut my mouth to keep me from screaming. I felt my back hit the abductor's body… It was hard and felt similar.
I jogged my brain until it picked the most useful answer. This body had held me and kissed me before.
Owen Winters.
“What the…”
“We're being followed. Hush,” he said quietly, his hands still over my mouth.
After what looked like five minutes in real time and five seconds to me because no one could resist such a strong body, he let me go.
“You can question me all you want now,” he said sarcastically, making me roll my eyes.
“How the fuck did you know someone was following me? Are you stalking me? And where the fuck are coming from?!” I asked, giving him a questioning look. Owen laughed, his eyes sparkled in a second before it died. Just a second.
“Well, I came back from the Winters party and I suspected someone was following me, then it turned out the fucker was after the both of us,” he explained answering all the questions I threw at him in just a statement.
“You went to a family party? Why didn't you just stay over?” Owen shrugged fucking his hands in his pocket. “I'll take you ho…”
Drop.
A drop of rain stained my face. I looked up to the sky, the weather raged and I didn't need a weather forecast to tell me it was about to thunder.
“I'm not with my fucking car. Damn that old man,” Owen cursed and rubbed the bridge of his nose in worry.
“I don't know the route to my place and it's already late. Let's head to yours before the rain actually thunders down on us,” I said, wrapping my arm around his. He nodded without another word.
This was my second time coming to Owen's place, and it seemed very nice unlike daddy that was so obsessed with black. The first time I came here would rather be described as a beautiful chaos because after a fucking night of pleasure, the next morning I stormed out of his apartment with a disheveled hair, no shoes and an oversized shirt.
“Coffee? The weather's fucking cold,” he offered handing me a cup of hot coffee. I took a sip and felt better — it tasted like heaven, but a different kind.
I watched Owen as he sat on the couch with a book in his hand. “You read?” he asked, glancing at me.
The rain started like a soft drizzle staining the closed window panes.
“No, but I like that you do. At least I have a friend that's not dumb as me,” I joked expecting a laugh, but got only a sip of coffee from him.
Poor attempt.
“Do you really like that I do?” He asked dropping the book carefully on the couch and walked towards me. “I like it. Daddy loves it too,” I added, taking a step back.
“Oh Dylan, I expected to see him at the party, but since his daughter is here…” I blocked my ears from hearing what he wanted to say, my mind focused on how to get away from him.
Why the fuck was he moving close to me? I took a step back till my back hit the wall.
Dead end.
“Are you cold? I can get you blankets,” he requested, his voice bringing me back to reality. “No… I mean yes, thank you. Owen,” I replied, staring at the window again.
The rain had increased, it pounded on the window panes. “Here.” He tossed a blanket at me. “I figured you didn't want to sleep now, so let's do something, maybe talk,” Owen suggested and my eyes lit up.
“Then let's play the three question game. Two truths and one lie,” I said and he nodded in response.
We sat on the couch covered in blankets, a cup of his sweet brew in my hand. “I'll go first,” I said. He shrugged.
“Did you murder the owner of that painting at the Erin ball party?” I asked, though I hadn't mentioned it, the thought of Owen murdering a whole family killed my insides. I waited for him to answer and with the silence, I knew it was he.
He smirked, “Yes, my turn.”
“Why did you come to Paris after so many years?” I sighed hating that I had to tell him. “Well, my father sent me here and…” I let my voice trail. Owen cocked his brows curiously. “And…?”
“No. It's just that,” I said, sighing again. He didn't need to know.
“How were you doing… for eleven years, I mean,” I inquired
“Good.” He shrugged while taking a sip of his coffee.
That was a lie.
Owen dropped the cup and stared at me, his eyes glinting with mischief. What was he up to now?
“Did you miss me when I was gone for that long?”
This bitch!
“No,” I answered and he chuckled. “That's a lie, I hope the next one can be a truth.”
“My turn, what about you, did you miss me?” I asked. My heartbeat increased and I knew that though I had never bothered about the question, I really wanted to know if Owen Winters missed me after all those years.
Eleven years was a long time.
“Yes. Amelia, yes I did,” he answered and I felt my heart ease a little. He missed me.
Owen Winters missed me.
“My turn, do you mind if I kiss you?” The question came as a surprise, but who wouldn't want that?
“No, I don…” and before I could finish my statement, he pressed his lips on mine. The coffee cup fell off my hand and shattered, but he didn't care.
No, I didn't care.
We didn't care.