Chapter 15

After a long night alone in the bedroom, I woke up to the sunshine on my face and the smell of bacon surrounding me. I sat up, realizing rather quickly that the smell came from the tray on the bed beside me, and I took great care not to move too quickly out of fear of disturbing the glass of orange juice on the corner. It carried Nick's scent, strong and fresh, and I realized I must have just missed him.

It was sweet, to think that he'd brought me breakfast himself. Apparently not the most thought out, considering how easily it could have gotten flipped over, but sweet. However, I didn't bother to dwell on the romantics of it; I found myself shoveling spoonfuls of eggs and pieces of bacon and sausage into my mouth, reminding myself to drop a hint to him that I preferred my bacon well done.

As soon as the tray was empty, I tore the blankets off of my legs and caught sight of the little sticky-note on my nightstand. Written in messy cursive, Today I learned that roses are red, Violet's are more purple than blue, And I can't write poems.

Get dressed, come find me.

- Nicholas I scrabbled to my feet and rushed into the bathroom, all but jumping into the shower. I wanted to see him, and for once, it wasn't because it was instinct or curiosity. After last night, I wanted to see what he was going to do, what he wanted happily-ever-after to be. And more importantly, I'd found myself in love with his insistence of making me fall. I wanted him to know how much I appreciated him staying reasonable when I... wasn't.

As soon as I was dried off, I ran to the dresser and pulled out a dress, eyeing it up. It was simple, white and covered in red flowers, and it was then that I realized Minnie hadn't given me shoes, save for the heels from the trial, and the old tennis shoes from when I’d first arrived. I was half-tempted to go hunt her down and beg to borrow a pair of something, but I decided not to. It wasn't like Nick was about to let me outside, and even if he did, I didn't necessarily need them.

I hardly had the clothes on when I swung the door open, stepping into the hallway, and the scent hit me. Outside and warmth and sunshine and pollination-

Flowers.

I stared at the little tables between each door, the vases of fake flowers gone, replaced by real flowers. They were roses: a bit cliche, but still romantic. I was a sunflower fan, however, any flowers in the middle of November were hard to come by. Greenhouse grown or imported, really the only options.

I stood there, staring at them for a moment, before Nick's scent filled my nose. It was like the scent of a steak to a starving man; I couldn't help but follow it, down the hallway and through the house. I still hadn't entirely figured out how to navigate it yet, but I could follow a scent. I could follow his scent through anything.

Down the stairs, down more hallways. I realized that we were somewhere near the room that I'd been cut in, and by instinct, the wounds burned. They'd scabbed over, and I'd gotten rid of the bandages, but they still hurt to the touch, to even think about.

The smell of outside came from inside. It was mingled with Nick's scent, and I slowed s I neared the end of a hallway, eyeing a set of massive oak double doors. The scent came from behind them, and I knew what it was before I even opened the doors, but I did so anyway.

It was probably a sun room, before. A glass ceiling, glass walls, save for a wooden frame and pillars, much like the rest of the house. It was large, but not massive. And it was full of flowers.

They were in pots, of course, but they were still there. Big pots, little pots. Hanging pots, pots drilled into the wall, pots on the ground. There had to be a few hundred different pots, all full of flowers. Roses, forget-me-nots, daisys- and, in the back corner, I spotted a pot of sunflowers.

Nick was on his knees in front of a pot of lilies, wearing an apron and holding a watering can. It was sort of adorable, seeing him trying so hard. He didn't need to, not really, but in the same sense, it was romantic. He tilted the can forward slightly, a few drops spilling out of the can and onto the flowers. He jerked it back upwards quickly, and I couldn't help but quirk a brow, unsure why he was being so... exact with the measurements.

I pressed at the walls between our minds, unable to help my curiosity.

Ah shit, I knew I should have used a measuring cup. I'm hungry. I wonder how flower breeding works, do flowers fuck? Maybe I should have someone bring down some food. Would the flowers be offended if I ate vegetables in front of them? Maybe flowers hate vegetables. Just like everyone hates m-

Darcy.

When he thought my name, it was full of a tide of thoughts. It was my smell, my eye color. The taste of my lips, the feeling of my teeth in his skin. It made the bite on his wrist tingle, and in turn, it made my own wrist tingle. It was full of excitement, and I could only compare the feeling to a dog hearing it's owner coming in the door. It excited me, his emotions bleeding into my own and mixing them. I couldn't tell what were his and what were mine, and when he whirled around to face me, I felt my heart speed up so quickly that it physically hurt.

I shut the wall between our minds immediately, and I had to gasp for air for a moment, resurfacing in my own body, my own mind. He was smiling, and I realized I was smiling - while I would have done so anyway, I realized it'd been because he was while I was in his head. I needed to be careful, or before I knew it, I'd be mimicking his behavior.

"I like that dress." He said, sounding far more calm and composed than his mind was. I had to wonder if he was always like this - always so composed on the outside, as he appeared, and so jittery inside, so busy. It was endearing, really.

"I like the apron." I said with a chuckle, my hands meeting in front of me and wringing as he began to move closer. His scent fulled my airways, and his mind pushed at the wall between his and mine, as though wanting to show me he felt the same excitement.

He laughed, so slow and calm and casually, each step slow, teasing as he eyed me, a devilish look in his eyes. "I think pink looks very good on me. Goes well with the tan." He said, shrugging casually. A step closer. Then another.

"Oh, definitely," I said, trying to stay calm, trying to match his composure. I felt every cell in my body begin to sing as he came within arms reach. I cleared my throat. "You know, I think we might have to get you more pink." I said, laughing. I wasn't sure why; the sound was awkward, and cracked a little, but it came out on it's own accord.

"Oh? Like what?"

It was a leading question, I identified as much immediately. It was a pink panties or pink socks question. I hesitated, but instinct took over. "We'll have to get you a pink thong, obviously."

The words tumbled out on instinct, and I saw his brows arched. He didn't think I would, and I was proud that I'd shocked him.

“In the Australian sense, of course. Flip flops.”

He closed the distance between us, so casually wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in, staring down at me with those dark eyes you could get lost in. He could smell the excitement on me, anyone in a ten mile radius could. He knew he was fucking with me. But, through all of his composure, I had the upper hand; I could feel the exact same excitement burning in his own mind.

His free hand skirted up to the space between my shoulder blades, and he leaned down. His lips were a milimeter away from mine, the world had gone silent and yet everything was so loud at the same time, my entire soul waiting in anticipation for-

He pulled away at the last second. My eyes, half closed, opened, and my first instinct was to yell at him for taunting me. To just kiss him myself and give us what we both wanted. But I saw the look on his face, the panic in his eyes.

"Darcy-" He said, releasing me immediately. I caught myself from tipping over at the last second, turning and watching as he began to walk towards the door. He stopped, turning back to me and grabbing my hand, tugging me after him, out of the room and down the hallway.

"Nick, wha-" I started, but he interrupted me with the answer to my question.

"We're under attack."