Being back out in the world again was a scary prospect, similar to balancing on a tightwire above a canyon. Having spent weeks indoors, attending a charity event was exciting but scary. The world outside of the villa, the world was still sharp-edged, and risk lurked around every corner. Remaining in seclusion permanently would only allow fear to have its way, though.
Caspian had been too reluctant to respond initially, his desire to keep me safe from harm tempered by my resolve to find some niche of our lost world. But at last, he had agreed, recognizing that our solitude felt like imprisonment.
The night of event finally arrived, and there'd been a tense feeling at the villa again. The security guards glided silently with easy professional nonchalance, a just-behind-the-whisper softness as they made their way and double-checked each window and each door. I saw them — not in an oppresive way, but not disappearing either, and making their point. Making that point that there was something out of reach, still out of view but still very possibly lethal.
Caspian tension was palpable, jaw set as he toyed with the cufflinks in the mirror. The tuxedo clung to him like sin, the edges biting as they sliced away at each hard, worn muscle. He loomed over me, a king over his domain. And I glimpsed at the vulnerability beneath the armor — the flash of uncertainty in his eyes whenever he sent a glance my way.
I sat in one corner of the large room, smoothing the fabric of my dress. The dark green spilled hugged my body tightly, the satin pooling around my feet like liquid night. The dress inched low in the back, revealing my spine, and the straps cut high up onto my shoulders like a sign. I had not worn something like that in weeks — I had not felt myself for weeks — but I wanted to know who I was underneath fear tonight.
Caspian's eyes focused on the glass, tension in his physique easing for an instant.
"You look really lovely," he whispered, gravel on silk voice.
I turned around to acknowledge him, drawing hard breaths as he approached me in awkward, slow steps. His eyes wandered over to me like a touch, setting on the skin of my back, the curve of my collarbone. When he was standing in front of me, he didn't say anything — just lifted his hand to trail down the strap of my dress with his thumb, the pressure so light yet sufficient to leave me out of breath.
You sure you are up for this?" he queried, his hand following along the line of jaw of me to tilt my face up against his.
I placed my hand on top of his, his palm against my skin of face. "We can no longer hide ourselves, Caspian. Now is the time to go back out there."
His eyes burned into mine, a hurricane of emotion swirling behind them. I could tell the struggle he was waging within himself — how much he wanted to protect me from this battle that was so difficult to combat with the reality that keeping me hostage wasn't living.
He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he leaned down and kissed me, his lips slow and reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my skin.
“I’ll never stop worrying about you,” he whispered.
“I know.”
He kissed me again — this time with more passion, more possession — before finally letting me go.
The drive to the gala was great, city lights momentarily blinding me in the car. Caspian rested one hand on my thigh feeling me with warmth, his thumb stroking out little circles on my thigh. His touch was casual, but his grip tightened everytime the SUV slowed down or another vehicle got to close
I sensed the tension pulsating from him like a drumbeat as we arrived at the venue.
The setting was a stunning, opulent mansion, the doorway protected by candles that glimmered like fireflies on an evening summer sky. Glasses clinked and hearty laughter resounded, and in the background, the mellow tune of a string quartet.
Caspian helped me out of the car, his arm around my wrist, pulling me toward him. Curious guest with wandering were our welcome as we came in, their eyes lingering behind us with barely suppressed interest. I would hear the whispers — the noises and sounds of our disappearance, of our return— but my heart wasn't racing.
Caspian was holding me, though, his face stern.
"Breathe," I murmured to myself, tracing the curve of Caspian's wrist with my thumb.
He exhaled deeply through his body, his lighting up when he looked me.
We shoved through the crowd, exchanging superficial greetings and false cheerful small talk. The ballroom was lavishly attired, crystal chandeliers breaking light across white marble. Ivory and gold flowered centerpieces occupied each table, and waiters in pristine uniforms moving through the crowd with silver trays of champagne.
It was all perfect on the outside. But beneath all of that I was buzzing with tension as a subtext.
Caspian was always at arm's length — never more than a breath away — his hand on the curve of my back or wrapped around mine. If anyone talked to me for too long, if anyone one gazed at me for too long, his hand would cut off, his body shifting to insert himself between me and the other person.
He was calm, unhurried. But I could feel the pressed-to-hardness razor's edge of him smoldering. just below.
There was a time when some girl I barely knew had encircled my wrists with her arms, burning with pretence-filled worry.
"We were all so worried about your absence," she said, voice thick with worry. "Is everything all right now?"
I held on to the rehearsed, pretend smile on my mouth. "We just needed a break from everything. Thanks for asking."
Her eyes flashed over to Caspian, her curiosity nearly feral.
And that was the end of it.
Caspian drew me close with one arm slung over my waist, excused us, his fingers pressing into the hip as he fought to get us through bodies and out onto the balcony.
Cold winter wind lashed across pink skin, city lights miles below an ocean of light. I clung to stone railing, gasping, fighting to stay.
"I should not have brought you here," Caspian muttered, behind me.
I turned over to look at him, the agony in my chest pouring out.
"I wanted this," I whispered.
He towered above me, eyes burning as he drove into me. "I know. I don't enjoy seeing you like that. I don't enjoy watching you shrink yourself to make other people feel comfortable."
I hugged him tight, fists clenched in his lapels. "I'm not shrinking. I'm standing up for myself. And you're going to have to stand with me to too."
He cupped his fingers around my face, his thumbs tracing along the contours of my cheekbones.
"I'm so afraid that I'll lose you," he admitted, his voice a harsh rasp of sound.
I rose on my toes, lips on his — soft, harder, more wildly. He kissed me as if he was drowning, as if he had to devour every bite of me so he'd never have to endure the pain of not having me.
When at last we broke the surface, our foreheads still colliding, mouths still locked.
"We'll get through it," I panted. "Together."
He nodded, kissing me again — slow, like a promise.
And when we finally walked in, hand in hand, I knew this one thing:
We weren't returning to the light because the danger had passed.
We were returning because we wouldn't give up.
And we'd see whatever lay ahead just as we saw everything else.
Together.