24

24
The tenseness in my shoulders dissipates when she opens the door. She’s dressed in the clothes I bought her, her hair done up, two strands framing her face, looking exactly how I though she would.

I clear my throat. “You look…”

Her lips turn up, as she cocks her head waiting for me to finish.

My ears go hot. I glance away. “Stunning. It suits you. I knew it would.”

Red tugs the edge of my cuff, craning her neck, searching for my face.

“You picked it for me yourself?”

I nod. Can’t speak to her. 

“It’s so pretty, Kyro. I really like it.”

Fuck. Fuck my pulse is racing. I discreetly check it, count the beats.

“I’m glad, Red.” 

I extend my hand to her. She looks at it for a moment, before rising it, putting her smaller, softer hand in mine. It seem so much delicate—so much more valuable than mine I don’t even want to close my hand over hers. 

I was just so angry. I wanted to teach her lesson. What lesson?

I forgot.

I walk her down the corridor, careful to guide her carefully, make sure she steps over the bump into the elevator.

She walks flawlessly in the heels, and I screen off any questions I have about that. 

I don’t know why it bothers me so much. The thought of someone else touching her. Kissing her. Buying things for her. Rolling for her.

It’s mine. It’s all mine.

I inhale deeply. No, it isn’t. You don’t love her. You just want to be loved. 

Right. Right. 

I open the door for her. You’re supposed to do that aren’t you? She slides in, effortlessly, tucks her legs elegantly into the seat and waits for me to shut it with a grin.

I do. 

She hooks her phone up to my car, scolds me for not having it done for mine. She commandeers the music selection.

It’s a sensual, but romantic song, slow and enticing.

Her head sways to the tune, as she sings along.

“What does this song mean?” I look over at her. “For you, I mean. What are you saying?”

Red kinda balks in surprise, like she didn’t expect the question. I pay very close attention to everything. But then again, she doesn’t know that about me.

“I have an eye for detail,” I wink. 

She smiles and looks out the window. “I’m excited, in a romantic mood, I guess,” she flicks her gaze to mine, her hand brushing the back of my neck, playing with my hair.

“I want to sit with you and have a nice time. It’s been a while since I’ve had a nice time with a handsome man.”

A romantic mood? She’s swaying to the song again. Even when we arrive at the restaurant it plays in my mind. My hand on her lower back, taps the tune despite myself.

I know something new about her. I put in the treasure trove I’ve started in my mind for her. 

We take our seats on either side of a candle lit table, a bottle of champagne and two glasses waiting for us.

The server pops the cork, hands us the menu and bows before walking away.

I pour us both a glass.

“Are you from here?” 

The glass touches my lips, but I watch her carefully.

Her lips turn up into something like a fond smile. “Yes. I was born in Volterra. I guess it’s why it was hard for me to leave. What about you?”

I smile, take a sip of champagne and set it down. “I am. I grew up on the rougher part of Turolis. But the country is beautiful despite its flaws.”

“The best things are, aren’t they?” 

“Yeah…they are.” 

We sit with that, her eyes scanning the menu. She doesn’t ask who’s paying, she didn’t even bring a purse, or her wallet. I smile at that, and read my own menu.

“Have you been here, Kyro?”

My eyes lose focus on the words ahead of me. “I have.”

“What would you recommend?” 

She hasn’t been. The strange possessiveness I have toward her is immature and stupid. I’m a 31 year old man for christ sakes, not some teenager.

She’s a grown woman it’s her choice who she sees, who she fucks.

I just want to kill any man that does, is all. I know it’s wrong, I don’t know why it’s there, the need to close my hands around her and hide her.

“Try the fish. It’s fresh, caught not far from here. It comes with a sauce drizzled over it, it’s just divine. The champagne goes well with it too,”

“Such high praise. Then that’s what I’ll get.” She closed her menu and sets it to the side, resting her elbow on the table, her face in her hand.

It’s bad table manners but she’s so pretty.

I clear my throat. “Then, I’ll have the same.”

I close my menu, set it aside and wait for the waiter.

“How was work today?” 

It feels natural now, talking about work—talking in general. I don’t do much of that. Not unless I’m pressing for information.

“Intense. So many deadlines, so little time,” I shrug. “But it’s the way of the world.”

She chuckles, and reaches her hand out to me across the table. I take it, her thumb stroke my wrist, softly. “A scar?”

I blink. 

“It seems like a tattoo was removed. I had one done too. A dumb friendship tattoo. I always wondered what was here.” Her fingers trace the outline.

“How did you…?”

She grins. “I told you I have an eye for detail. You thought I was kidding?”

“I got it when I was in the army,” I take another sip of champagne.

Her eyes widen. “You fought in the war?”

I swallow. We’re getting into dangerous territory.

“I did. I was a young man who had dreams of freedom. They were lofty and unattainable. When I got out I had it removed. It just seemed childish.”

I purse my lips, and take another sip.

Her fingers keep stroking my wrist, tracing the outlines. “My father was in the war,” she whispers. “He always spoke of how brutal it was. He was never the same…after. I don’t think anyone can be.”

I finally meet her eyes. They’re sad now, eyes on that tattoo, on her finger swirling it. The light of candle brings that golden hue in her eyes roaring to life.

“It’s not human.” 

She looks up. 

“War is not human. It ruins you, deeply and completely. You lose yourself when you see so many people die. See so much suffering. It steals a bit of your humanity bit by bit until you don’t see people. You see sacks of flesh.”

Talking too much. I’m talking way too much. I set my champagne down, even though I’m nowhere near drunk. 

“Sacks of flesh…” she murmurs.

“That was a little…heavy for dinner.” I chuckle breathily.

“No…you’re right. It makes sense. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t connect with us anymore. We weren’t family anymore just…”

She grins, and the furrow in her brow evens out. “Well it is a pretty heavy dinner topic. Sorry for asking.”

“No. It’s okay. I don’t often talk about it. I don’t think many veterans do. But…it’s nice you noticed.”

I’ve never told anyone that. Why did I tell her that? When she asks me something, my brain scrambles to lie. It’s my nature, the lying— so why is it so difficult?

Is it the flame in her eyes?

“Are you ready to order, Sir?”

I open my mouth, but she smiles at him leisurely over her palm, not giving a damn about etiquette or table manners. 

“We’ll have the fresh Mali. It’s market price, no?”

“Yes ma’am. It’s very fresh, a new batch has just come in from the river Romai.”

“Perfect, we’ll take two orders.” 

He collects our menus. 

“You’re really baffling to me. It seems you’re both out of place everywhere and simultaneously apart of the landscape. How is that?”

She cocks her head. “When my father came back…he was different. Irritable. Angry. So I learned to fade into the background. Paint myself on the walls. It’s a good skill to have, honestly. I guess I should be grateful.”

I fill her glass back up. “The worst moments of our lives teach us the best lessons.”

She smiles at that, her eyes alit. “You have a way with words. I…never really noticed until now.”  

Of course I do. Lying is my first language. Manipulation, my second.

“It’s nice. Talking with you.” She whispers.

The smile that forms on my lips is genuine. I fight the urge to trace my fingers across it, feel what a real smile is. I haven’t had a real smile in so long. I didn’t know I missed it.

Didn’t know it mattered. 

“Yes. It is. You’re very easy to talk to. I wonder why. Is it those eyes?” 

She looks up at me. “My eyes? What are you seeing in my eyes, Kyro?”

“I’m not sure. But I can’t look away.”