Rose.
She’s been through so much, especially with her dad. He abused her for months and I know that has left emotional and physical scars on her. She felt fear and panic and shed so many tears.
Now all I want to do is protect her and show her happiness.
That matters to me far more than my own desires.
I feel like I’ve finally found someone who understands me and makes me feel whole. She fills my emptiness with herself. Like a bright ray of sunshine, she casts away my darkness. Just being with her is enough for me to feel better.
I like her. I like her a lot.
But there are times when my chest expands with so much care, worry and fondness that I fear that my bones will break and everything inside of me will come out.
Seeing that will scare her.
The absolute fucking last thing I want.
Placing my arms around her waist, I envelope her in a hug that brings her close to me. My nose buries in the crook of her neck and her I breathe in her flowery scent. Lavender. The sweet fragrance causes blood to race through my veins. The familiarity of it is now something I’m accustomed to.
Rose turns cardboard in my hold, and then softens.
Chase Atlantic plays in the background as I keep her in my arms. The safest place for her.
When I saw marks on her body, fear in her eyes and tremors in her hands, all I wanted was to take her someplace she would be safe. Unknowingly, I’ve shaped myself to be that someplace for her where the danger—her dad—can’t get to her. I know I’ll do anything to put myself in harm’s way so it can’t reach her.
“Are you feeling better?” she asks.
Her voice.
Fuck. Her voice weakens me.
I like it when she speaks to me in her gentle and sweet voice laced with worry—for me.
“I am,” I answer honestly. “I told you. I needed you tonight.”
“You have me.”
How fucking grateful I am.
“I’m sorry for making you sneak out and be with me right now.”
“It’s fine.” She blurts, almost immediately, not making me feel guilty for a second.
A vague thought crosses my mind. A thought that Sebastian planted in my head.
“We haven’t gone out on a date yet,” I grumble in her neck.
“Date. We. No.” Hope fumbles over words pulling a chuckle out of me.
“Sorry…” she whispers. “I thought since we’re already dating, it doesn’t matter.”
Now I feel like an asshole for making her lower her standards. She reads words on papers and feels things. For fuck’s sake, she’s in love with guys who are purely fictional but to her they are real.
I’ve read the books she reads and I know how grand gestures are a big theme in all the romance stories.
Rose is a hopeless romantic. I want her to experience all the romantic things with me.
Everything she has read about, I want to make it come true.
