And with that, I headed upstairs, only taking my first full breath in what felt like hours when I closed my bedroom door.
Even with the London plan in motion, the longer I was sat there, not being honest with my best friends about what had just happened, the more I felt the need to tell them. But I wanted to sit with it. Just for a while. Because I still wasn’t sureexactly how I’d ended up kissing Marcus Romano in the first place.
My leggings and cardigan found their way to my wash basket, and I slipped on my comfort hoodie that hadn't seen the wash basket in a good three weeks. Then I lit my candles, and before I could overthink my way out of it I perched on the stool in the centre of the room, the weight of the night slipping off my shoulders, and I sucked in another breath.
The memories ambushed me again, and again, but even then I still couldn’t make sense of it.
This was Marcus.Marcus.Just hearing his name used to be enough for me to roll my eyes so hard it hurt. This wasn’t us. This was never supposed to be us.
Okay sure, for a second we weren’t the raging arseholes we’d been for the entire time we’d known each other; but still, what happened wasn’t supposed to happen. It was never supposed to happen.
I thought closing my eyes would help.
It didn’t.
I tried music.
The first song that played wasKiss Meby Six Pence None The Richer.
So instead my palms found their way over my eyes and I sank into darkness.
But the more I thought back, the more I felt the ghost of his lips on mine, the weight of his hand on my cheek, holding me like one gust of wind could make me vanish, and the more Iremembered why I hadn’t pulled away, even when I realised what was happening.
And it was different than my kiss with Rainie. With her, I’d been reminded of the ways the last time this nearly happened ruined me. But with Marcus…
In the moment before, I’d never felt safer, and all he was doing was sitting next to me.
The thoughts in my head were jamming in the centre, tension blooming in my temples and making my head fall back, my stare glued to the peeling paint on the ceiling rose. I had to get them out somehow, but I couldn’t tell anyone. Not yet.
And then, as my head slipped forward, my eyes caught onto the blank canvas I’d knocked over earlier, when I nearly came close to painting again. I was confused about what had been going through my head during training, confused about whether it meant anything at all. And if I wasn’t going to spill it to my friends, the next best thing for me to do, what I’d always done when I couldn’t find the words, was to paint.
Without thinking, I grabbed a brush from the floor, found a palette, and a half-used tube of navy paint and set up my supplies. I scooted my stool closer, so far that all I could see was the canvas.
It was like it was taunting me, but I ignored it, and as I closed my eyes, I lifted my hand.
And for the first time in months, I painted.
chapter twenty one
she's the only person i'd buy $300 flowers for
There were few things more ridiculous than a six-foot-four bodyguard baking in the July heat, outside a college house, holding a giant bunch of lilies. But here I was. Standing still. Sweating under my jacket. Holding these flowers like they were going to shield me from what I'd said—or worse, what I'd done.
The kiss.
God,the kiss.
I didn’t regret it. Not exactly. If anything, a part of me felt like I’d finally let out a breath I’d been holding for weeks. But another part of me—the one that didn’t get a say often enough—was drowning in guilt.
I’d taken this job to keep her safe, to make sure no one ever crossed the line with her again. And what had I done? Crossed it myself. Without warning. Without thought. Just instinct. So didn’t that make me just as bad as the asshole she needed protecting from?
That question had followed me through the night, keeping me awake until 3 a.m. And when the sun finally rose, I foundmyself at the farmers’ market buying lilies and at Flo’s grabbing a Bakewell tart. A peace offering. An apology. A pathetic attempt to fix what shouldn’t have broken in the first place.
The apology I’d rehearsed played on repeat in my head, and then I knocked, heart in my throat, sun beating down on me like it wanted answers too. I wasn’t waiting for long; soon enough, the door cracked open, and there she was.
Her onyx hair looked freshly straightened, and her eyes looked foxier than usual thanks to the liner painted on with such precision. Gone were her teary eyes and blotchy cheeks, and in their place was a sparkle I hadn't seen before and a rosiness that made her look like the very portrait of steadiness.
This couldn't be the same girl that had run from me, crying and silently sobbing into her sleeves after what we'd done.