He laughs and my chest tightens.
His attention swings to me, and here, with the snowy mountains framing him and winter biting at his tanned skin, he transforms. Away from Chicago's noise, the city, Parker, our apartment—he becomes someone new.
His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip before that right cheek dimple appears. “I'm gonna teach you how to shred.”
My mouth drops open. “Ah, no, the fuck you ain't!”
“Ah, yes, the fuck I am.” He parrots, turning back to the wheel and driving us from the airstrip. His fingers tap against the steering wheel, confident and smug, already knowing I'll cave.
“Anyone would think you're taking full advantage of this privacy law.” I chuckle, reaching into my pocket for my phone.He doesn't answer, and from what I've learned in the past two months, Asher Jameson always has some shit to say, so his silence makes me hesitate. There are a lot of people in this world who deserve pain. Asher isn’t one of them, so the thought of me being the one to hurt him makes my chest cave.
His jaw tightens before he shakes his head and stares out the side window. “I don't give a fuck who sees us together.”
He pauses, face turning to me over his shoulder. Time slows to a heavy drum.
His brows dip a little, and for a moment, I see a flash of vulnerability. “Do you?”
“What?” I jerk back. How could he think I’d be embarrassed by him?
I sigh, blowing out a steady breath. “I mean, aside from the fact that I'm married and people might dig too deep into that?” he’s turned back to the road, as if I’d already given him my answer. Did I care? Did I care that there were more people on the line that he even knew?
“No, Ash.” I bite down on my bottom lip because it’s the truth.
He turns to me again.
“No,” I repeat with a small smile. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.”
And I’m so fucked.
His eyes fall to my lips, before traveling back up. “Good, because I'm not hiding you anymore.” The words hit me with a possessive weight that makes my pulse quicken.
We drive through an open road, surrounded by mountains that cave in around us in jagged peaks that rise high into the sky. The car purrs beneath us as we continue winding through valleys that swallow us whole. Fifteen minutes and we break into more civility. Small lantern lights begin popping up every so often, before a wooden sign readsVeilarath.
It unfolds before us like something from a storybook. Snow blankets the town in powder white, untouched in some places, crunched into pathways in others. Storefronts glow with golden light, their windows dressed with pine garlands and red ribbons. Even the streetlamps are dressed in branches.
We pass a shop owner who smiles at someone passing as he arranges displays of handmade ornaments and woolen goods.
“Jesus,” I mutter, half impressed. It's like a world far away from any I've known.
In the center square there's a massive tree, dripping with colored bulbs.
“Why does it feel like Christmas here?” I answer absently, hitting the window to inhale the scent of cinnamon and wood-smoke.
“Yeah, I guess it can feel a bit like that,” Asher mumbles, and I open my eyes back onto him, about to ask what he means, when a couple catch my eye. They're walking hand-in-hand, their laughter visible in white puffs against the cold. They seem happy. Not the superficial kind either, like genuinely happy.
I fall back into my chair, pressing my fingertips against the cold glass. The contrast between who I am and this innocent winter wonderland isn't lost on me. I almost feel guilty for being here. For tainting such elegance.
After a few turns, Asher rolls us down a wide suburban street with gates instead of houses.
“Holy shit.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. A dark building rises through the veil of falling snow. It towers three stories high, every surface painted matte black. It’s beautiful in a grotesque kind of way.
“Well, fuck me.” Asher lets out a low whistle, slowing to a crawl. “Your mysterious dead relative had taste.”
888 Veilarath Lane.The numbers scratched into iron gates, and they part as we approach, sensors detecting our arrival.
We roll up the driveway slowly, allowing me to catch all the details. Gargoyles perch on corners, their faces obscured by snow, and every window that peers down the driveway is tinted.
