“You didn’t hurt me,” She lies.
“I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye,” I keep going, “I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you the way you deserved to be kissed or held you the way I wanted to.”
“How long do we have to be a secret, Killian?” She asks.
I’m not able to look at her or answer. Dropping my hand, I give her my back and open the fridge, pulling out the half-finished bottle of wine before I pour her a glass.
Forever. But that isn’t an answer she’ll ever want and I’m far too scared to lose her.
Perhaps that makes me a coward.
“Kill?” She pushes.
“Can you stay out of the studio for a few days?” I ask her to change the subject.
“What?” She snaps her head back, “Why?”
“It’s a surprise,” I tell her gently.
“Will you answer my question?”
I finally meet her eyes, my heart plunging down into my stomach, “No.”
She sighs sadly, “I’m going to bed.”
I watch her walk from the kitchen, a droop to her shoulders that I put there.
“Have I lost you already, Tiny Dancer?” I call to her retreating form.
She pauses and takes a deep breath, “Not yet.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
For the past three days Killian has disappeared into the studio for hours at a time, making me promise not to go in there until he says so. The curiosity is killing me.
It’s been tense between us. He is still here, we are still sleeping in the same bed, eating together, watching TV and acting like a couple. I don’t even know if we are a couple, but it feels like it. Except no one else knows it.
It makes me feel dirty.
Have I lost you already, Tiny Dancer?
Not yet.
Because no matter how much it hurts, I can’tlet it go.
I fear I’ll always be in the shadows, a dirty little secret the world can never know.
I can hear Killian working beyond the door to the studio while I sit at the kitchen table, my laptop open while I watch a dance routine on the screen. He’s been in there since eight this morning and only comes out to kiss me and get coffee, always covered in a mix of pink and purple paint.
It hasn’t even occurred to me to be worried about what he is doing in there. Despite the hurt in my heart, I trust him. I’vealwaystrusted him.
I start the video from the beginning again, watching myself as I dance on the stage. When the sun begins to set, bringing with it a storm that’s supposed to last a few days, I close down my laptop and decide to distract myself by making dinner. Cooking has never been my strong suit, but I do make ameanmac and cheese, so I pull out all the ingredients and start to prepare it.
It's just being placed into the oven to crisp up the top when Killian emerges from the studio. I close the oven and turn my attention to him, ready for the hourly kiss and disappearing act again except he just stands there.
“You okay?” I ask.
His eyes flick around my face while his own is splattered with paint, his hands covered in it, the white tee and sweats he has on much the same. There’s something endearing about Killian covered in paint, almostinnocent with the way a streak of pink clings to a single strand of hair that falls over his forehead, like he’s tried to push that one piece out of his face only to cover it in paint. There’s a smear of purple under his left eye and more strokes up his arms.
