Just like now.
She stops talking mid-sentence, looks up, and searches the room full of admirers, other dancers, and patrons just like me. No doubt she’s searching for me because she senses me whenI’m near her. That’s one of the reasons I know she belongs to me. It’s one reason I know she’s the other half of my soul. And it’s also one of the reasons nothing can ever happen between us. She’s a weakness I don’t need. A weakness my father will exploit if he ever finds out she exists. So, I remain in the shadows to keep her safe.
Her eyes stop exactly where I’ve been standing for the past hour, jealously watching her interact with the people in this room. People who aren’t worthy of being in her presence. She can’t see me, even though she knows I’m here.
She stares in my direction a few moments longer, trying to decide if it’s her imagination or if she’s really being watched. As intrigue and fear dance in her eyes, excitement slithers down my spine. I’d love to see that look in her eyes more often. I’d love to see it when I tighten my grip around her slender neck while I’m deep inside her pussy.
Our connection breaks when a hand lands on her forearm, taking her attention away from me. Anger rushes through me. Even though she can’t see me, she can feel me, and I don’t like her eyes not being on me.
She politely smiles at the older man, who’s somewhere in his mid to late fifties. He’s in shape, and he looks like he stays tanned ninety-five percent of the year and has the money to make sure he can attract a younger woman that he’s too old for, despite the gold band glistening on the ring finger of his left hand.
To anyone who’s paying any fucking attention, she’s not interested in the conversation, while he’s unquestionably interested in her. I can’t hear what he’s saying from where I’m standing, but I can see the lust hanging heavy in his eyes and the uneasiness in hers.
He touches her arm again, brushing a finger down her bare skin, and I grit my teeth, clenching the tumbler full of whiskey. Iforce myself not to react. It’s not the first time tonight she’s had unwanted advances. You’d think the theater would protect the dancers from handsy patrons, but they are the bankrollers, so anything goes.
“I need to have a talk with Samuel if this is how the dancers are treated. If he doesn’t keep them in check when it comes to Arabelle, then I will, and I’ll keep him in check, too.”
She inches away from the older man’s touch. Her eyes glance to where I hide in the shadows, like she wants my help. I’d love nothing more than to walk up to her, introduce myself as her partner, and show every one of these motherfuckers eyeing her like they want to fuck her that she’s mine. But I can’t do that. I’m not worthy, and neither is any one of these motherfuckers. So, I’ll stay in the darkness. Watching. Wanting. Obsessing over someone who’ll never be mine.
My unattainable beauty.
I reluctantly pull myself from the confines of the darkness and walk outside to keep from attacking the man. As I wait for the valet to bring my car, I debate whether I should stay to make sure that bastard keeps his hands to himself. However, I decide to leave before she does, so I don’t miss my opportunity to spend some time with her.
I imagine what life with her would be like if we were together. Can she deal with the beast lurking inside me? Can I let everything go, including the feud with my father, if it would mean that she would be mine? I’m not sure if that’s even possible.
The valet pulls my car up in front of me, and it brings me out of my thoughts of things that aren’t even possible. He jumps out of the driver’s side and places my keys in my hand. I tip him a hundred-dollar bill, then slip behind the steering wheel and drive to her apartment in the city not too far from the theater.
The city’s nightlife is waking. The sidewalks are full of people in tuxedos, gowns, and cocktail dresses, ready for a night on the town. Normally, I’d be a part of the crowd with Adahlia on my arm, but tonight, Arabelle takes precedence over anything else I want or need to do.
Once I reach the area near her apartment complex, I pull along the curb close to the building’s entrance. There’s always a door attendant, and you need to sign in at the front desk if you’re not a resident. But I don’t leave a record of my visits. There’s an alley separating Arabelle’s building from the one beside it that’s cloaked in the darkness, which I use.
I sneak down the alleyway until I reach the unlocked window of the basement. Even with a doorman and the protocol of all visitors signing in, the security at this place is shit, just like her apartment in New York. Neither place has security cameras outside the building except at the front entrance and the employee entrances at the rear. The owners are more concerned about if their employees are taking smoke breaks on the clock than the actual residents’ safety. The cameras have blind spots, which I’ve memorized, so I can come and go as I please.
When she stays here, this is always the way I get into the building. Sometimes, my man, Hugo, keeps an eye on her, but lately, I’ve been doing it myself. Tonight, the pleasure is all mine.
There’s a narrow window that’s always open enough to lift. I slip in, my feet planting with a thud on the cement floor. It’s not the cleanest place, but it gets me to where I need to be. So, I ignore the dirt and cobwebs staining my expensive suit and secure the window just in case someone comes down to the basement or the alley and questions why it’s open.
Once inside, I quietly ascend the wooden basement stairs leading to the stairwell, then take the stairs to her fourth-floor apartment. When I reach her floor, I peek out from the stairwell door to ensure no one can see me.
There are only four apartments on this floor, including hers. The only one who gives me problems is the nosy neighbor in the apartment across from hers. So, now, I come when it’s late at night, and the old bitch is asleep.
Slowly, I approach her apartment door, trying to remain as quiet as possible. I have at least fifteen minutes to get inside and settle in. Arabelle keeps the same schedule. She never spends more than an hour and a half at the after-parties before she excuses herself and comes home.
I unlock her apartment door with the key I made from hers, push the door open, creep inside, and quietly shut the door behind me before twisting the lock.
When I first decided to visit her myself, I’d pick the lock. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid in Sweden. I started off as a petty thief to help my mother since my father was a piece of shit. I learned many things, like picking locks, kids shouldn’t have to learn so we could survive. The things I had to do and witnessed shaped a lot of my views on family and people, neither of which I have much tolerance for, especially my family.
A smile graces my face as I step inside and look around her apartment. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been able to stop by in person because I’ve been working nonstop and dealing with my youngest brother. Although I’ve seen her through the cameras I secretly installed a few months back, it’s never enough.
I’ve spent so much time in her apartment that it feels like home. It smells like her—rain mixed with mandarins. It’s a calming scent, one that settles the beast inside me.
Glancing at my watch, I now have at least ten minutes before she’s home, so I can’t linger even though I’d love to.
My dress shoes echo on the bamboo floors that run throughout her entire apartment as I walk the familiar path down the hallway to her guest bedroom. It’s right across the hallfrom her bedroom. When I reach it, I step inside to wait until she arrives.
I’ve lost count of how often I’ve done this same routine. Creepy? Sure, it is, but I don’t mind being creepy as long as I can spend time with her.
Like clockwork, the echo of the lock turning sounds throughout the apartment. She tosses the keys in the basket, which sits on a table beside the door, like always, and then the lock on the front door clicks into place.
