She looks so impossibly soft in her white summer dress, hair spilled over her shoulders in dark waves. A few strands are caught in the V-neck, curling against her collarbone. The evening sunlight from the window cuts across her face, turning her brown eyes molten.
God. She looks like an angel stupid enough to walk into hell.
Her smile slowly dies when I just stand there, dripping on the floor, not moving. Not smiling back.
Fuck.
She’s here. In this house.
With Sylvia a couple of doors down.
This is bad. This is the worst possible thing that could happen.
“I’m so sorry, this was probably a bad idea,” she says, her confusion growing with every second I don’t answer. “I don’t know, I just really wanted to see you and you weren’t answering my calls, so—”
She shifts awkwardly on the bed, fingers fidgeting in her lap. She clearly doesn’t know whether to stay or bolt.
Nervousness looks so fucking cute on her. I want to smile. I want to run to her, bury my face in her neck and pretend none of this exists, but I can’t.
My gut knots so tight it hurts. My heart starts hammering like it’s trying to punch through my ribs. I cannot let her stay in this house. This is too dangerous on so many levels.
“Okay. I’m sorry. I—I’ll go.”
She stands abruptly, embarrassment and hurt flashing across her face. She turns toward the door, trying to avoid my eyes. By the time she opens it, I’m there, catching her wrist, the long hallway behind her swallowing her small frame.
“How did you get in here?” My words come out too sharp, too rough.
I hear it as soon as they leave my mouth and I hate myself for it. It’s not her fault. She doesn’t know anything. Why do I sound like I’m interrogating her?
“I—I just—” Her eyes widen.
Of course I scared her.
“The man in the lobby told me where your room is, so—I’m sorry.”
Fear and anger start mixing on her face, her brows pulling together.
I’m fucking this up in every possible way.
“Who else saw you?” I try to soften it, to add warmth, but it doesn’t land.
My throat feels like it’s closing. My fingers tighten around her wrist without thinking, and she flinches, hissing.
“Kasien, what’s wrong? You’re—” I know exactly what she’s going to say. “You’re scaring me.”
Okay. Breathe. Focus.
“Do you have your car here?” I lower my voice, barely above a whisper.
“No, I took an Uber,” she says, and I can already see disappointment forming in her eyes, like she knows I want her gone.
Fuck.
I can take her myself.
And then the door from Sylvia’s bedroom opens. She steps out in a long black bathrobe, tied loose, a hint of lingerie glinting underneath.
No.
