Chapter 26 – Xavier
“Can you stop the car, please?”
Cinder’s soft request had me looking up from the email I was reading on my phone. In the time it took Ramone to brake, for me to remove my glasses, and for Ramone to follow her, she’d removed the coat and was already out of the car. I would’ve panicked if we hadn’t come through the castle gates. Instead, I calmly opened the Rolls Royce door, and as I climbed out, my gaze locked on her over the roof of the car.
Her hands spread out, head thrown back, eyes closed, she was twirling in the rain. Smiling, I nodded to Ramone to leave her. While he slipped back into the car, I ignored the rain soaking my clothes, folded my hands on the roof, and watched her.
Since that night on the mountaintop when she declared her desire to feel the rain on her skin, I tried a few times to get her to go outside with me and failed. So although her acceptance to go shopping surprised me, her panic attack at the boutique frightened me. Fear that I’d never get her to enjoy the life she’d missed out on. Watching her appreciate a simple thing like the rain had my heart taking a distinct turn I couldn’t grasp around her.
I’d fucked plenty of women, virgins included, however, the intimacy I shared with this woman so far outweighed the pleasure I found in a woman’s body. An unimaginable feat like shaving a woman had never crossed my mind, yet attempting it for the first time today had me grappling for significance. Perhaps it was stupidity or the flutter of an emotion I’d been denied my entire life that made me comfortable around her.
Dragging my hands through my wet hair, I walked around the car to lean my arse against her door, my eyes riveted on her. Something in the way her long hair unfurled from the loose knot at her nape and swung around her slowly rotating body took me back to the night she broke the mirrors. Despite still displaying a modicum of reticence since then, she seemed liberated. Maybe it was my imagination or wish, I’d never know, but I was happy with her release from the prison she’d kept herself inside.
Her running from puddle to puddle, jumping and splashing water around her, brought me out of my reflections with a laugh. As if she sensed my eyes on her, she stopped jumping and looked my way. Then she rushed toward me and slipped her hands around my waist, her cheek resting on my chest, her breathing hard and fast. Smiling, I slid my hands around her, holding her tight. We stood that way for a few minutes, the rain falling around us in a soft drizzle, before she tipped her head back to look at me. Even without a smile, the happiness in her eyes was evident.
“Jump with me,” she said.
“What?” I tipped my head back, a deep laugh pouring out of my chest.
Instead of a reply, she linked her hand with mine and led me toward a puddle. There, she jumped into it, splashing water on my trousers. Then she took my other hand. “Jump with me, please.”
I had no idea why I considered making a fool of myself for her, but I did as she asked and jumped in the puddles with her, my laughter ringing out around us, the bliss on her face so bewitching, I was lost in the moment. I hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time.
What are you doing to me, love?
The silent question plagued me as I watched her, mesmerized by her simplicity. “Enjoying yourself?” I asked when she stopped, hoping for a smile.
“Dance with me.”
“There’s no music.”
“There never was,” she replied, confusing me until she closed her eyes and slowly began rotating me. I figured this was her way of dancing and allowed her this style until the most stunning sound flowed from her mouth, shocking me. It was a song I didn’t recognize, the words, though, were hauntingly sweet.
She sang of bliss and loneliness, laughter and tears, sunshine and darkness, love and pain. When the words ended, her feet stopped moving, and she breathed hard. Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking against the rain, she looked at me. I could’ve sworn she was crying on the inside.
“That was beautiful.”
“Mama would sing me to sleep every night.” Her eyes dropped to the ground.
