I’ve never experienced lingering glances. The kind of tension that’s thick and uncuttable, somehow connecting two people even when they don’t understand why.
I’ve barely seen Preston the last few days. I tell myself he’s not avoiding me because of whatever cracked between us, and that it's the fact he’s been calling emergency meetings and plotting with his father since the attack in Virginia. But it doesn’t feel like the truth.
Something snapped and left a mark on us both the moment I asked him to kiss me.
His father’s words to me on that bench about Preston losing his mother and sister to something sinister dissolved so many of the things I’ve judged him for.
When his fist snatched my throat and squeezed, I saw the pain stirring in his dark eyes. The hurt. The life of a man who was born into this world but was robbed of the only things that made it beautiful.
Maybe it was my survival mode, wanting to distract him from the demons infecting his head so he wouldn’t choke me to death. However, I can’t ignore the fact that a part of me wanted hismouth on mine. To steal away some of that pain and give him relief, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.
Stupid? Probably.
But he didn’t do it. The mixture of relief and sting of rejection has been battling in my head ever since.
It’s been a few days since they returned from the attack. Two men died in surgery, and another was lost to an infection that was too brutal to fix. Imogen did all she could, but I recognize the way she sees it as failure in the way she’s carried herself since those alarms went off. Exhaustion lines and dark circles are her companions, but it doesn’t stop her from keeping up with check-ins and administering more treatments and drugs to survivors as they need, giving them more attention and care than I’ve ever witnessed.
To her, it's personal.
Which is why it’s been so easy to spend my days alongside her and the team I was tossed into. It’s nice to know my time and talents are finally making a significant difference. It didn’t feel like that when I was working at Lachlan Park. Strangely, it’s almost like a gift in itself. I may be trapped, but I’ve been able to rediscover something I’m passionate about and handle lives with the delicate care they deserve.
Imogen said the Megalley Syndicate is a mob bound by blood.
A family.
I see and feel this in every interaction, having worked tirelessly beside her to fill my time and distract myself from the flicker of worry in my chest that is concerned about Preston.
It’s silly to think that something switched so fast that I’m seeing him through a different lens.
I can’t help but sense that maybe he’s feeling the same about me.
Remember when I mentioned those lingering glances?
When I’m leaving dinner, he’s going to get dinner.
When I’m taking a walk outside, he stands in that same window watching me from the third floor.
When I’m outside on the balcony before I go to bed, he’s sitting in that chair a few stories up, where I can see him, and he can see me at an angle.
It's unnerving and thrilling at the same time.
The estate is big, but it’s as if we orbit each other.
Or he’s using the tracking device to his advantage and avoiding me.
I lift the glass of red wine to my lips, taking a sip while my feet sway back and forth in the water from the edge of the pool I’m perched on.
The afternoon sun glides through the pool room windows, spilling across the floor and into the water. Ripples I’m creating with my feet span out across the surface, sparking where the sun touches. Marble pillars extend to the ceiling, accompanied by skylights and high beams that stretch from one side of the room to the other. There’s a waterfall at the end that dribbles into the pool, on either side of which two giant palms stretch out their greenery and disappear into the rafters.
The sound of a door clicking shut over the whirr of water snags my attention. My pulse jumps in response, my eyes darting to the door.
Carter stops when he notices me, a towel draped over his shoulder and bare chest. His black swim shorts hang low on his hips, where his defined V-line disappears below the hem. “Oh. I didn’t think anyone would be in here.”
I frown. I haven’t talked to him since he guarded me on my first night here. It’s hard to push past the awkwardness that hangs in the air. But I also can’t ignore my relief that he was one of the few who got out of Virginia unscathed a few days ago. Preston was worried sick about him and nearly avoided medicalattention altogether. He pretty much burst out of the room the second the stitches were done to check on Carter.
Tossing a leg onto the ledge, I push myself up, pausing when he says, “I didn’t mean you needed to leave.”
I settle back down, gliding my foot back into the water as he walks to the nearest lounge chair and tosses his towel down before padding to the deep end and diving in. He disappears for a moment, his splash reverberating off the walls before he reappears in the shallower end. Standing, he glides his hands over his wet, jet-black hair to smooth it back.
