I was finally face-to-face with my greatest fear, my greatest love, my green light.
My Daisy.
“Gatsby?”
Chapter 25
Daisy
Gatsby.
How?
Was this real?
It was pitch black out and raining hard. My heart was beating out of my chest as I stared at the man in the suit at the end of the dock. It couldn’t be. But it was. It was Emile Dumas, the boy I’d fallen for, the boy I gave my virginity to, and my heart long before my body. The boy who took the fall for a murder I committed. But he wasn’t a boy anymore. And he wasn’t Emile either. He never really was, in my eyes.
“Gatsby?” I called.
The man seemed just as frozen in shock as I was. How did he get here?
“Daisy.” I couldn’t hear him, but I saw his lips move, and I knew what he’d said.
As if triggered by his words, my legs jutted forward. One foot in front of the other, I raced toward him. He caught me in his arms, lifting me off the dock as our lips collided in the air. I didn’t want to move, wanting to stay suspended in that moment—my legs in the air, his lips on mine. Slowly, helowered me to the ground, and our mouths pulled away. I stared up at him, taking him in.
It really was him.
I’d know those green eyes anywhere.
The rain poured all around us. I should have been freezing, but I was burning up. I gripped his forearms tightly, fearing he’d disappear if I let go.
“How?” I croaked. My chin buckled, and my eyes grew wet. I couldn’t believe it. This was impossible.
“It’s... a long story.” A half smile crossed his beautiful face. Time had only made him more handsome. He wasn’t weathered from prison, as I’d feared. If anything, he’d gotten larger, his arms, his chest. His face was more defined, but it was still him. He was still my Gatsby.
“Hey! You guys want to get out of the rain? You’ll get hypothermia!” My cousin's voice came from the darkness as they stepped onto the dock, holding an umbrella and smiling at us. “I’d offer to share, but I think it’s a bit too late.”
I shivered and looked back at Gatsby. “You want to go inside?”
He nodded. My hand slid down to lace my fingers with his. He squeezed and, together, we followed Neal back to their house.
“I’ll go get some towels. I actually have some nice ones now, thanks to my neighbor,” Neal said, but they were background noise. All I could see, hear, smell, and feel was the man with the bright blond hair and emerald green eyes. They returned with towels, and I realized that we were still at the door. We’d gotten out of the weather and stopped to take each other in again.
“Wow, this is... intense,” Neal muttered. “Here, take these. I’m going to give you guys some space. I’m sure my neighbor will let me hang out over there for a bit?”
Neither of us responded. We were too entranced in each other.
“Go sit down in the living room so I can use my door.” Neal pushed us down the hall and when we reached the living room, I took my focus off Gatsby and gasped. I stared around the room full of flowers. Bouquet after bouquet stood tall on every available surface. Peppered in between were trays of cakes, cookies, and other sweet treats. In the corner was a chocolate fountain surrounded by strawberries. Wine chilled in buckets of ice, and a fire roared in the fireplace.
“What is this?” I looked at Gatsby as the front door closed quietly behind us. Gatsby grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don’t know. I was?—”
“I know. Come, tell me everything.” Squeezing his hand, I tugged him to Neal’s couch. Placing the towels on the seats, we sat. I turned and put my leg up, straightening my dress as I did. My clothes clung to my skin, causing goose pimples to rise on my flesh. Once I was comfortable, I looked up at him.
“What do you want to know?” he asked, his eyes hiding something. I could tell he was hesitant.
“How did you get out of prison?”
