Page 25 of Prince of Wrath

I’ll catch up with Nate in the elevator on all the things we have to put into motion today, but I’ll be the brain and he’ll be my hands, because right now, my number one priority just woke up, and I’ll be damned if I lose a single minute away from her.

Ella

If I close my eyes, could I become invisible? Isn’t what children think when they play hide-and-seek? Waking up in the same room I was in when I left and got kidnapped gives me an unsettling sense of déjà vu. I sit up.

“Tristan,” I call silently, but the room is empty. Did he leave me here alone?

Grabbing my phone, I read a text from him dated one minute ago.

Tristan: I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Wait for me. Matt is outside your door. There are guards all over the house. You’re safe sweetheart.

Swiftly, I lean back against the bed frame. He organized all of this for…me? Why am I not waking up with a light heart and a mind full of possibilities? Why do I still feel like I am in the cell? Turning onto my side, a tear forms and rests on the bridge of my nose. I stay like that, holding on to his text, knowing that soon he will be here and that I will not mess it up like everything I seem to do lately. Twenty minutes later, confident, sharp, fast steps aim for the door, his voice and Matt’s exchanging things I cannot fully hear. A knock. Then another, softer.

If I had a voice, I would say, come in, if you dare, because this is not pretty or funny, and I am not sure you'll want to stay after crossing the doorway. But I remember that he is watching me through his phone, and the thought soothes me. I sit up, folding the covers over my legs so he can see I am ready. The door opens slightly, revealing a sight to be seen at least once in a lifetime. Tristan Ashford, out of breath, in all his navy-suit glory. It could be a dream. It really could.

“You okay, sweetheart? No nightmares?” he asks as he shuts the door, rushing closer, kneeling once again near the bed frame like a knight to his princess.

I shrug, looking down. “You didn’t have to come. I could have…”

“Don’t.”

“I’m messing everything up. Your business. Us.”

His frown deepens. “We’re not. You’re not. We’re good, Ella. You and I, we’re good.”

“How can we be good when I cannot touch you?”

“You can, and you did. Give it time. It has only been two days.”

“Why…why am I not myself again?”

“Because,” he pauses, “when I was younger, before juvi, my mother used to say that sometimes things need to go bad before they get better?”

“Don’t you want me to go away? To leave you in peace? Don’t you resent me for ruining your company?” The corner of his lip rises, his hand lifting in midair as if I was signing nonsense.

“I’m going to touch your hair right now. Tell me to stop if it’s too much.” I hold my breath, bracing for impact. An image of a plane crash flashes before my eyes. His fingers find my hair and run through it until I feel them on my scalp, drawing small circles that send fireworks straight into my stomach.

“See?” he murmurs, but his voice is hoarse, shortened. “I’m touching you, and nothing is in ruin.” Intensifying his gesture until his hand runs along the corner of my jaw, his thumb brushes my bottom lip, his eyes locking straight onto it like a prize he has been deprived of. “As for my company, what has been broken will be rebuilt. I’ve done it once. I can do it again.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” His thumb caresses my lower lip. “You have nothing to feel sorry for. I decided to find the money. You didn’t. And I would do it all over again, Ella. All over again.” I stare at the rug, wanting to disappear with shame, because despite his reassuring words, I did cause this wreckage. That’s on me. “Ella, look at me, baby.” His index finger runs under my chin, lifting it until our gazes connect. “I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you how wrong you are.” A shiver dances over my shoulders and my nape. The rest of my life, he said. A shadow of a blush appears on his face before disappearing the next second. Did he fear he had revealed too much?

I love you too is on the tip of my tongue, but I am not sure I could survive unrequited love if he only meant it to soothe my worries. But I have to give him something. Something that shows him I want him too, even if I cannot act accordingly, or the way I want. Slightly turning my head, I let my lips end on his palm and close my eyes as I kiss his skin, delicately, like a feather. He inhales, loud and heavy.

“Ella,” he mutters, but it has no aim, no reason to exist except perhaps as a claim sent to the universe. Reclaiming what has been his for eternity and what I am only starting to let him access again. I kiss him once more, right in the center of his palm, where the skin is rough, marked by his training, contrasting with the softness of my lips. I keep going, drawing a melody of kisses on his skin as he watches me, mesmerized, the air in the room shifting, sucking the oxygen out.

“You’re going to have to stop, or I’m about to lean in and kiss you properly, because I’ve been dying to do so ever since I carried you back in my arms.” His gaze pierces me with a thousand shards. “I don’t say that lightly, sweetheart. I may look calm, but I’m anything but. The last thing I want is to hurt you, so please, please, sweetheart, stop this. Your kisses are a drug to me, and I’m about to lose it.” His hand falls onto the bed, and I sigh, eyes teary from exhaustion, but also from the amount of blood his words have just sent rushing through me.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This is the best torture I could ever wish for.” His voice softens. “It won’t always be like this, Ella. Trust yourself. I’ll be waiting as long as you need.” I nod, a mix of shyness and gratitude resting on my shoulders.

“How was it? The meeting?”

“Could have been worse.” His jaw ticks.

“How’s Nate?”