Paint Me Saved ✓ Book 1

9. The Perfect Past

Zemira

I had no recollection of being driven home, no memory of landing on my bed. The starry lights above my dressing table blinked dimmer. Even the fan rotated at a lesser speed. Since Antonio's truth took centre stage, everything seemed to have slowed.

The mirage we created for the world, of the Ford-Brenton power couple, had shattered in the light of an infidelity scandal.

The constant thump on my rib cage radiated pain in my body. It hummed of my failure, and hopelessness brimmed within me.

Drowning in despair was quite different from actual drowning. My lungs were filled with anguish, more viscous than water. It burned my chest when I tried to scream for help.

The reigns of deception slipped from my tight grip, leaving behind a lesion of pain. An avalanche of sadness rolled over, dredging up memories I had buried.

That day, two years ago when I could smell the summer and him.

Bright sunny mornings in February weren't unusual in Miami. The fiery orb in the sky pricked my skin. A sheen of sweat hugged my attire to my body.

My focus was on him as I dashed down the last of stairs and plopped into his car parked outside my house, pecking his face with kisses.

We drove, and the baked beach and salty ocean mist sang to us as we roved past by.

My hair danced in all directions as the black and red colored Mustang raced up against the wind. Hot air flooded my lungs, but the heat didn't bother me. I was happy.

"I told my father about us," I said, coiling my hand around Tag's strong arm, his own hand draped loosely over the steering wheel.

Tag, my boyfriend, had a surprise planned for me.

Since high school, ours had been a rollercoaster ride of friendship and love. Since the time we first shared a seat in the class, etching each other's initials under the table, our bond had strengthened, blossoming into love.

"And what did he say?" Tag's warm hazel eyes twinkled with hope. Sunlight touched his features, creating a halo over his appearance. A godly aura.

"He wants to meet with you again. Hopefully, he'll not be grilling you."

"I'm sure," he chuckled. "Because all the grilling has already happened when I met him the first time."

"This time it's different."

Around the corner from our favorite café, he parked the car. We went inside and sat in a booth with flaking crimson-colored leather, away from prying eyes.

We'd had our first date here. There was nothing fancy about a dilapidated café that had survived the clutches of a coffee conglomerate. But for us, it was like home.

Those chipped walls had witnessed sophomore year Tag mustering the courage to ask me on a date. The shaky tables had felt the splatter of coffee when I pulled him for a kiss.

Tag cleared the wind-wrangled hair off my face. "I promise, I'll meet him as soon as I return."

"What do you mean when you return?"

The seat under me deflated with the weight of my question. Tag's eyes turned pale, losing their silken honey shine.

With a fallen expression, he looped his hand around mine. His hooded eyes channeled strength.