Heart of Fury - Stone and Fire # 2 [17+]

Chapter 16

Aurora's POV

Until you wished it was all real.

Screw myself for thinking that three years would be enough to forget about him.

Screw myself for believing I'd find a man good enough to put a ring on my finger on my way back to New York. Most important, screw myself for not having enough confidence to stand up for what I know is wrong.

Taking his shirt was amongst one of the most unforgettable, yet dense things I've ever done. Either it was the trauma from minutes before, or it was the half-glass of white wine I'd drunk with Mama half-past noon that had put the idea into my head.

Obviously, escaping Enzo was hard enough as it is.

"It's a man's shirt, Aurora. I'm not fucking blind."

Brushing it off with a 'Xavier lent it to me because I spilled punch' was easy enough, but my brother's narrowed eyes on me the whole way outside the venue didn't fail to put a pit of fear in my stomach. He would find out, like he always did. Hopefully, the consequences wouldn't be as big as the build-up of it all.

As for Mikhail, well, he went rogue the moment I'd come out with his shirt and a not-so-old, black plaid skirt hanging off my waist until my knees. He'd walked me back to the entrance, hands stuck in his pant pockets, and left me at the doors to go back in myself. With, of course, his naked-ass torso for every servant and chef to see as they haphazardly scrawled through the halls like mice. I would've lent him a coat from the dressing room, but the serious-ness on his face made me rethink that specific idea.

Xavier, on the other hand, was still hell-bent on driving me home while the rest of my family went their own way back. Adriana gave me a half-concerned wave, and I nodded once seeing Xavier pull up with his Audi. I stepped inside, buckling myself in and hitting the back of my head against the seat. I can feel him gearing up to say something, but something- someone, catches my eye.

"You sure you're okay?"

From outside the car window, I spotted Nikolas and Mikhail engaged in a tense conversation, at the foot of the stairs outside the grand entrance to the venue. Nikolas's back was to me, while I could see Mikhail's tense jaw taking in whatever anger-coded lecture his brother was giving to him. Either it was about him being half-naked, or putting on a bad picture for the night by not being there half the time. I wonder if he would mention he was spending most of that time wiping dried blood off my face.

I guess the windows weren't tinted, because the longer I stared the faster Mikhail's eyes flickered towards me. The moment his gaze melted through the glass, I fell rigid in my seat.

His shirt around me pulsed with that dark, cedar scent, reminding me it was his. He watched me from outside the window, feet away, bitter amusement passing through his face. I wanted to, so badly, drop my eyes onto his body. Catch another look of those tattoos I had spent no more than a second admiring in the heat of the moment during our rendezvous in the dressing room. But I was locked in this weird, eye-battle with him and didn't know what else to do except keep looking.

"I'd do it until I blew out that pretty fire in your eyes."

His words from earlier melted a crater through the inside of my stomach, filling it with bars on bars of molten rock. His lips twisted, face looking as if he's trying to solve the world's largest thousand-piece puzzle.

Swallowing down the thoughts crawling up my throat, Xavier's voice punctured my eardrums again. I flinch when a hand comes down on my shoulder. Gently, but out of the blue nonetheless.

"Hey.. you good?"

He's concerned, I can tell, but right now I just can't find it in myself to say, do, or reassure him with anything. The skirt I borrowed from the dressing room feels itchy, rubbing against my thighs. I hate it. I feel all sorts of wrong, bad things inhabiting my mind, my throat, and all I wanna do is escape this hot, encapsulated hell of a car and stand under the night sky. I need to breathe.

"I'm sorry, but I just- I can't do this right now." Without a glance, I unbuckle myself, twist the handle of the car and step outside, chest heaving at the feel of a ice-cold wind gust slamming into my face.

I don't feel okay. I don't feel nice, I don't feel calm. The raging pit under my chest confirms it all with a big, red check.

Nikolas is gone. Mostly everyone is, including my family. I look back, and Xavier's staring at me through the driver's seat. There's something there, in his eyes, that makes me pause. I let the wind holler at me, pushing itself through my hair. His face softens the slightest, with understanding I suppose, and he's half-way out the parking lot before I turn once more.

Seeing the marble steps, I hesitate the slightest before taking my seat on the third one. Miscellaneous workers scatter the area, some holding used party decor and some striding behind a wheelie stacked with dishes. Mostly, though, everyone's gone. The stars flicker, aging the sky. I use the sleeves of Mikhail's shirt to cover my freezing hands, while the rest of my body shivers from the biting cold. I rest my chin in my hands, and sit there. Workers stop by, tapping me on the shoulder, but I just smile and shake my head at their suggestions to get home before it's late.

The next person that comes near, I know isn't a worker. I hear the jingle of keys, and then two dress shoes appear in front of me. A hand, too.

"Get up."

I lift up my clothed hand and press it into his, him doing most of the work by pulling my straggling body up off the stairs.

I don't look at him, I'm too tired. I can barely keep my eyes open. But what I do feel, is the sudden warmth snake a path up where our hands meet through my chest.

It's like a flower blooming, starting at one point and growing into a set of petals edged with vibrance. Colour. Warmth. The petals become larger and larger, spread wider, making my heart beat with each second the gravel crunches under our feet and he doesn't let go of my hand.

I look up and see his face, jaw tight and eyes forward. Never in the years I've seen this man, would I expect him to do such a task. This gentle? Never.

I intertwine my fingers with his, and follow his long strides as best I can. I look up and my eyes lock on a motorcycle, sitting parked next to a car. I expect him to take me to the bike, but he instead opens the passenger seat of the car with his free hand and guides me inside. He lets go of my hand. The door shuts, and as soon as I'm inside the smell of him swarms me. It's not feverish, nor is it overwhelming. It smells just like his shirt. Perfect.

His door opens and he gets in, engine starting up and my head hitting the seat with a sigh. My lips part, my eyes close, and I let myself become a dandelion in the wind that is this intoxicating, relaxing smell. I barely feel him pull out of the parking lot and start on the road. While exhaustion shakes off the last of the cold, I let my head tilt to the left. Towards him.

The last thought crosses my mind with hesitance, but I let it snake through the front of my brain anyways. It's a thought that makes my feelings conceal into pit of coal, amidst all the ashes.

Flowers don't live for long.

------------------

AWWWW HE HELD HER HANNDDDDDDD

the only time I held a guy's hand was in drama class when I was forced to

and with my boyfriend oliver when I was in kindergarten 😗✌🏽

BYEBYE