Elliott Miller is your average 23 year-old, only with a lost father and a resentful mother. When he goes back to his hometown to make amends, he inadvertently gets dragged into the activities of an illicit criminal group.
Enter Marcel Nixon, 25, wh...
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Marcel reached over the center console and intertwined his fingers with mine, taking my hand up and placing a tender kiss on my knuckles. The small action made me blush hard, reminding me how much I loved this man.
Hold up.
Love?
The realization hit me like a sudden downpour- unexpected but not necessarily in a bad way. I looked away, my blush deepening, not just from the sweet gesture but the sheer randomness of my internal declaration.
I glanced over at our interlocked hands, a sigh escaping my lips. All of this seemed so confusing-the range of emotions I felt in such a small window of time. I felt like my mind was playing tricks on me but at the same time, I couldn't possibly ignore something as monumental as that. Had my feelings for him reached that depth? We'd been together a while, and our connection definitely felt palpable, but after that storm we just weathered, the timing seemed off in more ways than one.
Leave it to me to feel this way about something so uncertain, just when things were looking up.
Come to think of it, I'd never been in love before. In my little-over two decades of existence, no one had ever captured me like Marcel had, and the thought alone was enough for my heart to do a little flutter despite the lingering nervousness.
This was it, I guess. I loved Marcel. And I was going to accept it and feel good about it. It was about time I allowed someone significant into my heart, even if one day I might lose him.
------
We finally reached the hotel and Marcel parked his car in the basement. Dusting ourselves off, we walked up the ramp and into the lobby, heading toward the main elevators.
Instantly, I began receiving scandalized looks from other people, mothers covering the eyes of their children and elderly folk looking away in obvious distaste. At first I was annoyed at their blatant rudeness, narrowing my eyes at one particularly aghast-looking gentleman, but in the elevator, I soon realized why.
My makeup was still on from last night, and along with the sheer shirt and accessories, they probably thought I was a prostitute or something.
My face heated up in embarrassment and I made a mental note to immediately wash it all off in the room. I wondered what industrial strength products Vivien had used for it to last for so long without melting off.
"You alright?" Marcel murmured into my shoulder.
"Just peachy," I mumbled back, my cheeks still burning. "Didn't realize I was still rocking last night's look," I said, gesturing vaguely at my face.
He stifled a chuckle, earning a glare from me.
"You know," he said, eyes twinkling. "I, for one, happen think you look absolutely stunning. I mean, you always look stunning but...," he trailed of and whistled.
