Saudade | ✓

unbothered

I once saw a painting in Greece. It was of a man looking up at the sky. It was simple, a little generic even, but my eyes had been fixed on that painting for thirty minutes. It made me feel something strange. There was something about the look in the man's face - his deep blue eyes were filled with such longing, his mouth held little lines which probably meant he had little to laugh about in the past few years, and his forehead had this perpetual crease on it as if he was staring at something he couldn't quite comprehend and yet he wanted so badly.

Even after I left and lain on my bed three hours later, I still couldn't understand why I'd been so fixated on it. Until now.

Until I looked up and met Dean's whiskey eyes for the first time since he slid me into the dance floor. Looking at Dean now, the way he was staring at me was no different from the way the man looked at the moon. And the way he looked now was the same way the man looked.

I swallowed. I took the time to assess him. He looked older. His cheekbones were sharper. His eyes, once warm caramel ones despite the occasional lift of arrogance being raised by a rich Southern family, now held a coldness in them. They were pools of whiskey that held a promise of something lethal.

Being under his discernment was disconcerting to say the least.

"You look different," he finally said several moments later, breaking the staring match.

"Different how?" I asked, raising a brow. I was good at keeping my emotions at bay.

"Hmm.." His eyebrows knit together. "You cut your hair."

He loved my long lush dark hair. Exactly why I cut it every six months.

I shrugged, looking away. "I changed styles."

"And you filled out," he added. "In all the right places."

I had been skinny as a rail when I had left, but with the good food I'd been enjoying, and the work outs I did by walking around old cities instead of taking public transportation or allowing Andrew to pick me up in places in his car, I was bound to gain weight.

I nodded. "I've been eating enough to -"

He pulled me closer, so that my chest collided with his. I could feel the hard planes of his abs, the hard grip of his muscles under his long sleeved polo on my waist. The heat of his skin on mine. And the hardness which poked on my belly. I felt a heat stir on my stomach.

He lowered his head close to my ear, the hot breath fanning there making me gasp.

"You look good," he whispered.

I sucked in a breath. "You really shouldn't say that. It's inappropriate."

"Why? Cos you're engaged?" He laughed darkly. "You're not married yet."

"And you are," I snapped. "So leave me alone. I do not want to be the subject of rumors. I've had enough when I left."

He looked confused. "I'm not married."

My head snapped up. "What do you mean you're not married?"

He arched a brow. "So you care? I thought you wanted nothing to do with me."

"Dean, answer me," I muttered. I needed to know. For two years, it had haunted me day in and day out. On long train rides, on turbulent flights, on rough seas... It was an endless train of thought involving him and her and the life they would've been having together.