Attraction - a fraudulent marriage

14. belong

This is the revised version of Attraction

I woke up without a single thought in my head. Clear. Cleansed of everything until I realized where I was. So much had happened the last few days, and it all came crashing back like the repetition of events in a bad rom-com.

The other side of the bed was painfully empty. Would it have been easier if Tom lay there? If he'd been looking at me with a soft, tired gaze. It was all illusions, and I knew it better than anyone that fairy tales were for children, told by their parents in order to keep their awe of the world. To preserve their innocence when the world outside was a harsh environment where cut-throats thrived and death was inevitable.

I sighed and shrugged off the cover. There was no reason to be bitter on a fine day like this. Sunlight reflected in the windows across the street created a glittering spectacle. Beams of hope appeared to dance and tease, testing my resentment.

A clatter of dishes disrupted my calm, effectively pushing me to high alert. He was out there. He hadn't left. Yet.

I ran my palm over the sheet where he'd slept. No warmth lingered, but the sheet was creased with memories. It was probably the first time I'd slept together with someone without having sex. A pity.

The disorder around my bag in the corner stood out in the otherwise neat room, but the chaos would remain until he'd given me access to some kind of closet. Letting the curious cat get the best of me, I opened his before I could change my mind and peered inside.

I almost laughed when I saw the row of identical dark suit jackets. The cut was the same on each one, tailor made most likely. I had a feeling Lara wouldn't allow him to wear anything less. Behind the next door I found a bit more color, but not a lot of variety. It was a huge relief that he hadn't sorted the shirts based on hues because that would have freaked me out.

I'd had a friend in Stockholm who had his closet full of blue shirts, all of them virtually similar to the untrained eye. It had been a riot each time the guy had asked for my opinion on which one to choose when we were going out. No one but him could tell the difference, but it mattered to him, so I'd been picking one on random each time, telling him in length why he should pick that one in particular. It had seemed to make him happy at least.

Another clatter sounded from the kitchen. Backing away from my obvious breach of privacy, I shut the doors as silently as I could.

Like any guy with a sense of style and self, Tom had a full-length mirror in the hallway. I checked my appearance, wondering if it was too leisurely to approach the kitchen in just a T-shirt and underwear. I wasn't all too fond of the idea of showing him less than perfection, but I needed a shower first to correct that detail. My blond hair was a mess, and I had a vague idea that I smelled too much for my comfort.

I stared at the reflection, berating myself for being far too self-conscious. Tom wouldn't care. He didn't care.

Tom looked up from the newspaper when I became visible in the doorway. "Mornin'."

"Good morning." I was about to ask if he slept well, but it struck me as too awkward. Too polite. If there was such a thing. Perhaps it was the right thing to say, but I didn't have much experience with staying over at someone's place. At least not for breakfast.

Tom stirred his coffee, lowering his gaze to the newspaper again. I'd been right to fear my clothing wasn't up to par. The guy already wore his suit—his body armor. He seemed impenetrable with it on. I liked him better in just a shirt and briefly entertained the image of him in a leather jacket. I'd love to see that one day. Gosh, I had to stop staring at him.

"Can I use the shower?"

His face was a fucking mask. "Of course. You don't have to ask permission."