Antilove

Quindici

CAPITOLO QUINDICI

a tiny revisit to when times were simpler

***

THEY DECIDE TO GET BACK to their nook in the city two days after, with a sick call on Monday and a suitcase of wine. Rose didn't want to stay in Napa for too long at first for fear of loving some place else but then she got addicted to the scent of linen—the scent of both Earth and Hell.

As of the moment, Lucien's next to her on the plane with his head tucked low as he sleeps. Since the plane took off, he's been in that position ever since and Rose wonders if the past few days and nights have tired him out. Their thighs are pressed against each other, as he had put the hand rest up so they could sit closer together.

When she's next to the window, a few thousand feet up and next to someone who could offer her the entirety of what's below, thoughts race across her mind.

Rose has never been a person for deep contemplation or for soaking her thoughts in bathwater until it runs dirty and dark. Actions are what matters the most and when she can't even lace up her heels, her hands need to take a sturdier hold on what she's been given.

The greatest example her biological mother instilled in her was the fact that Rose should never become too dependent or too needy. Especially not on people, who have a habit of turning backs and bleeding out lies from the very source—the tongue. Rose has tasted enough tongues and each one holds the specific capacity to melt on her's like molten flesh. And she doesn't prefer that feeling.

Lucien Serafino however, he spits ice. The waters of his jade-lake eyes are still and opaque, never flinching and never stirring.

This very fact, Rose knows, should terrify her. It should send her running that somebody else has been able to master the very skill she strives to have—to guard what's inside. On the other side of this sword, is his unwavering word, strung together like fairy lights across the ballroom of his reputation. It could very well be inherited, like a devil's contract but it could also very well be the product of a thousand year growth.

Tired of mulling over Lucien, someone who she'll never quite capture, Rose rests her head on his shoulder and shuts her eyes for the remainder of the flight.

It's a smudge past midnight once they land and they get back to her apartment even later.

"Had fun?" Lucien says.

The timbre of his voice glides down her bare back and she bites her lip, as she struggles to fit in the key without any light. Giving up, Rose turns around with her back and two palms flat against her front door, personality on her lips.

"You know what's fun?" she asks.

"What? This?" he replies, as his hands reach forward for the keys.

"The pool." Rose snakes her hand behind her back and kicks her right foot in front of her left. Everything after him feels exhilarating, even the seemingly mundane.

Like the reflections they'll find on the surface, this night—or day—is a mirrored arc from their first date, minus the niceties. They leave their suitcase and duffels outside their front door and Rose kicks off her heels. Once again, they climb up over the fence and this time, Rose hears a tearing.

"Wait," she whispers. "My dress."

The backless shift number she has on is wrapped both around her upper thigh and one of the prongs on top of the gate. Lucien gingerly lifts it up before further damage is done and he grins. "You look better without it anyways."