❝We're meant to be end-game❞
THIS IS NOT A LOVE STORY; THIS IS A TRAGEDY.
♡
Nora thinks she is living out her dream. So why does it feel like such a nightmare?
Nora loves Oliver. Oliver loves Nora. It's meant to be simple. But with Oliver's old h...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
There he stood.
With all of his masculine glory, leaning casually against his new Bentley. Hair the colour of the finest mahogany and eyes the colour of hundred dollar bills. He was styled to perfection, his crisp, noir t-shirt flashing the word 'Gucci' in gold. She was envious of the way he could look so effortlessly good.
Smoke rose from the cigarette in his hand, forming shapes like the ink-blots therapists would show you. She could make out butterflies and love hearts.
He spotted her and flashed her one of his famous smiles, the ones that made her heart pound. Suddenly, she became self-conscious of the way she looked and ran her hands down her top in an effort to smooth its creases. He crossed the road in a careless manner and jogged over to her. His hand quickly grasped hers and helped her down the remaining steps. Something funny happened with her heart when his hand came in contact with hers.
"I think I can manage walking down a couple of steps, Oliver."
"I know. But this is what gentlemen do."
"Gentlemen don't reek of cigarettes when they go out," Nora joked, pinching her nose.
A laugh resonated deep from his chest. "Cigars, darling. I'm not a peasant," He joked.
They were both occasional smokers. They would never admit it out loud but they knew that the only reason for their habit was their tendency to seem cool. Slicing time from their temporary lives each time they smoked didn't matter as long as they remained the kings and queens of Metropolis.
Oliver led Nora to his car and opened the back door, gesturing for her to go in first. She slipped in, murmuring a 'thank you'. Reflexively, Nora squirmed when the cold leather seats made contact with her bare back. The white top she chose to wear criss-crossed at her back, exposing her skin.
"Where are you whisking me off to? I'm no ordinary girl. I hope you aren't bringing me to a restaurant or something."
"A first date at a restaurant? Do you think I'm some twelve year old? Of course not, Nora. We're going to my one of my father's private beaches in Florida."
"We literally live in the Hamptons. We're surrounded by beaches. And isn't that like a three hour flight?"
"Yes but Florida's better. I promise."
Nora squealed with excitement even though she dreaded getting wet and ruining her hair and makeup. The thought of being all alone with Oliver on a private beach would get her through the day.
After a moment of silence, she found herself studying him like a painting, memorising each sharp angle and the vibrance of his money eyes. Even his hair fell in a perfect way, his bouncy curls crowning his face.
