[COMPLETED]
❝To know what life is worth, you have to risk it once in a while.❞
Alexandra Holt and Zayn Malik are from different worlds. Alexandra has grown up with the type of life some can only dream of--a mansion of a house, a plethora of people...
a/n: only 6 chapters left after this! leave comments of your thoughts for the final chapters of risky business! :)
❝She knew she loved him when home went from being a place to being a person.❞
— E. Leventhal
✵ a l e x a n d r a
When I wake in the morning, I sigh, rolling over. I usually tuck myself into Zayn's body at this point, but my reach goes undisturbed.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sit up in the bed. "Zayn?" I call out softly, slowly walking to the attached bathroom. He isn't there. Looking at my appearance in the mirror, I pull the elastic off my wrist, tying my hair up into a lazy bun.
Half asleep, I make my way down the hallway towards the sound of laughing in the kitchen. Stepping into the room, I find Marc sharing a funny story with Zayn. Zayn smiles when he sees me, but I feel an uncomfortable shift in the air when looking towards Marc. He's been like this for a few days now, and I can't quite put my finger on it.
Is he uncomfortable that Zayn and I have been sharing a bed?
"Good morning," Zayn says, and I sigh heavily when my eyes take in the sight of his beautiful face that still has the remnants of bruises and cuts. He relaxes into his chair, eyes raking up my body.
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"Mornin'," Marc adds, sipping on his coffee.
Noticing that Zayn's glass is empty, I grab it and fill it with some juice. I decide to fill myself a cup as well and sit down beside him. "Thank you," Zayn murmurs when I hand it to him. As Marc stands and has his back to us—filling his mug back up—Zayn leans over towards me, placing a hand on my back as he gently presses a kiss to my cheek. "Did you sleep good?" He questions, pulling away.
I nod my head. "Did you?" I ask the question out of habit, forgetting that he couldn't. "I mean—" I try to correct myself but Zayn just laughs at me.
Zayn gives me a smile, hand reaching over to rest on my knee. It's a small action, but it causes butterflies to flutter like crazy in my stomach, reminding me that I love him.
After seeing him nearly die, that became quickly apparent to me. I've never loved anyone like I've loved Zayn. He's incredible—handsome, funny, smart, caring, and above everything, he makes me feel safe.
"You've been tired, babe." Zayn tells me, softly running his hand up and down my bare thigh. "It's only natural."
"I'm glad you got a good sleep," Marc admits, removing the glasses off his nose.
"How are you feeling today?" As I ask the question, my hand runs up and down the side of Zayn's arm, absolutely concerned with his health at the moment. Even though he seems okay—despite the obvious bumps and bruises—I still worry that he's putting on a front. If I know him, it hurts like all hell and he's trying to seem better than he truly is for my sake.
