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I feel myself spiraling into self-doubt. Suddenly overly conscious about my looks — my weight, my face, my hair. Do I look fat in the gown? I should have weighed myself this morning, but I didn’t. I didn’t because I know my self-control is slipping.
I haven’t stepped on the scale for more than six months.
The last time I did, I had watched the red numbers in numbed horror. I almost fell back into old habits. Almost. It was hard to step away from the scale and to force myself in bed. Instead of going downstairs to raid the kitchen and come back to purge it all out.
The urge to binge-eat, and to purge afterward — it still breathes inside me, like poison in my veins. The urges haven’t completely disappeared. Rehab didn’t fix me or cure me. But my urges are dormant, silent for a while now, and I want to keep it that way.
From the corner of my eye, I see my father speaking with Mr. and Mrs. Hale. I caught sight of Grayson earlier, but I was swept away by my mother before I could go to him.
After an hour of introductions, fake smiles and formal chatting, I’m about to lose my sanity if I stay here a minute longer. My gaze sweeps across the ballroom, searching for Grayson’s tall frame. But he’s nowhere to be found.
Since the night of Halloween and the brief moment I spent in Grayson’s arms — things changed between us. It has subtly evolved into something…more.
That night, after Colton left me with a storm of emotions coursing through me, I found safety in Grayson’s arm. He was warm, and everything I needed in that moment.
His breathing calmed me.
His touch soothed me.
There was a tranquility in his dark gaze that made me feel seen and protected.
The first time I realized that something had changed between us was when I found a yellow lily in my locker. It was the Monday after that night.
And since then, there’s always a flower waiting for me every morning.
On Fridays, there are three yellow lilies. The first time it happened, it came with a note that said: One for Saturday and one for Sunday.
I never asked Grayson if it’s him and he never explicitly confessed that the flowers were coming from him either. We never spoke of it.
The yellow lilies were his quiet gifts to me.
I can’t help but wonder what the meaning behind all this is. His flowers and his silence about them. What does this mean for us?
Is he trying to tell me something…and I’m too stupid to figure it out?
Or is Grayson just being sweet?
Does he see the brokenness of my soul and he’s taking pity on me? Is sympathy the driving force behind his silent affections?
Because if that’s the truth, then I don’t want it. I would rather not have anything from Grayson, if his attention comes with pity. I have so many questions, yet no answers.
Grayson is an enigma. He’s mysteriously complicated. I know so little about him, and that makes me more curious.
I crave to know the real man behind the silence.
And, somehow, he has become a dangerous obsession of mine.
Just like he loved watching me, I studied Grayson closely. But still — he’s a mystery.
I couldn’t let go of this infatuation.
I quietly slide away from my mother’s side, and move across the ballroom, looking for him. When I don’t find him anywhere in the cluster of guests, I step away from the ballroom.
If there’s something I know about Grayson, it’s that he likes his space, and he likes tranquility. So I think I know where to find him.
I lift the hem of my gown and slowly make my way to the greenhouse.
The self-sustaining greenhouse is humongous, spanning over an acre of land. The dome roof is made of expensive glass, and there are more than two-hundred plant species. The place smells of earth and rain and the sweet fragrance of flowers.
