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“Did he just insult her?” he asked, his eyes on the giant screen in front of us.
“He did,” I laughed as I nestled deeper into the crook of the couch. We were still wearing our pajamas, about halfway through the movie. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done this.
“Doesn’t he know not to insult the girl he’s proposing to?” Aiden shook his head, then yawned as he stretched his arms above his head.
“I guess not.” I turned my attention back to the movie, smiling faintly to myself.
“Does he redeem himself later?” he asked, and I shrugged.
“I can’t tell you. It’ll ruin the movie.”
“So, he does.” I glanced at him, finding him grinning. Our eyes lingered for a moment, and his smile slowly faded before he looked back at the movie.
We were on opposite ends of the couch. He hadn’t tried to make a move, and I was starting to worry. Was there something wrong? Did he regret what happened last night? Maybe he wasn’t that into me after all.
I had little experience with men, but I knew watching a movie was usually code for hooking up, or at least making out. He hadn’t even tried that.
“So, is that what you want?” I turned toward him, my brows scrunched tightly together.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“A Mr. Darcy of your own.” He turned toward me, slinking his arm along the back of the couch. I laughed as I sat up, resting my back against a pillow.
“I guess.” His head tilted to the side as he watched me. “I don’t know if I want my family insulted, but I want someone to want me as much as he wants Lizzie.” Aiden nodded a few times, his eyes stripping me bare as he listened.
“You like the love he gives her,” he said, and I shifted uncomfortably.
“Everything he does is for her,” I muttered, glancing back at the movie. “There’s never a question of his love. He does everything without the expectation of her loving him back. He just does it because he wants to be a better person for her. He does it because, ultimately, he loves her.” I looked down at my hands.
“That’s what you want?” he asked again, his voice quiet. “Unwavering, unconditional love.”
“I don’t want to wonder if someone is going to leave because I’m too much work,” I muttered. The back of my nose burned, and tears filled my eyes. “I want to know that, despite the effort, they’ll still want me.”
“You’re not too much work, Danica,” he whispered, and I lifted my eyes to his. He’d pulled all the curtains tightly shut, so the room was mostly dark except for the light from the movie. I could barely see his face in the shadows, and I didn’t know if that made everything worse or better. Did I want to see his face and know everything he was thinking and feeling?
“You barely know me,” I slightly laughed. His jaw tensed, but he couldn’t deny it. It was true. If he really knew me, he wouldn’t be looking at me like he was. He wouldn’t be entertaining the idea of wanting me. He’d be ignoring me and running away, like everyone else, not that I could blame him.
“Come here,” he said. I blinked at him.
“What?”
He lifted his brows as he shifted slightly, putting one leg on the couch, the other foot still on the floor. He patted the space between his legs. “Come here,” he said again, more firmly this time.
Hesitantly, I stood and moved toward his end of the couch. His eyes stayed on me, tracking me like prey. When I was finally in front of him, he patted the spot again, then grabbed my hand.
“Sit.”
Slowly, I sat, putting my back to his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and gently squeezed before resting his head on mine. I stayed stiff, unsure of what to do or how to sit without making him uncomfortable.
Then he brought his lips to my ear and whispered, “Relax.” I did the opposite and tensed more. Without a word, he brought his hands to my shoulders and began to gently knead the knots I knew were there in abundance. His thumbs pressed into a tight spot, and I groaned.
“Does that feel good?” he murmured, and I nodded as I shut my eyes. “You’re tight.” His voice was thick, his body tense behind me, but his touch was gentle and firm all at once.
“I know.” My voice cracked, and he chuckled softly, his breath brushing along my hair. He massaged my shoulders until the muscles loosened, then lowered his hands down my back and began pressing his hands into other hard knots.
“You should get a massage,” he said, and I snorted. Like I could afford that.
