I grab my phone from the marble counter, checking for messages. The screen is empty. No texts. No missed calls. Nothing.
Of course she hasn't texted. She never texts first. Wants me to chase her. She just doesn't know that I already am or how far I'm willing to go.
She doesn't see what I see in us. But she will tonight.
I set my phone down and walk to the closet.
I open the garment bag I had delivered this morning. Inside is a tailored black suit. The color that matches the dark side of me I keep hidden from most.
As I get dressed, my mind drifts back to that first night I saw her get off the plane. Because the truth is, I'd been following her since she arrived at the airport.
I’d kept an eye on her. Learned her rhythms. When she trains. When she goes for walks. Reads a book. Everything I could.
I soon realized Calli's brothers protect her like a treasure. But they don't really see her.
Not like I do.
They see her as something to guard. I see her as something to revere, admire, worship, even.
Over the next few days I stayed close to make sure she was safe even though I knew nothing would happen.
It was irrational.
But I couldn't help it.
I slide the suit jacket over my shoulders, checking the tailor’s work in the mirror. Perfect fit.
The memory that cuts deepest surfaces as I adjust my tie.
The night she went to The Crooked Harp.
I saw her through the window. Watched her laugh at his stories, that genuine laugh she has.
I was going to surprise her in a less abrupt way but something in me snapped when he leaned in a little too close. A rage coiled in my gut and I was by her side before I knew what I was doing.
Taking a deep breath, I walk into the hotel bathroom to slide on my Rolex.
My mind shifts to happier times now. The dinner in Dublin. How her eyes widened with that first taste of wine. The way she laughed. The way she absently tucked her hair behind her ear when nervous. How she ate. How she shifted in her chair, her shoulders finally relaxing halfway through dinner. And how the word "tomorrow" rolled across her lips when I asked when I could see her again.
The two dates that followed were better than the previous. Her relaxing, responding slightly to my advances. And yesterday, during our walk through the village, her fingers brushed mine. Just once. Our fingers almost loosely locking together. It was brief. But I noticed. And I know she did too.
I glance at my watch. Six-thirty. Almost time to leave for her cottage. As I walk into the kitchen, I can't help but feel like our time is running out.
For days now, we've been dancing around this thing between us. She lets me in, but only so far. She laughs with me, teases me, occasionally allows herself to brush against me. But always pulls back before surrendering completely.
Keira will be here soon. Her brothers, too. The window is closing. And once it closes, I won't be able to have her like this again. Not unless she sees what we could have.
And tonight, I intend to do just that.
In the center of the kitchen island is one of my Louis Vuitton black travel bags.
I unzip it and go over everything one more time, making sure everything is here. I had it all flown in from Greece to the hotel here. All authentic. All perfect for her.
I pull a few items from the fridge and toss them in. Then I grab the bottle of wine, the same one she moaned over in Dublin. Thirty thousand dollars for a single bottle, but she deserves a man who doesn't think twice about what she deserves. And even then, it'll be worth every cent to see that expression on her face again.
This bag contains everything I need to break down the last of her defenses. And when they fall, she'll belong to me.
I grab my keys and head out. I'll be early if I leave now, but I don't care. I can watch her for a bit before knocking.
