After that, my life will forever change from the one I’ve known. Because no matter what he says, I won’t go back to that toxic life.
Darius leans against the pillows piled up in front of the headboard and crosses his arms behind his head, his presence filling the space like an electric charge. The sun-drenched beaches he described still hang in the air between us, a tantalizing escape that feels impossible. It will never be just the two of us. I hold his gaze, steady and unyielding, but inside, my heart thrums with uncertainty.
“Okay,” he says, breaking the silence, and I brace myself for whatever smooth line comes next. Instead, he begins to speak, his voice shifting into something more animated, a storyteller in his element.
“If we aren’t escaping to white sand beaches and crystal blue waters, let me take you back to London,” he starts, his eyes lighting up. “I was just a kid, maybe eight or nine, with this wild mop of hair and a voice that could hit every note without breaking a sweat.”
The image flickers in my mind—a little boy dancing through crowded streets, weaving past towering buildings. I almost hear the hum of life around him, the pulse of the city. Darius’ words paint it vividly: bustling markets, the smell of roasted chestnuts, children laughing as carolers sing off-key renditions of holiday classics.
I lose myself in his descriptions of the past, his words painting them like a vivid picture in my mind’s eye. I hear the off-tune pitch of the children singing, flinching at the way he depicts it. I remember all too well having to sing in a group like that, but in my case it was the church choir. There were some members who made me want to stuff cotton in their mouths. They shouldn’t be allowed to sing ever again.
“Raina? You okay?” His voice cuts through my thoughts, and I flinch, meeting those piercing greenish-blue eyes. They glint with mischief, but there’s something deeper lurking beneath the surface, a flicker of vulnerability I’ve yet to fully grasp.
I nod my head quickly, too sharp. My heart races, and I bite my lip, staving off the flood of questions threatening to spill out.What are you really hiding, Darius? Is any of this real, or am I just another mark in your game? Do I really even mistrust you, or is it everything in my life I’m second guessing?
“Seriously, though,” he continues, his tone playful, yet earnest. “It was chaos, but in a good way.” He gestures animatedly, asif the memories themselves are alive, swirling around us like a whirlwind. “You should’ve seen the looks on their faces when I hit that high note! Priceless.”
His enthusiasm is contagious, and for a brief moment, I let my guard down, imagining his current scene: a cluttered classroom, the scent of pine needles mixed with paper and fabric paint. A young boy standing tall amidst a choir of ear-splitting voices, a light shining even then. But the warmth fades as quickly as it comes.
I unclasp our hands and reach for a notepad. The skepticism grips me once more, curling around my thoughts like smoke. “I love hearing about your past, but how do I know it wasn’t just another story crafted to charm me? How do I know you’re not playing a part to win over the famous Raina Lexington?”
He reads the note, and the laughter dies on his lips. His expression shifts, eyes wide with surprise morphing into a flicker of hurt irritation. Everything about his tense shoulders says he’s on the edge of storming out of my room. “Is that what you think? That I’m just some kind of… performer?”
Shrugging my shoulders in a firm sign ofmaybe, I hold his gaze, unyielding, a challenge hanging in the air between us. The pen scratches against the paper as I write.“You’re so good at this. So good at making me feel special. Makingeveryonefeel special.”
“That’s because youarespecial, Raina. You’re not being fair.“ He leans closer, his voice lowering, an edge creeping in. “You think I want to manipulate you? Why would I waste my time on that?”
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words, but my mind races onward. Maybe he doesn’t mean to manipulate me, but isn’t that what charm is? Isn’t that the game?
“Sometimes,“ I slowly write, each word deliberate, “it feels like there’s a deeper truth you’re hiding. Something more than the stories you tell.”
His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of something—frustration? Interest?—passing over his features. For a second, I wonder if I’ve struck a nerve. “I thought I’d made it abundantly clear exactly what it is I want. How many times do I need to tell you before you actually believe me? Are you waiting for me to prove it to you?”
I stare at him, suddenly rendered dumbfounded. It’s like time slows to a crawl as my eyelids close over my eyes and open again.
There’s no way he could actually mean his flirtation. Is there? Not after everything that’s happened. Not with the threat of my voice never being the same, or with Dickless being such a threat.
“The world already thinks we’re dating.” He gives me an adorable smile and cocks his head to the side. “Why not make it true?”
“Why would you still want me? My voice will probably never be the same. Before too long I’ll be forgotten as a sad story gone wrong.”
He reads the note before ripping it off the pad and crumpling it up into a tight ball, a firm scowl marring his gorgeous features.
“You could never be forgotten, for one. Second, I don’t want you because of your voice.” He licks his lips, his gaze flicking back and forth between my eyes, taking in every micro expression I give him. “It’s because of your heart, your spirit. Those are things no one can take from you, not even time or circumstance.” He stares directly into my soul, drilling his sincerity into me with every word.
The room seems to sizzle, like it’s charged with an electric tension, as if the air itself is waiting for something to snap. I lean back on my hands, my thoughts scrambling to process thisnew declaration. The doubts still coil in my stomach, yet there’s a burgeoning warmth too, a flicker of hope maybe.
Can I trust this? Can I trust him?
“But what about after?”I scribble hastily, my handwriting shaky with the turmoil inside. “What about when the novelty wears off? When the real world crashes back?”
Darius takes the notepad back from me, his fingers brushing mine as he does, a deliberate touch that sends a tingle up my arm. “Then we face it together. Isn’t that what people do when they care?”
The simplicity of his words is disarming. Maybe he is just that genuine. Maybe I’ve been so wrapped up in my fears and suspicions that I’ve failed to see the man trying to reach out across the divide.
Or maybe it’s a beautifully crafted lie designed to pull me deeper into his—no. I don’t want to believe that. I want to trust him, to stop living in constant fear of everyone around me.
I hate that my attack has made me feel more alone than ever before, even if it’s of my own doing. My mind constantly battles me on who to trust to the point that I’ve been too exhausted to let anyone else near me. Save for the one man who brought me back to life. Literally.
