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But no. My panic subsides as the wind blows, a familiar delicious spice mixing with the gentle scent of the lilacs.
“It’s not polite to stare,” I say into the greenery, unable to locate him.
A chair scrapes behind me and James comes into view, taking a seat at the table. “You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you,” he says.
“Yet here you are.”
His icy eyes stare into mine, his lips pulled into a smirk. “I can’t stay away from you long, it seems.”
I scoff.
I turn back to my food, but his eyes stay on me as I eat. He justwatches, with no food or drink of his own, but I refuse to acknowledge him.
I haven’t forgotten the sketch he gifted me, but it doesn’t outweigh his outlandish behavior.
Maybe he’s always like this.
“Black suits you,” he adds thoughtfully.
I cock an eyebrow and take in his black pants and long-sleeved shirt. “Is it your favorite color?”
“It makes your scar stand out,” he says softly.
I freeze.
“That’s incredibly rude,” I say softly, holding my hand to my cheek. My insecurities rise to the surface, and I feel like a disfigured mess.
“You face was beautiful before the accident. It still is, but I miss the way it looked before.”
Michael’s voice taunts me, bile rising in my stomach.
“It’s not,” James says, snapping me back to the present. “It shows you’re a survivor. It’s beautiful.”
“I…” My voice trails off. Who compliments someone’s scar? It bisects my face, and I didn’t bother to cover it up today because I don’t feel well.
“It’s ugly,” I try again. But James just tilts his head, and a corner of his lip turns up.
“Never. It’s perfect.”
He’s so confident about it it makes me angry.
“It’s a scar,James.”
At the use of his name, he grins widely, showing off slightly crooked white teeth. It’s a disarming smile full of danger and dark mischief. “Scars show us who we are, Princess.”
“Stop calling mePrincess,” I growl, and he chuckles.
“It shows you survived your past,” he continues. “That you fought like hell, and you’re still here, sitting in front of me.”
I bite my lip, wanting to believe his words.
He thinks my scar is beautiful.
He even drew it in the sketch of me. I had thought he would leave out that detail, but he kept it in.
Just like the other day in the gazebo, I find myself spilling my soul to him.
“That’s the thing, though. I may have survived it, but I don’t remember it.”
