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I ran a hot bath and leisurely readied myself for what felt like noon. I still had no way of telling but I’d learned where the sun cast the shadows of the trees around the time my lunch was usually served. Sure enough, the second I rested my freshly manicured hands on the windowsill and pressed my lightly made-up face to the glass, a knock sounded at the door. I resisted an eye roll at the fact there was really no point inknocking since I couldn’t open the damn thing anyway. Then a key turned in the lock and the door opened.
Dax stood at the other side. His form and face looked darker somehow than that morning, even though he hadn’t changed. I walked languidly towards him, feeling his gaze travel over the new dress I’d picked out. It was another day dress – a pale silk, knee-length slip that swished around my hips and thighs, reflecting the light from the windows. It was far more glamorous than anything I’d normally wear to a library, but hell, it was the only place I had to go, so why not dress up?
I walked half a pace ahead of him, down the stairs. At the bottom, he brushed his fingers against my back, directing me through the main hall towards yet another enormous wooden door. He pushed it open and drew a tormented gasp from my throat.
Fairy tales. Those were the only places that featured libraries like this one. Rows upon rows of shelves lined each wall, stretching from the floor to the double height ceiling. The room felt like warm spice and decadent musk thanks to the array of rich, burgundy spines and smell of aged paper and leather. I stepped inside, lifting my nose to breathe in every page.
I counted no fewer than three long ladders stretching up to the highest shelves and saw a cluster of leather club chairs that provided a calm reading spot by a cathedral-style window. It took me right back to the bookshop I used to sit in while I waited for my mum to finish shopping. The memory made my chest warm.
“Do you, um… have the book,In Praise of Shadows, by Junichiro Tanizaki?” My words sounded timid and slight and as I flicked my gaze back to him, I noticed his good eye had widened a fraction.
“It’s about architecture,” I explained. “It’s pretty niche but you may have heard?—”
“Yes,” he rushed out, walking briskly past me to a shelf on the east side of the room. “It’s right here.”
He slipped a book from the shelf and handed it to me. His gaze made my skin sizzle as I stroked a hand over the well-worn cover.
“It’s a beautiful book.” I glanced up at him. “Have you read it?”
His throat constricted. “It’s my favourite.”
I blinked and felt time slow. “Mine too.”
His stare was intense until he broke it and walked to the window. “I haven’t read it since… well… my sight isn’t so good now.”
My body was drawn to him in slow motion and I settled into one of the chairs.
“Would you like me to read it to you?”
His silhouette seemed to expand in the glow of the afternoon light. “You’d do that for me?”
“Of course. Sit.”
He turned and his mouth curled into a mischievous grin. It was the most I’d seen him smile. He rested his back against the curved window and slid to the floor at its foot.
I arched a brow. “You’re sitting over there?”
He patted the floor beside him. “No,we’resitting over here.”
“But these chairs…” I gestured at the unfeasibly soft club chair I was sitting comfortably in.
“But this view,” he fired back.
He was referring to the one outside the window but his gaze was glued to me.
I stood and walked to the window, then held my dress as I sat, making sure my knees were covered. I’d never liked my knees. I glanced nervously sideways at him. He’d tipped his head back and closed his eyes.
Stifling a small smile, I opened the book at page thirty-two and began to read.
By the time I’d turned the page to chapter four, my side had become pressed into his and his arm had somehow snuck around my back to rest against my right hip. His chin rested on my left shoulder, his breath warming my collar bone. My own breath became tight as I tried not to move.
As my pause lengthened his eyes opened slowly.
I lifted my hand and rested the tips of my fingers against the dips and swells of his scars. He flinched slightly, then gently held my wrist as if to say it was okay that I touch him.
“Who did this to you?” I whispered.
His breathing became heavier, deeper, and a full minute passed before he answered.
