? There you go again...? he murmured against my neck, his breath igniting every nerve in my body. ?Playing the innocent mouse, when really, you're a cunning little fox begging for release. ?
Sophie Cruz, a compassionate and skilled physical the...
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(Theme Song of the Chapter: Born to Die - Lana Del Rey)
Sophie◆Cruz
WE WERE SET to leave for the airport and board the jet within the hour.
Stepping onto the balcony of the suite, I took in the fresh air, eager to return to the States to see my friends and Lola.
The city was very sunny today, and I watched as pedestrians decorated the worn stone slabs of the side walk.
A faint clatter of metal skimming against the pavement caught my attention. I watched as a young blond haired boy ran across the street, kicking what looked like a makeshift soccer ball. His clothes were tattered and worn thin. He was likely one of the children from the homeless families I had seen down the block.
Then I saw the storm given a name with that jet black hair and those dark tinted sunglasses, striding toward the boy with a green and white soccer ball tucked under his arm.
"Hey!" Aiden called out. "Giocherai meglio che mai con questo." (Italian| You will play better than ever with this.)
The boy stopped, his eyes lighting up as Aiden handed him the ball. His small fingers gripped it tightly, his smile wide with disbelief. "Grazie!" (Italian| Thank you!)
I stood there with my heart softening as I watched Aiden show him how to volley the ball. The boy giggled, mimicking his movements with excitement.
I lingered for a moment before heading back inside, but the image stayed with me.
He was a paradox. He was both sword and shield. The same fire that burned also had the power to warm.
◆◆◆
The plane droned softly as it flew through the still bright sky, but the sound did little to soothe the nerves building inside me. I couldn't sit still and my mind kept replaying the multiple events of the last night over and over.
My eyes connected with the man seated across from me. He didn't flinch. Didn't pretend he was looking elsewhere. His posture was relaxed, annoyingly so, like he had all the time in the world to sit and watch me unravel.
I looked away first. Not because I was intimidated, I was just tired. Tired of the silence, tired of the guessing game, tired of him.
I pulled the scratchy blanket tighter over my lap. "There were other seats," I said.
He shrugged. "None with this view."
I scoffed under my breath, shaking my head. He always had that way of saying something that sounded like a compliment until you sat with it too long.
I didn't reply. I didn't need to. He leaned back like he'd won something.
My thoughts drifted, like they always did when I tried to sit still. I thought about the moment the wheels hit the tarmac back home. What came next. Whether I'd go back to the estate or pretend the last weeks of my life had been some long, elaborate dream. A rich man's fantasy I got caught up in.
