“Hey,” I greeted as I walked up to Carson toting my duffle bag that held everything I would need.
The scowl on his face softened as I neared him. This was the only time I'd ever seen that happen and it never ceased to amaze me.
“Either I'm still being punished for something I did in a previous life or you just like to keep me waiting.”
Even though he said the words with a certain acidity I couldn't help but drop my bag and give him a hug.
I couldn't stop myself. Even though the man was extremely well-built there was this unexplainable squishiness to him that just made me want to cuddle the life out of him.
And I also loved to see his face right after I pulled away. For a few seconds after I hugged him his face usually had this baffled expression like he was surprised anyone would even touch him that I found adorable.
Much like the one he had now.
“I'm sorry, I was giving my dog a bath. I know that's a horrid excuse but it's the truth.”
His face morphed back into his usual caged look but his eyes — those smoldering pools of liquid grey that burned every area of my skin his gaze touched — betrayed the moody veneer he always seemed to put forward by sparkling with gentle mischief.
“Yes, that is a horrid excuse, I thought I deserved better,” he pouted and I covered my surprise with a small laugh.
“Stalker like you? You're lucky to get even that.”
His gaze inadvertently dropped to my lips and I mindlessly swiped my tongue over my bottom lip to quell the tingling that erupted.
Something flared in Carson's eyes that sent a shiver up my spine.
“So,” I finally broke the heated silence. “I was kinda hoping we'd use the train,” I gestured toward the sleek red convertible.
“The train?” he asked like I'd just suggested we mug an old lady. “Hell no, darling. It's such a nice night for a drive. Besides, I was hoping we could talk.”
I groaned. “Please don't tell me you haven't given up on the getting to know me thing?”
He chuckled. “Honestly, I don't care about that anymore. Tell me, don't tell me, either is fine with me. I just want you right here. With me.”
I found myself grinning like an idiot.
After the shock of secretly seeing my employer at night wore off, I found that it was easy to talk to Carson. With him I just wanted to say whatever random thing that popped into my head. Including things about me, which scared me more than I was ready to admit.
I didn't want him to know how messed up I really was and I didn't want to lie. Even though I could have gotten away with the latter since he had no idea who I was.
It felt wrong to make up something about myself for the sake of seeming interesting. So I decided if we were to explore whatever it was that kept drawing me back to him it would be best to remain in the obscure security that living in the now provided. At least for these three days before I had to tell him goodbye.
“I bet you wish I was a normal girl,” I told him as I stared at him through my eyelashes
“Are you kidding? Fuck no. I like that you're mysterious and quirky,” he fingered the two loose buns on either side of my head my pink hair was currently trapped in with awe.
“And I like that you're a creepy stalker dude with good taste in wine.”
“You're never going to let that go, are you?”
“Never,” I assured him.
He sighed. “Oh well. Better get inside then.”
He opened the door to the car. “Milady, your chariot awaits,” he gestured.
“And they say chivalry is dead,” I threw my duffel bag and backpack at the back and slid unto the seat. The rich leather was so plush and welcoming I almost moaned.
Carson hopped in and stuck the key in the ignition.
After adjusting his leather jacket and putting on a pair of sunglasses that made him look even more like a yummy badass, he turned to me.
“It's a four hour road trip, would you do the honor of selecting the music?”
“I thought you hated music?” I narrowed my eyes with feigned suspicion.
“First of all, I didn't explicitly say I hated music. I'm just not too big on it. Secondly, it's so that we have something to fill the awkward silence that will probably occur later.”
“Thinking ahead. I like it,” I said as I pulled my phone out of my hoodie pocket.
Choosing a random playlist I connected it to my speakers and tucked my phone away.
“So, you ever been to Orlando?” Carson asked as he skillfully guided the car forward.
I nodded. “Once. And I realize how very stupid this next question is but what about you?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “More than once. I remember the first time, I was about six. We went to Disney World. I remember that one trip very well because I was motion sick for most of the ride there.”
“Really?” I asked, amazed.
“So a heads up we're going to have to stop like five times between this trip. I don't do well traveling for long distances in a car.”
“Fair enough. I guess that's the point of owning a jet. I just need to check into my hotel by tonight.”
“You know you don't have to do that, right? You can stay with me. I've got plenty of room.”
A skittish laugh escaped my throat before I could restrain it. “Thank you for the kind offer, but Bill will literally end me if I don't follow his plan. Besides, I don't think you'll make a good roommate.”
“What?” He stopped at a red light. “I'm fucking amazing.”
I laughed as the light turned green and we sped down the road.
The night air was so sublime against my flushed skin. Which came as a result of my stupid brain gawking at the way Carson's powerful arms moved as he drove.
“I'm curious,” I started, hoping to distract me from, well, myself. “Are you usually like this with other women?”
“Like what?” He asked, glancing my way briefly.
I adjusted the mask around my eyes. “So nice and thoughtful.”
“Am I not supposed to be nice and thoughtful toward other women?”
“That's not what I meant. I mean why do you try so hard when you could easily get away with mediocrity?”
He shrugged. “I don't know. I guess that's how I've always been. I was raised with this mentality that if you settle for mediocre, that makes you mediocre too.”
“That is one hardcore parenting.”
“I never saw it like that. To me it was just another life lesson.”
“Tell me about your family,” I said as I reached over and skipped the loud rap song to something else.
“Really? You want to open that door? Now?”
“Well, yes. You never talk about them.”
He shook his head and bit the inside of his cheek as the wind teased his silken dark hair. “There's no point. It's better to let sleeping dogs lie.”
I tried to decode what that meant but I came up blank. “I have no idea what that means.”
“Right,” He laughed. “Idioms. I forgot.”
“Very funny. You broke the rules.”
“I'm sorry,” he turned to me with a cheeky grin and I saw the lights on the road reflected on his sunglasses.
Ten minutes I noticed that his breath had shallowed and the hand gripping the wheel had paled.
“Hey,” I touch his shoulder, concern in my voice. “Are you alright?”
He nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I'm good. Just forgot how fucking uncomfortable the nausea is as it creeps up.”
“We should stop. At least you should stop driving and recover.”
“It's sweet that you're worried about me but I'll be fine. It's not life-threatening or anything. Just relax, ok? I've got a plan.”
Then there was that boyish smile that made me temporarily forget what I was going to say.
Soon he coasted to a stop in front of a building that had The Jaime Crawford Place illuminated by bright white lights.
“Better?” I asked Carson who'd taken off his sunglasses and leaned his head back on the chair.
“God I hate my genes,” was all he said as he rubbed his neck.
“I did suggest we use the train.”
“Hilarious,” he rolled his eyes.
“What is this place?” I gestured toward the medium-sized building that had all sorts of fancy cars parked in front.
“It is our first pit stop. It's one of the many art galleries owned by my mother's good friend, the late Jaime Crawford. Now, normally I wouldn't go anywhere owned by someone even remotely connected to my mother, but, Jaime Crawford junior is my friend and she asked me to come look at some new pieces.”
“Do you know anything about art?”
He replaced his aviators in his jacket pocket. “Do I have to? If it's pretty I'll buy it,” he shrugged.
“You are so not what I imagined you would be,” I shook my head and looked away.
“What did you imagine I would be like?” I turned back to his eager, expecting face.
“I dunno. Reeking of snobbism and a man of refined taste,” I said the last two words with a high-pitched British accent that was meant to sound nonchalant but I was pretty sure made me look weird.
Carson, of course, wasn't the least bit offended, if the amusement in his dancing grey eyes was anything to go by.
“Is it weird that I'm glad I didn't meet your standard?”
“Very,” I lightly flicked his cute nose.
“Well, let's not waste any time. I still have to get you to your hotel.”
We both climbed down from the car and stepped unto the stairs. Carson offered his hand and even though I didn't need it I still accepted it.
I would never get used to the feel of his warm skin on mine. It had been eons — if ever — since someone's touch didn't make me recoil or whimper. Since I felt at peace with the simple act of holding hands. It was this feeling I would miss the most. More than the butterflies and more than the searing heat of his gaze.
Inside the gallery was bright, marbled and lined top to bottom with art that I could only imagine cost a lot of money.
But it was empty.
With all the cars parked outside there should have been no less than a dozen upperclassmen and women perusing the paintings.
I looked at Carson but he didn't seem fazed as he led us by our connected hands toward one painting of something I didn't know.
“Am I missing something here?” I finally asked when I couldn't keep it inside me anymore. The good thing about being Butterfly with Carson — as I've come to enjoy — was I didn't need to any longer.
Carson turned to me with a perked eyebrow. In the bright white light from the ceiling and floors I could now see the slight redness in his otherwise perfect eyes and I was glad we stopped.
“Where is everyone?” I waved my hand about indicating the empty space. “Don't tell me you didn't see those cars.”
Carson chuckled and drew a hand over his dark stubble, an action that made me involuntarily clench my thighs.
“That. Well, you did not hear this from me, but, Jaime Crawford junior also hosts an underground and very illegal poker game every Tuesday night.”
“You're joking. And how many times have you attended?” I wrapped my other hand around his leather-clad arm.
“I don't think you need to know,” I pouted at his answer causing him to add, “It's playing with dangerous guys who have a lot to lose. A sweet, innocent angel like you should not be mixed up in that.”
Then he kissed my nose and transported me to cloud nine.
“Then why do you get mixed up in that?”
He shrugged. “I guess I'm no sweet, innocent angel.”
“If I'm the criteria for sweet, innocent angel then God's really lowered his standards.”
At this point neither of us had taken a look at a single piece of art.
“I'm sure that's not true. Yeah, no one is perfect but compared to me you should be sainted.”
His nonchalant tone felt like a bucket of ice water on my nerves. I should've been flattered that he thought so highly of me but all my damaged brain could focus on was how he sounded like he was dismissing every bad thing that'd ever happened to me. Like all the strength and lessons those bad things gave me were meaningless.
I retrieved my hands and wrapped them around my suddenly cold body.
I focused my eyes anywhere else as I tried to blink away the tears.
We had been having such a great night and I was about to ruin it.
“You know the reason I don't date?” I spoke all of a sudden, my voice sounded so frail, even to me. “My last boyfriend. God,” I let out a humorless laugh. “Just even thinking about it gives me goosebumps.”
I found a place beneath one of the oil paintings and sat on the floor.
Without a question Carson dropped next to me.
It was silent with only the whirring of the air conditioner I hadn't noticed before. No doubt Carson was waiting for me to continue.
This, right here was what I was talking about. Releasing information about myself. With Carson it was easy to pretend that all the shit I'd been through was in the past. That it didn't bother me at all. But the truth was it did. Every. Single. Day.
“When I first met him I thought it was nice, you know, to know that I wasn't totally invisible. That there was still hope for me. He was charming and funny and had this knack for making everything look trivial. Other people would've thought it strange, but not me. You know what he was not? A nice guy.”
I brought my knees together and looped my arms around them to stop from shaking.
“I didn't know it then but I was with the Devil in disguise. Nevertheless we were happy. He asked me to move in with him and I did. Worst mistake of my life, you know, right behind my decision to date him.”
I couldn't bring myself to look at Carson because I was afraid of what I was going to see.
“After a couple of months wallowing in denial I started to see that something was wrong. It was the little things. How he would constantly complain about things like my height, the curve of my chin, pretty much my entire physical appearance. When I wouldn't agree to surgery to correct myself he made me know every day, that nobody else would have my ugly ass. That I was stuck with him.”
It was so hard to continue, it was like I was reliving it all over again. The harsh words, the glare of blue eyes. I could feel the hand over my throat and I had to swallow multiple times to clear my throat.
“And I believed him. I believed I was worthless and hideous. And no one would ever care about me like that. When you've lived all your life in pain, it's easy to keep on living that way. It's hard to imagine that there's anything else.”
I closed my eyes against the image of my father that erupted.
“It took me a while and a few talks with some really brave women that'd been in my shoes but I finally realized that I had a choice. I didn't need to stay in a toxic environment just for the validation it provided. Deprograming from all that bullshit is still ongoing, I won't lie to you. I'm slowly starting to get better, that's why I swore off men. I don't need another cocky, unintelligent, brute to undo what's taken me years to fix.”
I finally risked it and took a look at Carson.
I couldn't decipher what he was feeling from the look on his face.
I knew this was heavy stuff I was dropping on him but he needed to know so that he could stop hoping on me because I didn't know if I would ever be ready to be exclusive with someone else after everything.
“So you can see why I can't date. Not because I don't want to but because I don't know how to, Carson. How to do it in the proper, healthy manner that everyone else knows. And the last thing I want is to half-ass things with you. Because even though you have anger issues and swear more than a trooper, I care about you.”
He only chuckled.
I noted he hadn't said anything for a while.
“I'm sorry I brought this up. I, know this shit is dark, I never should've . . .”
“No, no, no,” he interjected. “I'm glad you told me. I really am.”
“So what do you think?” I asked sheepishly.
I hope he didn't try to minimize my pain or worse blame me for my own predicament.
“Honestly, I don't know what to think other than how I would really like to gut that asshole for putting you through such a fucking horror show.”
“There's that word again,” I chuckled, wanting nothing more than to get back to the awesome night we were having. “Do you ever utter a sentence without using fucking?”
“Fuck is a fucking great word, don't underestimate its power.”
He sat on his side so that he was now facing me.
We didn't say anything, just sat there looking at each other. It felt like his eyes could see past my mask, past the rainbow contact lenses I wore because my blue eyes would be a dead giveaway, past Butterfly and right into Alexandra. It was like my soul was laid bare and for the first time I was ok with that. With someone else getting a glimpse of my pain.
Carson's hand rose in a hesitant, non-threatening motion and stroked my cheek.
I wanted to comment on how adorable I found his hesitation but my train of thought was lost in the wave of thrills that followed the movement.
As soon as his lips started to move I knew what was he was going to say.
I'm sorry.
But I didn't need his sympathy. I just needed him to be strong.
“Don't apologize, just promise me something,” I wrapped my hand around the one on my cheek.
“Anything.” His narrow eyes had gone back to their normal color.
“Promise me you won't judge me.”
With a genuine smile he brought his face closer. “Never. You didn't judge me despite everything you read in the tabloids so I would never.”
For some reason I was delighted by that.
I rested my head on his chest and my heart jumped for joy when he wrapped his big arms around me.
Listening to his heart beat in that quiet, upscale gallery all I could think about was how thoroughly I was going to screw up Carson's life if he pried out all of my bullshit.