It's getting thin in the ballroom. The lights in the chandelier fade to something gentler, more like a golden recollection than a spotlight.
Conversations are blur, laughter reverberates into velvet corners, and high-end heels skip across the marble floor as people pass Rian and me.
Like a secret, my gown still clings to me. Maybe an hour ago, my smile has already vanished. Rian is standing next to me like a statue, shaped, still. A man with restraint carved into him. That sterile, silent, and strategic kiss clings to my skin like a silk-wrapped bruise.
Perfume and perfection envelop a red-clad woman as she passes. She disappears after giving a compliment that is too sweet to bear. One more handshake, one more nod, it's finally done.
With a voice like steel, Rian says, "I'll have the driver take you back."
Why he's always giving me commands, always telling me what I should do and what I shouldn't?
"I prefer to walk." I don't mean to sound so sharp but still my voice reverberates in the air. "It might remind me that I'm still breathing by fresh air."
He gave me a look, not irritated one but it's like I'm not shocked, simply exhausted kind of. "Suit yourself." he says.
More than I need anything, I need the distance right now and it's from this man. However, he speaks again after talking three steps. "You asked me what you are to me."
I hesitate, I turn to him but I'm not looking him in the face.
"Thanks for reminding my question, Mr. Ashford."
"You're the type of person who confuses loneliness with love." Now it's there. Without hesitation, without warmth, the words that make my hope dissect and expose beneath chandeliers.
I am powerless to stop the thought inside my mind. Doesn't he know how to use words to cut?
But I will not let him witness my bleeding.
"That makes two of us," I reply, entering the gloom.
Behind me, my heels ring out like post tragedy applause. I don't hear him follow but then his hand grabs hold of mine. It's warm and I'm melting in that cold air beneath his warmth. And I despise that it still feels like gravity, this cruel and magnetic pull. I try to rip his hand away, digging my nails into his skin, but he yanks me back like I weigh nothing.
His hands slide to my waist, possessive, warm, and it steals the breath from my lungs. Now I realize, I hate how my body craves his touch but it means nothing to him.
"What do you want now?" I snap but my voice trembles, betraying me.
He doesn't answer. He's too close, too damn close. His breath ghosts along my jaw, and his fingers press tighter this time, like he's trying to remind me that he can control me.
He leans in, his voice low and rough, "Sit in the car, I'll take you back driving."
"Your presence is unwanted, I want to be alone for some time." I'm too loud now.
I am no longer on the ground now, his hands slide under my thighs, lifting me like I weigh nothing.
Before I can protest, "I just wanted to be by myself," he puts me gently in the car and says, "And you can be, once you arrive at the estate."
Then after everything was silent, not a word was spoken throughout the entire drive. Before he can even open the car door for me, I'm already walking away toward my so-called new room.
Two days merge into one another, he is not here. The estate has the feel of a museum because everything here is carefully chosen. Every room is too silent and my room, I think it's better than other because I can enjoy beauty of roses.
I guess I've completely moved in now, even if it doesn't feel like home. I'm unpacking my luggage. My sketchbooks are the only thing that feels like me. The others came in boxes.
He is everywhere without being present in the atmosphere. He is here in this quiet environment, in their voice when they say his name: Mr. Ashford, like it's scary thing. I understand the source of the silence, at least when he's present.
The media never sleeps. Our faces are everywhere now, the kiss, the steady hands and the delusion of affection, everything is fake.
The Forgotten Heiress and the Ice Prince from Bankruptcy to Ballrooms: The Ashford-Lioren Engagement: A Legacy-Based Love Story
I want to yell at those who wrote this news in such a way but I draw instead, a broken glass blossoming into roses.
A view of the garden in mid summer, the breeze, a vase of roses every day which I never asked for, they are all present but he's not. He isn't, of course but I still search for him. And that's the most painful part.
I discover a box at the rear of my new wardrobe, there's a sketchbook inside. A sketchbook just like mine with the words written in the first page "In case you require additional pages to scream, here's another." No name but still, I am aware. It's Rian, the man who leaves too much behind and speaks in silence. Why does kindness make silence hurt more?
I hold the book close to my chest. I think I should continue what I left behind.
There's a knock and when I open the door, he is there. A black shirt and his sleeves are rolled. His hands are by his sides, as if he doesn't trust them to move.
"May I?" I give a nod
He walks in and take a seat on the chair; his fingers are gently caressing the roses in the vase.
"Are you fond of them?" he asks.
" Aren't you? I reply, my eyes on the petals, "They fade too quickly… but even so, I love roses."
He lets out a chuckle, "Like the majority of beautiful things."
"They're soft," he continues, almost to himself. "Delicate… like they were never meant for this world. They bloom, even when they know they won't last."
I stay quiet, watching him.
"They don't ask for much. Just a little light and a little care, even then," he says, smiling faintly. I try to focus on his words not thinking about how his smile took my breath away.
"And still" he adds "They still give everything they have, their beauty, their scent and their presence."
"Maybe that's why they're unforgettable." I whisper. He finally looks up, his eyes brushing against mine like a secret.
I should ask why he's here? Why now? But I don't.
Instead I ask, "Why the sketchbook?"
He doesn't answer, I feel a rage inside me and I can't control it, "I didn't tell you that side of me."
"You didn't have to, I take note of everything." he says.
I hate his every word right now because his words make me want to scream.
" Is that also a part of your contract?" I ask bitterly. "You mentioned that I mistake loneliness for love and maybe I do."
He keeps his eyes fixed on me while I continue my words, "But what about you, Mr Ashford? Do you think I'm a mistake?" With a lower voice than I would like, I ask.
He stands slowly, stepping forward, his gaze never leaving mine.
"No," he says "The only thing that doesn't feel like one, is you love."
I freeze, "Then tell me, Rian" I whisper, "Why are you so afraid of us, if we're not supposed to fall in love?"
He looks at me in the silence, there was something ferocious in his eyes, then he says "I'm not afraid of us, love. Because getting involved with you was never part of the plan."
I don't have any other questions now because sometimes your feelings aren't the most frightening thing.
It's realising that you still feel it.