Page 44 of Desecrated Reign

Standing back, I survey her as she allows her eyes to peruse every inch of my open-plan living room and kitchen. She prowls into the space with slow almost seductive movements, eyes dancing off the interior as she takes it all in. “So, this is what Rohan King’s bachelor pad looks like.”

“Is it what you expected?”

Tossing a smile over her shoulder, she gives me a little shrug. “Honestly? I was expecting more black.”

My chest vibrates with a chuckle as I view my monochromatic décor from her eyes. Black walls lead towards black ceilings, broken up with chrome-silver accents and deep-grey flooring. “What makes you say that?” I scoff playfully. “Is it the pop of colour on my couch?” By colour I mean the light-grey throw pillows my mother sent me as one of her guilt gifts after she heard I’d moved out of the devil’s lair, but it’s colour nonetheless.

“I mean”—Saoirse continues her self-guided tour, trailing her finger along my railway sleeper mantel—“I should have guessed your place would look like this… Black is your favourite colour.”

“Was.”

Saoirse drags her attention away from the framed photo of Avie and me when we were younger. “Huh?”

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I ignore the thud of my heart against my chest and my newfound clammy hands. What is it about Saoirse Ryan that renders me, stupid, soft, needy… pathetic? Life before her had hardened me, had made my soul black with hate. But every time she’s near me, another vein of colour appears. “Black was my favourite, but it’s not anymore.”

Her brows furrow. “Then what is?”

Searching my mind, I try to figure out the best way to describe the colour of her eyes. “The colour of autumn leaves after they’ve fallen.” I hold her gaze as she creeps towards the baby grand that separates the kitchen from the living room, never taking those honey-glazed eyes off mine.

“Or a crystal decanter of aged whiskey.” I step closer, removing some of the space between us. “But mostly, it’s the colour your eyes deepen to when I make you come. That’s my all-time favourite shade.”

A blush pinches her high cheeks, spreading across the bridge of her nose. Her lips quip, soft edges tilting at the corners. We told each other tonight wouldn’t be about sex, that we would keep it in our pants for one fucking night, but the look on her face has me seconds away from saying fuck it. Thankfully, Saoirse’s resolve is better than mine.

Tearing her gaze away, she glides the tip of her finger across the white piano keys. “How old were you when you first learned how to play the piano?”

“Probably five or six,” I reply. “We always had a piano in the main house, and from a young age, I would sit at it and let my emotions loose through the keys and the lyrics of my favourite songs. As soon as I was old enough to take lessons, my mam got me a tutor. What about you?” I think back to the day in Mr O’Dowd’s music class when Saoirse joined me as I sang ‘Exile’ by Taylor Swift and Bon Iver. “Did you always enjoy singing?”

She lowers herself onto the piano stool, fingers feathering across the tops of the keys, not enough to create any sound. Her shoulders rise with a inhale, then, tilting her chin, she turns her head towards me. “We moved around a lot over the years. Music was the only constant thing in my life, I had very few friends, because every time we settled somewhere, we’d be gone again, always running. As silly as it sounds, losing myself in a song and finding myself in the lyrics made me feel less alone.”

Closing the distance between us, I take a seat on the bench next to her. “That doesn’t sound silly at all, love.”

For a few seconds, we remain locked in a stare, then finally, she turns her attention towards the keys, and drops her head to my shoulder. “Play something for me?”

After searching my mind for a song that expresses everything she means to me, I guide my fingers towards the keys when I think of the perfect one.

My fingers spread across the scale, forming an Am chord. The opening is soft, almost poetic as I sing about a girl sitting out in warm winds, watching the sun reflect against the sea. And how, even though the sun is beautiful, I prefer her in the moonlight, accompanied by a smile, one I can barely believe belongs to me.

I continue, allowing my natural rasp to lilt the lyrics, and when I reach the chorus, I bring my gaze to hers, holding her eyes with mine as I sing the lyrics directly to her. Letting her know that nobody ever saw my soul right, not like she could, and how I might be an artist who deals in darkness, but she knows just what I’m needing.

Finally, the song comes to a close, and I linger on the last note, stretching it out.

“What song is that? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

“It’s called “Dancing Under Red Skies” by Dermot Kennedy.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Sweeping the stray strands of hair from her face with a brush of my hand, my eyes roam over every curve and angle of her face, committing every freckle to memory. I angle my body towards her, shifting my hips slightly. Then, cupping her face between my palms, I rest my forehead against hers. Our breaths mingle as I lose myself in her eyes.

How did I fall so fucking deep? How is it I would bend the world to ensure she never breaks? How, how did all the fucked-up moments of my life lead to this… to her? To a love that above all else can bring a man like me to my fucking knees. I was fully prepared to spend my life as a villain, then there she was, making me not only want but need to show her, that for her, I could be so much more. “Níl sí in aice chomh hálainn leat.” Not near as beautiful as you.

My thumb swipes across her cheek, but I refuse to capture her lips with mine. I promised myself tonight would be about getting to know her, and all the little things that make her who she is. Clearing my throat, I push from the bench and stretch out my neck. “Erm, how about you go take that shower you wanted, and I’ll cook us something to eat.” I toss my thumb over my shoulder, pointing towards the kitchen. “I’m, erm… I’m pretty sure I have some pizzas in the freezer.”

Her cheeks plump when she smiles. “You know, King, you’re pretty cute when you’re nervous.” She pushes herself to her feet, eyes wandering down the short hallway towards my bedroom and bathroom.

“I’m not nervous, just eh, hungry?”

Her chest vibrates with a chuckle. “Whatever you say, Rí.”

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