Page 5 of Keep Me In Your Heart

He chuckles as he enters a large living room. To the right is a bar with bottles of liquor displayed on glass shelves over a marble counter.

“Bold of you to shout at me in my own home. You’re lucky I haven’t called the police on you yet.”

“I’m serious,” I say, winding a stray curl behind my ear. “You broke my phone for no reason.”

“I broke it for a very good reason,” he replies with a sarcastic laugh. “You probably had pictures on it that could be incriminating, and my sister would just love that.”

“Incriminating?” I reply. “I took pictures of the old typewriter in the library!”

“The typewriter?” He’s uncapping a bottle of something that looks like whisky when he stops and glances up at me, bewildered. “Why the hell would she want pictures of a typewriter?”

I slam my hands down in frustration. “They’re not for yourfucking sister. I don’t even know your sister. I snuck in to find this stupid old typewriter that was apparently an heirloom in my boyfriend’s family, you stupid ogre.”

His eyes burn with anger as he sets the bottle down. “Let me get this straight. You walked into a stranger’s home to take pictures of an old typewriter for your boyfriend?”

He glances around behind me as if Aaron is going to appear out of thin air. I roll my eyes. “Yes, and I was on my way out when you attacked me, threatened to defile me, and then broke my phone.”

“Is this how girls behave in America?” he snaps in return. “Just barging into people’s houses to take a picture of something you think belongs to you?”

I scoff. “To be fair, this is hardly a house.”

“It’smyfucking house.”

“It’s practically a castle. Why do you even live out here?” I ask incredulously.

“To avoid having to interact with people like you,” he replies.

“You’re really an asshole.”

He simply chuckles in response. “What is your name?” he asks, taking a step toward me.

I take a step back. “None of your business.”

“Tell me your name, and I’ll replace your phone,” he replies, teasing me.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I stare at him with hesitation.

“Sylvie,” I say, taking another step away from him as he continues to close in on me.

“Sylvie what?”

“Devereaux,” I mumble.

“Sylvie Devereaux,” he says, my name sounding melodic and beautiful on his tongue.

My back hits a wall, but he continues toward me. I stop breathing for a moment as I stare into his haunting green eyes.

As he leans in, I catch the scent of his cologne and feel dwarfedby his intimidating size. He must be six and a half feet tall. As he places a hand on the wall over my head, I realize what an idiot I am.

I had my chance to leave, but now I’ve just gotten myself cornered by someone who’s already proven himself to be volatile and angry.

His fingers delicately touch my chin. As he leans in, I shudder and try to turn my face away.

“Sylvie Devereaux, get the fuck out of my house.”

My chest aches for air, waiting for him to back away enough to let me breathe. When he does, he lets out a menacing laugh.

“You asshole!” I choke out as I gasp for air.

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