Page 26 of Valentine's Miracle

I lick my lips and wipe them with the napkin. His facial expression changes, as he withdraws into the safety of his shell again. The subconscious move to open up to me means that I’m still somewhat trusted in his heart and I don’t want to drag this insecurity out any longer.

“Silas,” I call his name, gaining his attention instantly. “When this convention is over, we will talk.”

I’m not giving him an option to escape again. I have been giving him space and time for the last seven years, and each time I tried, he shut me out because I gave him too much freedom on this matter that involves the both of us.

I’m putting my foot down, I will get to the bottom of this, and it will be the last thing I do even if the world is ending.

Once we have the talk and understand where we went wrong, it will be up to him to take the next step, whether it will be out of my life or with me. I tried and tried for him, but he wouldn’t give me a chance despite explaining my side of the story.

This time, it will be up to him. I won't pressure him, and I won’t give him any ideas. It’s his choice, and he will have to choose what he believes is the best for him.

We have had Sebastian as the middle-man, essentially a buffer, between us and it could be like that for the rest of our lives. The worst-case scenario would be that we remove ourselves from each other’s lives.

It’ll hurt, but I don’t see any other options.

“We should talk, but not now,” Silas agrees, and I was expecting a fight.

I smile, a heavy stone lifting from my heart. “Thank you.”

“What for?” He’s perplexed, but he isn’t withdrawn either.

“For giving me a chance.”

Chapter Eight

Silas

The snow is getting thicker as it continues to fall from the gray sky. Weather reports have predicted a snowstorm, and everyone is recommended to avoid going outside if possible, but the small dots of moving cars from below the window still go around.

Victoria had mentioned that she isn’t going to attend today’s event. The main attraction in the convention is music and a warning had been issued by the people hosting the event that it will be loud with flashing lights. Those with health conditions and epilepsy can attend, but the event hosts will not be responsible for life-threatening injuries.

Attend at your own risk is the baseline message. It doesn’t stop people from dressing up in their tackiest outfit and sneaking alcohol into the hall.

Victoria had to take a call in the hallway when the reception in the room is disrupted by the snowstorm. We had seen people in glitter dresses, purple suits, and crazy hairstyles walking down the halls and into the elevators.

It’s a damn circus in the hotel. Sebastian and Fyodor decided to give the event a try to see if they like it, but I’m fine with staying in this quiet space. If Victoria had wanted to go, I would be enduring sweaty people and their lack of personal space.

Just thinking about it makes me want to break out in hives.

As I close my eyes and lean back into the chair, a sneeze shatters the silence along with ruffled papers. Victoria sniffs, rubbing her nose and shuddering. She closes the file in her hands and set it on the table, and she’s had that folder the entire morning, and I don’t know the contents of it.

I prefer not to look into it; there are confidentiality issues in every aspect of working. I don’t want to get her into trouble because she’s working in an unsafe environment, and I would like to avoid consequences thrown at me for being curious.

She sneezes again. “Sorry.”

I stand when she does; my eyes follow her frantic hands as she searches through her suitcase for warm clothes. Another sneeze wrecks her body as she digs out a bottle of medicine for cold, and the familiar brand is like a brick hurling into my heart.

I never thought I could hate that brand and those colors together more than I already do, but it stirs up memories that I buried. It was the same brand when I first saw her again, and it was just on her nightstand, mocking me and silently laughing at the miserable feelings burning into my skin.

I hadn’t regretted the action of crushing that bottle and waking her up rudely. I was angry, and my patience was just below zero during that day, but it wasn’t her fault.

“Get rid of it.” My voice startles her, and I got surprised too. I didn’t know I would be saying anything, but it comes out harsher than I wanted.

“What?” She turns around, eyebrows knotted and supporting her crouched position on the suitcase.

“The medicine,” I ground out; there’s a twitch in my pulse as I glare at the bottle. “Get rid of it.”

“I might need it—”

---