Page 40 of Twisted Promise

Her lips quivered, tears rimming her eyes as she mumbled, “Don’t respect me.”

Another hoarse rumble erupted from his chest as he stifled a chuckle. “Then, promise you won’t respect me, either.”

She didn’t fully grasp what he meant, but the question dissolved when he kissed the top of her head. Anya tried to ignore the way her hands were clammy and the intense confidence exuding from his fingers.

This is nice, she thought with white puffs from her parted lips as she stared out at the bleak sky.

“Do you want a hug?”

He stood with his back to the darkness, his body taking up so much space, demanding her to notice him. His arms opened with no hesitation, and she threw herself to him with tears stinging her eyes.

She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but her hands hovered over the wide expanse of his back. She wasn’t sure why she hesitated, only that she did.

Anya peered up to the sky to find a star to ask, and the abyss stared back at her.

“Hurry up,” he ushered, almost sounding like a pout.

And she did, slowly and carefully, treating him like a glass at the edge of sanity, but he squeezed her like he wanted to devour her.

* * *

“How did you know you were in love?”

As she sat in front of the fire pit where everyone from the show had met up and gathered for their last dinner, Anya realized she hadn’t answered that question.

She learned love wasn’t just a feeling, albeit a little late, but better than never.

Love was an event.

She was nineteen with a fear of driving. An anxious driver, the fourth driving instructor had reassured her after he nearly vomited. She had sixteen lessons and four instructors but stillfailed the test twice. The written test was passed with flying colors, and she showed Alessio proudly.

He said paper knowledge was practically useless on the road, and experience ruled all. On weekends, sometimes they would practice, and Alessio was an awful teacher. He took offense to that, but it was nothing a chaste kiss couldn’t fix.

Getting a driver’s license was set aside because she needed to recharge emotionally.

A slow electric moped didn’t require a license where they lived. She used it whenever she wanted to do spontaneous shopping or just go for a ride.

When Alessio called her one evening, at 6:48 PM to be precise, she hopped on her moped and drove to pick him up. His family had a gala that started at six, and out of respect for his parents, Alessio went.

Not even an hour later, she was on the way to retrieve him.

She parked three blocks away, a safe distance from anyone catching them since they decided to keep their relationship low-profile.

He was extremely handsome; his black suit accentuated his lean figure, his dark hair neatly styled, and he used the cologne she got for him on his birthday.

Leaning down to kiss her, his loosened tie grazed the back of her hand, sending an involuntary spasm through her fingers.

“Why so early?” she asked.

He grunted, visibly tired. “Social battery died.”

“Could’ve called a taxi.” Anya kneaded his hand, massaging the tense muscles, likely from holding a glass of untouched champagne.

“No,” he grumbled, swinging his long legs over, and sat on the back seat. “Want you.”

Alessio relied on instinct whenever he was tired, and it was sweet.

Onlookers gave them weird glances as they drove by Anya. She hoped tomorrow wouldn’t have a viral video of her in mismatched clothes, driving a fancily dressed man twice her size on an electric moped going at a snail’s pace.

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