Page 48 of Paper Thin Love

“If you want something from me, then ask.” His gaze flickers to my mouth, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Would you give it?”

“Depends on my mood.”

He traps my gaze with his, a caged glare that makes it impossible to look away. I feel like prey under his scrutiny. Finally, he jerks his eyes toward the bag. My lungs feel like they’re filled with lead as I take a breath. Turning quickly, I stride to the bag.“When did you get this?”

“A text to an employee can get me things fast, Mila.” He says, his voice grating like sandpaper on wood.

I roll my eyes but grab the bag. It’s heavy. I should be cautious, but instead, I look inside.“What’s this?”

“Art supplies,” he deadpans.

Inside are two sketch pads, painting paper, and a wooden box. Slowly, I grab the box, which has an antique-looking latch. I pry it open and look inside to find a dozen acrylic paints along with a fresh set of paintbrushes.

“I,” I shake my head. This is a gift.“I don’t understand,” I mutter.

“Art is a form of therapy. You will turn to it instead of hurting yourself. You want control? Control the paint. You want freedom? Use the paint to feel free. And please, for the love of God, paint something more memorable than Pollock did. Any baby can throw paint. Purge your emotions, Mila, make me feel them.”

Another layer of myself and Dash is peeled away. At this rate, I’ll be completely exposed to him by the end of the week.

A sheen coats my eyes. This is thoughtful, empathic and caring, a way to heal.

I look at Dash, wondering if he’s the devil or an angel in disguise. Then I’m reminded that the devil is an angel. He’s good and bad, temptation and redemption, freedom and a cage, caring and selfish. Like Dash King, he suffers from a constant inner battle.

I hug the box to my chest. Dash’s eyes feel like a microscope looking so deep inside my soul that it suddenly feels tighter to inhale. Unable to take my show of emotions or my gratitude, Dash turns, grabs the door, and swings it open.“Hurry up. We have seventeen minutes to get you fed properly before your silly dance class, little fox.”

Chapter 20

Mila

“You’re not eating,” Dash growls. Cillian and Dante look amused at Dash’s observation.

I push my fork around the plate of scrambled eggs.“It’s hard to eat when everyone is watching us.” Walking into the cafeteria felt like I had a tattoo on my forehead that screamed‘Dating a King, back the fuck off.’

Every glance feels like a spotlight on my insecurities, highlighting the parts of myself I wish to keep hidden. The whispers and sideways looks remind me that I’m under constant scrutiny, and the pressure is almost suffocating. It’s a stark contrast to the thrilling, dangerous game we play in private. In public, I’m laid bare, and the façade I’ve carefully constructed begins to crumble under the weight of their gazes.

Cillian snorts.“Aren’t you used to being center stage?”

“Touché,” Dante adds.

“Veronica asked me if Dash made me sleep with you and Dante as well. Drew asked me how much to stab one of you in the back when you were asleep? So yeah, being center stage with the three of you isn’t a cup of tea, Cillian. To all the girls, I’m a whore, to all the guys I’m a fuck bunny that might be tempted to turn assassin for the right price.”

I stab some eggs onto my fork.“This is different.” I can’t look either of them in the eyes. I feel like a lamb eating with lions. I don’t belong at this table; everyone knows it, and everyone is wondering why I’m here.

“Drew Costello?” Cillian asks, his voice cutting through the tension.

I nod, feeling a chill creep up my spine.

Dash’s fingers stiffen around his fork.“When?”

“When you were greeting Dante and Cillian, and I was grabbing our tray,” I reply, voice low.“He snuck up behind me and whispered it.” It paralyzed me more than I’m willing to admit. Cillian is right. I’m on center stage, but the stage is for gladiators.

Dante taps his fork against his plate, like a judge hammering his final verdict.“They won’t bother you,” he declares, his tone firm, almost dismissive.

I grunt.“The minute I’m alone, they’ll jump.”

Dante peeks at Dash, a silent exchange of understanding.“That’s why you won’t be alone.”

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