Page 82 of Rise of the Siren Queen
Just for a moment.
The scent of cedar clung to my skin, grounding me. I scrubbed harder than necessary, chasing the ghost of control I’d lost earlier. Letting someone—him—see me falling apart wasn’t the plan. I’d survived too much to fall apart now.
My mind betrayed me, drifting to him, his touch, his steadiness, the way he held me like I wouldn’t shatter if I let go. He shouldn’t have that power. And yet, he did.
When I finally stepped out, the cool air kissed my damp skin, pulling me back to reality. I wrapped a towel around my body and caught my reflection in the mirror. No more dirt, no more tears. Just me. Still standing.
The gown hanging nearby shimmered like moonlight on open water—soft, regal, deceptive. Like me. I pulled it over my head, the silkmolding to my frame, the silver clasp settling just below my sternum like a promise I hadn’t made. Slits at both thighs gave the illusion of vulnerability, but weaponized, every inch of fabric calculated.
This dress wasn’t about beauty. It was armor in another form.
I fastened the final clasp and looked again at my reflection. Strong, composed. Unshaken. But his touch still lingered like heat on my skin, and I hated it. Hated even more, that part of mewantedto feel again.
No. Focus.
I reached for the earrings and slid them into place, cool silver catching the light. My bracelet followed, snug on my wrist. These small rituals—the dressing, the jewelry—weren’t for vanity. They were for control.
Ready now, I met my own eyes in the mirror. I didn’t smile. But I didn’t flinch either.
The moment I stepped out of the bathroom, a savory aroma wafted through the air, beckoning me toward the door. My stomach growled in response, a reminder that it had been far too long since I’d indulged in a proper meal.
With hesitant steps, I crossed the threshold into a dimly lit hallway. The shadows stretched around me as if reluctant to let me go. The delicious scent grew stronger, swirling together in a tantalizing symphony. Rich spices mingled with the sweetness of caramelized onions, while something earthy and robust underpinned it all. My mouth watered at the thought of the feast that awaited me.
Entering the dining area, the sight made my heart flutter. A table elegantly set, adorned with white cream plates that echoed the colors of shells, gleaming silverware catching the light, like stars scattered across the night sky. In the center, a steaming pot of something resembling meat simmered, surrounded by bowls filled with vibrant vegetables and warm bread, its golden crust promising comfort andsatisfaction.
“You did this?” I asked quietly, surprise coloring my tone as my gaze swept over the beautifully arranged table. “You can cook?”
He shrugged, leaning casually against the counter with a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Surprised?” His confidence was palpable, making it hard for me to maintain my composure. “There’s more to me than just business and cars, you know.”
“What about the reservation?” I glanced back at the table, my eyes lingering on the enticing dishes, and had to admit, I hadn’t expected this. “It just… caught me off guard.”
“Well,” he said, stepping toward me, his presence drawing me in. “I figured you could use a proper meal after the day we had. And we can go tomorrow. ”
His consideration and warmth made my heart race. The thought of a proper meal, one crafted with care, felt like a consolation for the tumult of emotions I was still wrestling with. It shifted the bricks of my fortress and cracked open the gate to more useless emotions, like infatuation.
My gaze lingered on his body, the soft glow of candlelight highlighting the firm lines of his body and the way his dark hair fell effortlessly across his forehead. I had a sudden urge to brush it off.
He stood there, a confident figure, effortlessly commanding the room while also exuding a warmth that seemed to draw me in, and the way his clothes clung to his muscles sent a heat spreading through my core. My breath caught in my throat, flutters of nerves racing through me.
For a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of us in this intimate space. I couldn’t help but drool in the way his tailored shirt clung to his frame, accentuating his muscular build, and the way his piercing golden gaze held mine, intense and searching. It felt as if he could see right through my carefully constructed fortress.
The realization hit me like a lightning bolt. I was standing in his home, sharing a meal he had prepared, and feeling more exposed than I ever had before. It was unsettling, yet exhilarating. My heart raced, my breath ragged and short, and icy cold flooded my veins.
“See something you like?” he asked, a teasing brow arched, the smirk playing on his lips making my pulse quicken.
I blinked, my cheeks flushing at his boldness. “No,” I lied, trying to sound teasing. It was then I realized I had been staring, caught in a web of intrigue and attraction. His confident smirk only deepened the heat spreading through me, igniting a flurry of questions in my mind.
What was it about him that made it so easy to forget my defenses? Each glance exchanged felt charged, a silent conversation that spoke of uncharted territories and the potential for something more. I had spent the last four years guarding my heart, yet here I was, standing on the edge of vulnerability, feeling drawn to him in a way that both excited and terrified me.
“Of course not,” he replied, amusement dancing in his eyes, clearly not believing me for a second. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.” With a flourish, he moved toward the table, pulling out a chair for me and nodding for me to take a seat.
I hesitated, the warmth of his presence both inviting and disarming. The gentle glow of candlelight flickered across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the glimmer of mischief in his eyes. Everything about him demanded my attention, like a flame to a moth, something that both thrilled and frightened me.
Finally, I gracefully lowered myself into the chair, my fingers brushing the cool surface of the polished table as I stole another glance at him. “Thank you,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
He took his seat across from me, his gazesteady as he poured the wine. “I hope you like lamb,” he said, breaking the silence, and I could hear the subtle pride in his voice.
The tantalizing scents of rosemary and garlic wafted through the air, drawing me deeper into the experience. I inhaled, allowing the smell to awaken my senses. Despite the tension that still lingered between us, the promise of a warm meal felt like a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind, and for a heartbeat, I allowed myself to relish the comfort, the simple pleasure of good food shared with someone who made me feel… safe.
