Page 26 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
When she finally reached her building, she climbed the stairs like an old woman, each step heavier than the last, as though the whole night had laid itself across her shoulders.
Inside her flat, she dropped her coat to the floor.
She didn't bother undressing.
She lay down on her bed, curling into herself in the foetal position, the ache like a wound beneath her ribs.
She welcomed the pain.
Because it was an old friend-familiar, steady and unflinching. Dependable.
And now, it was the only real thing her love had left her.
Chapter 17
Crispin
One week ago
Crispin leaned back against Aria's front door the moment it clicked shut. The wood was cool against his spine as he let his eyes close, drew in a shallow breath, and exhaled as if he'd just stepped out of a fever. For a heartbeat, he stayed there. His mind was at odds with itself-his body wanting to return to her warmth, his cynical brain yanking him away.
Then, with a quiet curse, he straightened and moved to the waiting car.
He hadn't even meant to stay as long as he did. He'd just come back from Vienna, a late flight, his phone full of missed calls and unread reports. But he'd stopped atDobaranyway and picked up the pistachio French toast she loved. She hadn't known he was coming.
He hadn't had her in his arms in, what? A week?
It had felt like months. A useless week of self-imposed restraint, a laughable detox. He'd failed, of course. The second he saw her sleeping, one bare leg tangled in the sheets, soft breaths rising from parted lips, he'd been lost. He'd gorged on her like a man slipping back into a habit he'd never truly quit. Touched every inch of her. Memorized the texture of her callused palms-years of hard labour pressed into skin most people never saw. Breathed in that faint apple blossom scent that now clung to his collar like guilt.
He should've woken her before touching her. But the restlessness in him couldn't wait, and he felt like he was dying without her. He should have said goodbye like a decent human being, not dismissed her like an afterthought. But he couldn't, wouldn't. Things were slipping.
He was thirty-four, and his mother was growing impatient. Helga-once just a convenient smokescreen-was turning into something else, or trying to at least. There were comments now, barbed ones, about domestics and boundaries. About how things looked. He wasn't even sure what she knew, just that she knewsomething.
They had both entered this arrangement with their eyes open. She was Alice's friend from school, for god's sake. She had her reasons, her own web to weave. A family to placate in view of her past exploits.
But sometimes, when she looked at him with that still, knowing smile, he felt like the pawn, not the player. A fly caught in a web of his own making.
Crispin didn't want to leave any breadcrumbs, so the driver waited half a mile down the road. He slid into the backseat, not even glancing back as the car pulled away from the curb.
The rest of the day was a blur, filled with endless boardroom air, steel and glass reflections. Men in grey suits and aggressive ambition. Talk circled around the Tiergarten Bank again-an old family-run institution they'd been circling like the sharks they were. Now it seemed the patriarchs were tired and finally ready to deal.
His head should've been full of clauses and contingencies by lunch, but it wasn't.
He thought about Aria. Wondered if she was working the café shift today. Hated the thought of customers watching her, smiling at her the way he had once, pretending to deserve her laughter. All her smiles should belong to him.
She should be at the Lackenbys,he told himself. Middle of the week, wasn't it?
He hoped it was an easy shift. Hoped the old pervert wasn't breathing down her neck. Aria was unusually close-lipped about her work, so extracting information was like pulling teeth. He only knew about him because he caught her after a particularly bad day.
Maybe he should message her.
No. Not yet. She'd be on the tube. Did she eat the French toast he bought her? She was too thin; she didn't eat nearly enough. She mentioned her sister was coming over. Lule. Such a strange name. Suddenly, he wished he had made the effort to meet her.
His phone buzzed. Not her.
Helga again.
Lunch bled into drinks. He met her at that rooftop place she liked, all glass lanterns and overpriced cocktails. Her friends were loud and bored.Too much money and time, just like him,he thought in a brief moment of self-reflection. He smiled when expected, sipped slowly, though he barely heard a word. Helga laughed too brightly, touched his wrist too often.
