Page 27 of Hearts Held
I playfully return the push and reply, “You’re a wanker!”
We share a small laugh together, until he states, “Yeah, ’course I am. I’m the dead one.”
Then I freeze. “That’s not funny, Marcus. You have no idea how much I miss you. Every damn day.” I turn to face him and he is just staring at me, those emerald eyes engulfing my soul, pulling all emotion from my pores.
“I know, sis.” He moves in closer to wrap a strong arm around my shoulders. “I know. I watch over ya eachday.” Then he kisses the side of my head. “You’d be proud though. I did it for a good cause. Our unit came upon an underground bunker with several prisoners of war.”
His body shudders and his face turns pale.
“They were tortured, sis. Tortured so badly in ways I didn’t realize people could and…” Before he has a moment to finish his story, a beautiful chime rings through the air.
We peer around us, trying to identify its location. It continues to chime, getting louder and louder, interrupting my discussion with Marcus.
His warm smile places an ache in my heart.
“No,” I mutter.
Though I know this is just a dream, it is a dream I wish would last. An experience we would never otherwise have as I sit across from him.
The chime plays louder as he reaches across to grasp my hand with a light squeeze.
“I’ll see you next time,” he states.
I try to muster out the wordsI miss you, and I love you, but they don’t come. As if my throat has lost its vocal cords. Then the world fades beneath me, turning to ash.
A once beautiful dream, of enjoying a garden I’ve never been to, alongside our childhood pond and my deceased brother.
My eyes flutter open, staring at the ornate ceiling. Then I peer to my left to find a beautiful gold-and-onyx clock, chiming.
Drying the tears on my cheek, I reach to switch it off. The arms of the clock have beautiful, delicate gold hands, with detailed work imitating ivy and flowers.
I look at it, questioning who would have set it to chime.
Possibly Everett, to make sure I made it to my appointment on time. I snort to myself.
Such a chuffed bastard, broody and bossy.
I’m feeling like a daft idiot for running into that office with no qualm and findinghimas the boss. I should have figured he would be some criminal. His daunting, icy persona and predatory features still haunt me from thefirst night I met him.
Shaking my head free of the handsome image of him, I begin getting ready for the day, wondering what exactly I should wear to a massage appointment.
Luckily the walk isn’t too far from my new home. It’s still hard to wrap my mind around having such a lush place to callhome.
I find myself in front of the massage parlor. It is absolutely stunning. Large marble pillars adorn the outside of its three-story frame. Something out of a Grecian novel.
As I walk into the building, it appears that may be the theme—a Grecian bathhouse. Walls adorned with tied olive branches, beautiful flowers, calming fragrances and replica marble statues of gods and goddesses.
Approaching a large mahogany desk, I find a woman with long black hair and almond eyes as bright blue and stunning as a Grecian goddess’s. Before I may check in, she states, “Miss Afton, welcome to our massage house. I shall take you back to your room. My name is Jameson.”
My eyes widen in surprise as the woman seems to be familiar with me, though I have no idea who she is.
As I follow her down the vaulted hallway, we pass a series of black wooden doors.
“Let me give you a brief tour, madame, and then I shall be the one to administer your massage, if that is okay?”
I nod my head, though my attention isn’t drawn to the woman but to the beautifully carved marble walls, vaulted wooden ceilings and serene atmosphere.
She shows me the women’s bathhouse, as well as the combined bathhouse.
