Page 73 of Undeniably Corrupt
Liora laughs softly, and the sound, along with her smile, does something liquid and warm to my insides. “Blueyis sacred in our household.”
“So I gathered.”
She moves close now, and my gaze naturally falls to her plump, pink lips. A strand of hair has fallen across her face, and before I can think better of it, I reach out to tuck it behind her ear.Her breath catches, and my fingers linger against her skin longer than necessary, tracing the delicate shell of her ear before reluctantly pulling away.
“You should get changed,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “You smell like the hospital instead of like me.”
“Always the charmer,” she murmurs, but she’s smiling, a slight flush rising to her cheeks at my mentioning how she stole my shampoo and body wash.For a moment, we simply look at each other, the air between us charged with all the things we’ve been dancing around. “I’ll take her up so you can have your sofa back.” She scoops a still-sleeping Hazel up in her arms and heads for the stairs before turning back to me. “Thank you, Vander.”
I nod. “Hey, Liora?” I call out to her, and she stops. “She can sit on the sofa any time. I don’t care if she makes a mess.”
Something crosses Liora’s features, and then she continues up the stairs. I watch her go, unable to comprehend the familiar emotion lodged in my throat.
Because whether I like it or not, it’s as Stone said. I’m already there. I just haven’t accepted it yet.
22
Hazel and I moved in two weeks ago, and I haven’t seen Vander in days. Again. Not once.
Not at work and not at home. I made dinner for him the other night as a thank you for all he did for Hazel, but he never came home to eat it. I’ve been telling myself I shouldn’t care what he does or if he doesn’t come home. I shouldn’t care if he’s out with women or locked in that closet. I have space in this house. We’re safe here.
Hazel loves it. I love it.
It almost doesn’t feel real after this last year. I’ve been able to save money, and after a few paychecks, I should have more than enough to move us out here and into a place of our own. It’s a dream come true. One I’d scarcely allowed myself to have.
I’m not sure what to do with it other than be grateful and give Vander the space he’s clearly telling me he wants.
It’s funny. Or maybe not. I never felt lonely until I moved here.
I never had time for it to settle on me. For me to acknowledge it. But now I’m living in a house that isn’t mine. A house that belongs to my boss. To my former boyfriend. I’m here, andhe’s not, and his absence is visceral. I’m not saying I want to crawl in bed with the guy or that I imagined by moving in we’d have some artificial notion of a happily ever after, but… ugh. I don’t even know.
I’m just restless. Filled with an energy I have no outlet for.
With it, an ancient sadness I’ve forced into a box and slammed the lid on is creeping out.
It’s stolen my sleep and awakened my mind, and I hate it. I fucking hate it.
I need a distraction, which is likely why I find myself in Vander’s bedroom when I shouldn’t be. It’s somewhere close to midnight, and it’s sleeting outside, winter giving us one finalfuck you. The sound of it pinging against the windows drew me out of bed. Hazel and I took the third floor because I thought I’d need the distance, but now it’s almost too much.
He’s still not home, and I have no clue what to make of that.
This is the first time I’ve dared to venture in here, and I’m a little disappointed. When I stole his shampoo and bodywash, I ran straight for his bathroom, took them, and ran right out. But now that I’m snooping, I was hoping to see all kinds of weird shit that would turn me off or even help explain him to me, but no such luck.
His room is obnoxiously clean and a little too minimalist. Whether this is intentional or simply that he couldn’t be bothered to decorate, I have no idea. The rest of the house is warmer, more inviting. Like a woman has touched it and helped with the design and feel of it, and a pang of weird jealousy hits me.
He’s very much a loner, but I know enough about him to assume he’s not celibate.
It smells like him in here. All masculine and dark and spicy. He has no pictures on his dresser. A cream chair sits unused in the corner. His nightstand only has a clock and a charging pad, while the one on the other side is empty. Twopillows, charcoal sheets, and a matching blanket on a low-profile bed.
For as much as I feel like I know him, I’m not sure I do at all.
Dark and light. Shadows and sunshine.
I think he likes that. I think that’s how he lives best. Like this house. Beautiful and expensive without being overstated or flashy. Like how he is as a CEO. Out in the open and sitting in meetings, and yet he locks himself in his “closet” for days on end. You see what he allows you to see and nothing more.
But I’m in his room now. His domain.
And it doesn’t give me any more answers than I had before.
