Page 98 of Luxe

She frowns, "I'm a heathen for not having seen a movie about a prostitute? You've got things twisted a little bit."

"I'm hurt. I’ll have you know it’s just a modern retelling of Pygmalion and a saucier version of My Fair Lady, without the singing.”

The conversation distracted her a bit from whatever is going on in her head but when I look over, she’s biting her nails, something I haven’t seen her do once.

I turn into the valet bay and reach over and take her hands in mine. "Hey. Whatever is going on with you, and I know something is, you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m here and when you’re ready. I want you to tell me, okay? Nod if you understand.”

A swallow and nod, but it's clear she's not ready to get out of the car yet.

So I wait. I wait until she is ready and not a minute sooner.

Eventually she takes a deep, deep breath and pushes the air out in long, slow exhale.

"Ready?"

She nods. "Ready."

I jump out of the car and jog over to her side, opening the door for her. She climbs out in her leggings and my T-shirt. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, no make up. She looks five years younger, smaller; I wonder if it's fear that's shrinking her, and my heart aches for the way she looks so lost.

How could there have been such a big difference in the last thirty minutes that I barely recognize her. She stands by the curb as I grab her things and drop them at the feet of the doorman. "Could you organize for someone to bring these things up for Miss Kiara, please?"

"Of course, sir," he says, glancing at her, concern painting itself on his face.

"Thank you, she's just not feeling too well."

I take her hand and lead her into the elevator. She follows, eyes trained at a spot somewhere on the floor but not really looking at it.

It takes everything I have in me not to shake her, demanding to know what's going on with her, why she looks so lost that if I asked her name, she wouldn't know what it was.

"Come in, Kiki, we're here," I prompt her when the elevator doors and she doesn't follow me out even though I'm gently tugging on her arm.

She blinks and then looks in my direction, but right through me, before her feet shuffle out.

The living room is bathed in a harsh midday light, but it's still the best place for her, so I lead her to the couch as I feel her slipping away a little more with every step.

"Come here, sit down, I'll get you a blanket." I move to drop her hand but she grips it, grabbing onto my forearm with her other one.

"No, please,” she says, her voice drenched in fear, and it cuts me like a scythe right through the heart. "Don't go. Please!"

My knees bend, dropping down on the floor in front of her, gripping her hands in mine. "Hey. Hey... it's okay. I'm not going anywhere, okay?" I bracket her chin forcing her panicked face to look right at me. "I'm right here, angel. I'm right here."

Like a deer in headlights, her eyes widen and she freezes.

Then, almost in slow motion, every inch of her face starts to fall, crumbling, right in front of me. And tears come. One after the other. Streaming like two waterfalls over her cheeks and down her jaw, darkening the T-shirt when they fall.

But it's not the tears that worry me.

It's the way she's completely silent.

No sobs, no whimpers, no screams; as if sound has died in her throat.

"Kiara, angel, Kiara, I'm here. I'm here."

Her head bumps up against my chest as I pull her into me, one arm around her front, the other wrapped around her back, squeezing her tight, grounding her to me.

She cries for what feels like hours.

Until the sun is a falling fireball on the horizon bathing us in a burnt orange light.

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