Page 8 of The Dark Obsession

He smiles as he leads me into a dining room. “Hungry?” He points to the circular white table where he has made omelettes, bacon, and toasted bread.

“Yeah, sure.” I don’t feel hungry, but I sit opposite him and nibble on the food whilst the butterflies in my stomach flutter furiously.

“As always, you look beautiful, Rosa.” He smiles, then focuses on my face to see my response.

I take a deep breath and smile sweetly, suddenly becoming extra interested in my bacon.

“Sorry I’m not dressed up.” He blushes. “I got a bit carried away trying to make decent omelettes.”

“They are delicious,” I say, my second lie this morning; the eggs were way too salty. I place my knife and fork down together, hoping he notices and doesn’t mind I’ve left most of my food on my plate. I feel quite happy that I wasn’t hungry to begin with.

“Come into the garden with me.” He stands. “It’s not exactly warm outside, but it is dry.” He walks around to me and offers me his hand.

We walk hand-in-hand through two large glass double doors. A whisper of wind blows through the many trees as we enter a beautiful garden. A small black stone fountain of a fish sits neatly in the middle of a colourful Iris flower patch.

“Tell me about your family,” I say, gaining confidence as we walk farther from his house and deeper into his territory.

I stare around in amazement at the quiet and serene garden. It’s almost impossible to believe he was so close to the centre of the small town. The only giveaway is the gentle sound of cars—the wonders of the countryside.

“There’s not much to tell, really. You tell me about yours.” He shrugs with a smirk.

“I asked first. Besides, my family is not that interesting.” I nudge him, grinning.

“No, I told you I wanted to know everything about you.” He wraps his arm around me.

I lean into him, and his hand tightens on my shoulder. Though I’m not looking at him, I can feel his triumphant grin.

“My mom is an estate agent; she’s always too busy with her work.” I face him, and his concentration on my words surprises me. “My dad is a retired lawyer. I’ve spent a lot more time with him. They live in London, but my brother and I prefer it here.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Sometimes, just depends, I guess. My mom is a handful.” I laugh. “Missing someone, is there much point? All that heartache and sadness, all for an illusion, after all, they’re still here and alive.”

“Yesterday, I noticed you said you haven’t been intimate for a while. How long?” He stops walking, his eyes focusing on mine.

I chuckle, my eyebrows rising as high as I can get them.

He smiles a deep-dimpled smile, his cheeks glowing pink.

“About one year, not too long. Well, it’s long enough, but I asked you a question about your family.” I frown. “Don’t change the subject.”

He sighs and runs his pale fingers through his shining hair. “My father was a brilliant cardiologist, but also a very violent man when he didn’t get what he wanted. Nearing the end of his days, he became a drunk, but I’m pretty sure he was always a drunk. My mother was a beautiful, sweet woman. She had white-blond hair and light-blue eyes, always had so much love to give.” He takes a deep breath, and with my hand, he directs me to a little wooden bench under a large willow tree.

The sun’s weak heat splays across my cold face.

“My mother left when I was eight; she just disappeared.” He shrugs and lowers his eyes to the ground.

The pain in his voice causes a hard lump to form in my throat. I put my hand on his shoulder, not muttering a word, because I know nothing I can say will make it better. “Come, let’s walk some more.”

He regards me with his dark eyes and shakes his head. “My father sent me to live with my aunt the day my mother left. I just remember him as tall and broad, dark hair with dark eyes. I got this house when he passed away.” He flashes a grim smile. “I never saw him again, except in my dreams.”

A shiver runs down my spine as I use his hand to tug him into standing.

He squeezes my hand. “Sorry. As a rule, I usually don’t tell people about my life.”

“It’s good to talk.”

We head back towards his house. The cool wind blusters, and the gentle bird’s song vanishes.

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