Page 10 of August and the Night

The drive back home is calm, still, my heartbeats won’t quite down at being in such close proximity to her. My days in foster care taught me just how much trust it requires to sleep in the presence of someone else. Seeing her sleep so peacefully in my presence, as if she trusts me fully to not only protect her but to not hurt her as well, does something to my heart that I am not fond of.

I park in front of my home and exit the car before heading to her car door, opening it, and carrying her inside. I see the things I asked John for on my doorstep, and I bend down to get the bag before struggling slightly to open the door.

Once inside, I hear some chirps from the birds in the enclosure, and I can’t help the smile that draws itself on my face at the welcoming sound. I carry her up the stairs before I put her on the bed in the guest bedroom.

There is no one in the house but me, so I change her out of her dress myself. Making sure I don’t look or touch more than necessary, I was a scarred man, yes, but a rapist I was not. I get the cotton pads from the bag and douse them in the makeup remover John brought.

I gently wipe her face of the makeup and marvel at her beautiful features. She moans slightly before opening her eyes; she studies me, so much warmth in her eyes that it scares me. “Thank you,” she mumbles before falling asleep again, nuzzling my hand on her face that is still removing her mascara, and I pretend like that didn’t set off a fire in my chest as I walk out of the room and go to mine.

11

Layla

I wake up with a pounding headache, sitting up on the soft bed sheets. I look around, and I realize I'm not in my room. Panic floods me momentarily before bits and pieces of memories from last night come flooding into my head. I groan, burying my head in the fluffy pillow below me and letting out a quiet scream. I literally made a fool of myself in front of August; the poor man had to carry me home.

I get up from the bed and notice that my dress is folded neatly on the vanity with my purse on top of it. Immediately, I look down at myself and see that I am dressed in satin pajamas. I feel my face warm at the fact that August, or the housekeeper if he has one, undressed me, but I am still grateful for the consideration, though. But I would rather die than bring this up; I am just going to avoid the awkwardness.

I take steps to the in-room bathroom and head to the sink. I expect to see a hot mess of melted makeup on my skin, but to my surprise, my face has been cleaned. I see a brand new toothbrush on the counter and take it out of the packaging, proceeding to brush my teeth. I truly do not know how I am going to be a functional person today; I feel like death.

I finish my morning routine as best as I could in an unfamiliar space and go to fetch my phone. I need to call Lily and apologize. I put her through so much stress. I fetch my phone from my purse, and I see a lot of messages from Lily that I didn’t answer due to me being asleep. I can tell that I worried her shitless, and I feel guilt plague me.

I call her, and she answers immediately on the first ring, “Please tell me you’re okay, Layla.” Her worried voice, seemingly on the verge of tears, carries across the line.

“I’m so sorry, Lily. I just wanted to try something new." I tell her, hoping that she would feel my guilt over the phone.

“Don’t apologize, I know. Just please tell me you’re okay.” She says softly, and I quickly reassure her, “I am okay, Lily, I promise. I just have a stifling headache, but I’ll live.”

“I will have John send you Ibuprofen and a change of clothes so you can go to the university from August’s house and won’t be late. He should be there in fifteen minutes tops. Bless that man for all he covers for us.” She says, and I do not fail to notice how her voice sounds…empty.

“Thank you. Lily, I am sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable situation with father. I truly did not intend for this to happen.” I tell her, trying to explain the situation, but she cuts me off quickly, “It’s okay, Layla. I resolved the issue, and we will talk when you get back to the house.” She says, and I feel my heart breaking. Why does her voice sound so empty? I push my worries aside and bid her goodbye as she hangs up the phone.

I sit on the bed and put my head between my hands. I know that she isn’t angry, but I am worried for her. She sounded soulless, not the usual lively Lily I know. The worry makes my headache so much worse, and I groan as I massage it.

Suddenly, I hear someone clear his throat, and I look at the doorway to see August. Good Lord, he looks so good. He is only wearing pajama pants and he is shirtless, his body lined with pure muscles covered by a dusting of hair, and I can’t help but stare. The man is huge, a wall of nothing but solid muscles. His pants are hanging low on his hips, showing his V-line, and I have to swallow repeatedly from how much I am salivating. Lord have mercy.

“How are you feeling?” He asks me, and I tell him that I am okay and just struggling with a headache. He nods with sympathy before taking a couple of steps towards me and saying, “I made breakfast, come on, have some food so that you can take ibuprofen.”

“You made breakfast?” I ask him, confused. I thought he had chefs who cooked for him like we did. He doesn’t look like the type to cook. He must have noticed the confused look on my face because something in his expression hardened.

“Yes, I like my privacy. If there is something that I have the time to do myself, I do myself.” He tells me, his voice devoid of its previous softness. “Oh no, I just meant that you didn’t look like the type to cook.” I quickly reassure him. Great, now he probably thinks that I am a spoilt little brat that expects help to be in every corner of the house.

“Why do you think that I am not the type to cook?” He asks, his brows furrowed. I feel my cheeks heat before I respond, “Well, you’re handsome, successful, and also a gentleman. It doesn’t feel right that you can also cook. Nobody can be that perfect.”

He throws his head back and laughs wholeheartedly, and I watch, transfixed. There is something about this man that pulls me in; he makes me feel safe and happy. I am not going to deny that I am falling hard for him. I always thought that I would never find love; I never even had a crush on anyone before him, but it feels like all those emotions that have been unfelt for years are now manifesting in him.

“Come on, let's eat.” He tells me and starts taking steps out of the room. I follow him, studying the interior of his home. It is gorgeous, even more than our own house that our father spent millions on. This man just has good taste. We take the stairs to the kitchen where August has put an array of different plates on the table. The smell is delicious, and each plate looks better than the other, but what really draws my attention is the singular red rose placed in the middle of the table, and a smile instantly draws itself on my face. August puts effort into everything he does, and everything he does, he does it perfectly.

He moves the chair for me before we sit down to eat, and I smile graciously at him. Throughout our meal, I keep hearing beautiful bird sounds, but I just thought they came from the garden. But with every passing bite of the delicious pancakes, the noises get louder and louder.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” August asks when he sees me completely transfixed by the noise, and I nod, fearing to speak and interrupt the melody.

“I will show you where it comes from after you finish your food.” He tells me, and I immediately drop the fork I had been using to eat on the plate and signal to him that I am done eating.

He shakes his head with a smile before feeding me a couple of bites of eggs. He seems to have an obsession with making sure that I eat well, and I am positive that I will gain so much weight if he keeps feeding me more every time I say that I am full.

I hold his hand when he tries to feed me one more bite, and he grunts displeased but tilts his head for me to get out of the chair and follow him, and I do so gladly.

We walk through the house, passing through a beautiful living room with glass walls all around, showing the view of the garden and the pool outside, and I stand against one of the glasses just staring at the beautiful garden and the serenity of it all. I don’t fail to notice that the noises of the birds are much stronger here, and when I tilt my head to search for the source, I see a huge white enclosure gated with crafted metal, with lots of different birds flying around in the large space. Glass makes up the walls of the birdhouse, giving it a mythical hue. I gasp, taking rushed steps towards the enclosure, sure that my eyes are as round as saucers as I watch the birds interacting together. He stands next to me, his face seemingly searching my features for my reaction before smiling, clearly liking what is written on my face.

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