Page 79 of Don't Fall in Love

It’s a modern apartment, but it feels bare. The walls are stark white and the mahogany furniture looks, for the most part, unused.

His bathroom, on the other hand, is magnificent. White marble countertops line one wall, with his and hers sinks. One has men’s toiletries scattered around it—a razor, toothbrush, shaving cream etc. The other is bare.

A large walk in shower is on the opposite side of the room. In the middle of the room, with a perfect view of Manhattan, is a deep, white, double ended, free-standing bath and brushed brass faucet. I waste no time in going to the bath and running the water.

When the bath is nearly three quarters of the way full, I turn off the faucet and test the temperature of the water before I undress. Wrapping my arm in a plastic bag I brought with me, I ease myself into the piping hot water. Careful not to submerge my arm, I relax back. It feelssogood. The stress that seems to have hounded me these last few weeks, seeps out of me with every minute that passes.

“You look like you’re enjoying that.” His voice is like honey running over me.

When I look over at him, I find him leaning against the door jamb, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. His arms are folded over his broad chest, and I’ve never wanted him more.

A smirk graces his lips as he pushes away from the frame and practically stalks towards me. If I didn’t need my hair washing so badly, I’d stand up and beg him to carry me to his bed.

“Don’t look at me like that, princess.”

Slowly, I blink up at him as he stands tall above me.God, he’s handsome.We maintain eye contact as he undoes each button on his shirt, shrugging out of it when it falls open. When his hands drop to the buckle of his jeans, so do my eyes. I watch in rapt fascination as he strips from his jeans too.

In just his boxers, he stands next to the tub expectantly. “I’m going to need you to move so I can sit on the edge.” There’s a gruffness to his voice, as if he’s fighting his desire for me, just like I am with mine for him.

I do as he asks and move for him to step into the water. He sits on the edge and directs me to sit between his legs. My shampoo and conditioner are already lined up on the edge. He lifts the shower head from its cradle and turns on the faucet, testing the water before he runs it over my hair.

When he starts to shampoo my hair, I can’t help the little whimpers that slip from my lips as he massages my scalp.

“You’re so good at this.” I moan.

He chuckles, the water sloshing in the tub slightly. “Am I?”

“Yes. Have you had a lot of practice? Did you do this for your mom?”

As soon as the words leave my lips, I realize I don’t really know anything about his childhood.Like he doesn’t really know everything about me.

He doesn’t say a thing for the longest time. His fingers pausing for a fraction of a second is the only sign that something I’ve said has disrupted him.

His voice is the quietest I’ve ever heard it when he finally speaks. “I didn’t know my mum. I grew up in foster care.”

It’s my turn to freeze, staying as still as a statue, afraid that if I move, he might stop talking. Instead, I watch him in the reflection of the window, his focus on washing my hair.

“There wasn’t really anyone around who took care of me. Nobody wanted to have a three-year-old that’s constantly acting out.” He smirks at the memory. “I don’t know anything about my family because nobody else did. I had to look after myself. You’re the first person I’ve ever taken care of.”

Bastian rinses out the shampoo, the sound of running water the only noise in the room.

TWENTY-FOUR

Sebastian

Releasing the breath I’ve been holding since I stopped talking, I turn off the faucet, shrouding the room in silence. I’m not quite sure what possessed me to open up to her like this. Even my closest friends don’t know the intricacies of my childhood. Maybe it’s the last three weeks that we’ve spent together and the fact that I’ve spent nearly every night with her, but the words just came out before I could stop them.

My eyes connect with Alex’s in the reflection of the window. She turns to face me, her good hand resting on my knee, the diamond glistening under the lights, as she looks up into my eyes.

“Thank you for sharing that with me. I can’t even begin to imagine what you must have gone through, and I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

There’s no pity on her face, like I was expecting. Instead, there’s only empathy coating her words.

Of its own accord, my hand rises and pushes away a wet strand of her hair before cupping her cheek. Alex tips her head into my palm, wrapping her fingers around my wrist.

“My parents divorced when I was eleven. We were living out in Sacramento at the time, and my mom had cheated on my dad. I remember nights full of screaming matches between them, and how they tried to hide the ugliness from me. It’s hard to do that when you have an inquisitive child.”

I don’t say a word as I direct her to turn around and finish telling her story. She hands me the shampoo bottle again, her fingers lingering.

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