Page 49 of My Dark Divine
He turns back to me, and I hold my breath, trying to avoid the blend of scents surrounding us—a cocktail of sweat and something metallic. “I don’t want you to become an addict or anything,” he begins, “but these are less likely to hook you. Theycan help you relax, so it won’t feel so painful for you. What do you think?”
Hope sparks inside me as I ponder the offer. I’d do anything to finally let my anxious mind and body relax so I could give him what he wants like a normal woman, and maybe even enjoy the experience. “It sounds good. I’m just scared if?—”
He uncaps the bottle and spills a few small white pills into his palm. They’re so tiny that I can swallow them without water. “We can try again,” he suggests, extending the pills toward me.
I reassure myself that I won’t get addicted. If there was any risk, Zayden wouldn’t offer them to me. I know he wouldn’t—he loves me and truly wants to help me feel better.
So I place them on my tongue, tilt my head back, and swallow them all at once. Slowly, the shame eases its grip on me, and my muscles begin to relax. My eyelids grow heavy, and I close my eyes.
The looming shadow of him is the last thing I see before the void envelops me completely.
The sun’s golden rays caress the veranda, bathing the space in warmth and adding to the eternal atmosphere. Surprisingly, there’s no one else around, giving us the chance to fully savor it. Not that we care much right now. We’re both starving, our eyes glued to the menu before us.
A gust of morning wind whips past, making me shiver as goosebumps rise on my bare shoulders. Fuck this dress with its cuts. I knew I should’ve grabbed my blazer, but I was so preoccupied with West’s behavior that I completely forgot.
When he raises his hand to signal the waiter, my mind spins with confusion. “I haven’t decided yet?—”
He cuts me off by shaking his head at me, and I watch in silence as the waiter approaches, a wide, practiced smile onhis face. “Get a blanket for my lady, please,” West says, nearly causing me to choke on my breath.
My lady?
“Will bring it right away,” the waiter replies before turning on his heel and heading back inside.
“How did you—” I trail off, unsure which question to ask first. How did he know I was cold? Or why did he call me his lady?
“You’re shaking like a leaf,” he states casually. “I’m not fucking blind, Venetia.”
He tries to project his usual self—full of arrogance and cockiness that makes me want to slap him—but right now, it amuses me more than it annoys me.
“Thanks,” I reply, slapping the menu down on the wooden table. “Very thoughtful of you.”
He ignores me, and though he wears those huge sunglasses, I can feel his gaze on me. I want to shift my attention to our surroundings—the beautiful landscapes framing the restaurant—anything to distract myself. But I can’t, because he occupies the entire space. He sits opposite me, one arm draped over the back of his seat, a smirk playing on his lips, and I know—I fucking know—he’s reliving the memory of last night.
Dozens of unoccupied tables surround us, plenty of space to move, yet I feel like wherever I go, his gaze will pierce right through me. He’s everywhere, with the sole purpose of draining the life out of me. He doesn’t even need to say a word, his presence is powerful enough.
Just as I feel like I’m about to explode, the waiter returns. Mumbling a “Thank you,” I reach for the blanket in his hands, but he pulls it back, unfolding it and gently wrapping it around my shoulders instead.
I avoid looking at West, but out of the corner of my eye, I catch the hard intake of his breath and feel the tension coiling inhis body. I bite my lower lip to suppress the smirk threatening to break across my face.
“That’s enough,” he barks, waving a hand at the poor waiter, who flinches at the command. “Stop fucking touching her. She can rearrange it however she wants.”
“Oh, I was just?—”
“I don’t care what you‘were,’” he interrupts, his tone mimicking the waiter’s, his hands flying around to express his irritation. “Hands off her.”
“Stop being a caveman,” I say, my voice dangerously soft as I look up at the bewildered guy. “Can I get a carbonara, please?”
He swallows hard, licking his lips as his eyes flick between me and West, who’s now drilling me with his gaze. “S-sure. Is that all?”
“I’ll have a steak,” the asshole says. “Whatever it’s called here. And get my lady a chocolate fondant for dessert.”
I’m left speechless as I watch the waiter disappear into the building, my smirk fading entirely. Silence falls heavily between us, and I hesitate to turn my gaze back to him.
“How the fuck do you know that?” I ask, my tone dripping with defiance when I finally muster the courage to utter the words.
“Know what?”
Anger flickers to life inside me, and as I fidget in my seat, a strange, comforting warmth spreads through my body. “Don’t play dumb, West. How the fuck do you know what my favorite dessert is?”
