Page 9 of I Would Beg For You
The thought is a non-starter, even. I reach out and peel her hand from the armrest before wrapping her cold, tense fingers between both my palms.
“Eyes on me, Naomi.”
Chapter 4 Naomi
The voice reaches mefrom afar. I’m in a haze that’s making everything sound distant and out of reach, and instead of cottony and cozy, I feel like I am caught in the middle of a roiling thunderstorm and about to be a target for a lightning strike. Where and when the bolts will strike is anyone’s guess, so this has you more on edge, if that’s even possible.
It’s been a long time since anxiety got this debilitating for me. I usually had my Xanax which would knock me out for a couple hours—I should’ve taken two today. When I made this trip to Salt Lake four months ago, two pills made the trip a blissful nothingness. I awoke to a strong hand shaking me and the reek of ammonia in my nostrils. The stewardess used smelling salts to get me to wake up.
Humiliating, I know. But it got the job done.
How did I misplace my toiletries pouch with the pill bottle into my suitcase rather than my carry-on? Idiot me has no clue. You’d think I’d be on this, but no. And now, here I am paying the price.
My hands clench. But instead of wrapping around something cold and hard, my fingers tighten around something hard but warm, somewhat pliable, too.
I frown.
Someone is holding my hand? I always zone out when panic grabs me, the world around me fading away into a void waiting to engulf me whole.
Curiosity has always been one of my flaws, and I can’t resist. I squint my left eye open to catch a peep.
A blurry figure, like the silhouette of a bust. A man with dark, tousled hair. He looks familiar.
Where did I just see him?
With a jolt, it hits. Valentino. And inside my cocoon, a lightning bolt hits me as I lose my bearings in these treacherous interior surroundings. Why did I look?
Because it’s Valentino Andretti, and there’s never a situation when I willnotlook at him if I can.
“That’s it. Eyes on me, Naomi.”
Slowly, I bring my attention back to where I am. My sight adjusts as I relax my eyes, bringing his features into sharper focus with every second that passes.
Those blue eyes throw a sucker punch my way, and oof! I could drown in them.
Actually, yes—maybe it’s a good idea to look into his eyes, to lose myself there. Then I won’t remember I’m in a plane, thousands of feet in the air, suspended in a metal tube hurtling at great speed in the nothingness of the sky.
Nausea bubbles up my throat, and I swallow the excess saliva welling up.
“Come on, stay with me.”
The warmth on my left-hand disappears as he removes his large warm palm from on top to settle it firmly on my rightshoulder. I can feel the solid press there, the certainty he is trying to infuse in me.
I blink and try to focus on his beautiful blue eyes.
“That’s it. I’m here.”
And what the hell is that supposed to mean? If there’s one person who has never been there for me, it’s him. He trampled over my heart and then threw it away with his callous words.
The memory makes me flinch. I try to pull my hand back, but he won’t let me, his grip too strong.
“Trust me,” he adds.
Pain slashes through my chest. Oh, how I wish I could believe him.But you killed my heart, Valentino.
Val…
That’s what I called him that night. It’s what people close to him use to address him.
