I was able to separate the gems—put them in their own folder so they’re no longer tarnished by the dirt and other rocks. Now their beauty shines without obscurity.
With each photo I look at, something opens inside me. Something I don’t understand, nor do I want to. But it has everything to do with Grace. Knowing she’s not going anywhere until we find Ian sends a worryingtwinge through my chest, and I struggle to figure out how I’m going to stay in the same penthouse without doing something I absolutely shouldn’t do.
Another hard pull of whiskey buries my awareness of such things, but only just, like a thin veil rippling in the wind, waiting for what’s underneath to break through.
How could these images that leave me breathless be taken by the same person whose other photos twist my stomach? They’re total opposites in nature, and yet they’re allher. Why is it that I can’t see what Easton sees? Sure, I know she’s hiding shit, but he’s convinced she’s working with someone else, yet every time I’m around her, I get the sense she’s runningawayfrom something or someone.
I drain the rest of my glass and grab what I need before leaving the safety of my office.
Grace sits in the lounge, Shadow not far away, as seems to be the case since she arrived. They maintain a comfortable distance from each other, but after her reaction yesterday, I’m surprised she even lets him this close.
She turns my way when I draw nearer to her, but when she sees what’s in my hand, she jumps up from the couch, the blanket falling to the floor around her as she favours her good ankle.
I stop in front of her, far enough there’s still distance between us, but close enough to touch if I reached for her. Her cream knitted jumper hangs part way down her thighs and is at least a size too big.
“My camera,” she breathes, her eyes fixed on the offending object before focusing on me.
My thoughts are muddled, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol I’ve consumed. I don’t even know my plan until I’m extending my arm, the thing that started all of this cradled in my palm.
Grace’s gaze flicks between mine and the camera in my hand, but she doesn’t make any immediate moves to take it. I don’t say anything, leaving my arm outstretched until she slowly reaches for it. She keeps her eyes locked on mine the whole time, and I can feel myself being pulled into them again.
When the device is safely in her hands, only then does she break the connection, but the hopefulness I’d seen in her eyes dims as soon as she sees the extent of the damage. After she turns something on the top and the same sounds I’d heard when I first turned it on fill the silence between us, her expression falls even more.
It should be satisfying that I’m finally getting a look behind the iron mask she wears, but the pain on her face just serves to punch me right in the gut. The images I’d found filter back through my head, and a pang of guilt hits me, knowing she can’t use the thing, even though none of it is my fault.
Grace flicks the camera off again and turns it over in her hands, brushing her fingertips over the cracked lens as her shoulders slump and her mouth turns down before moving to the side of the camera.
“Who’s the girl?” The question slips out before I can stop it, and Grace’s head flies up, piercing me with that blue stare.
Her brows pull together in confusion before her eyes widen as understanding dawns on her, and she continues flicking open the compartment she’d been fiddling with—the one now missing a memory card.
Grace swallows, and I can feel her closing up.
I don’t know what I was thinking coming out here or giving back the camera that was used tostalk me.
This is ridiculous.
If I’m going to make it through this, I need to sort out the mess in my head. I can’t let misplaced sympathy or unwanted desires distract me and stop me from doing what needs to be done. Ready to escape to my office, I take half a step back.
“The girl I wish I was.”
The soft words halt my escape, and all my attention falls on her.
I’m equally surprised that she responded and by the strength in her words, despite their quiet nature. But there’s also something hidden underneath them—a vulnerability crawling just beneath the surface but not quite close enough to reach.
What does she mean by that?
I wish I could rip off her mask and see every secret hiding beneath, no matter how raw and bloody they may be. So many questions gather on the tip of my tongue, but none of them fall while I wait to see if she’ll say any more.
Minutes pass in silence as I wait, and when she finally looks up at me, her mask is still in place, but her eyes shine with tears she doesn’t let fall, and my chest aches at the sight.
“She’s no one. The girl… just a representation of everything I missed out on.” She looks away, twisting her fingers around the sleeve of her knit. “My mum wasn’t there to take me to the park and pick flowers with me. I don’t remember what it was like to be hugged by her.” She blinks, wiping away a rogue tear with her fist in a move that’s almost aggressive, and it’s one of the few times I’ve seen her control of her emotions falter. “She’s buried in the dirt, and I don’t even remember what she looked like other than from an old photograph taken years before I was born.” Her face twists, and several tears seep through her lashes.
My cold heart cracks with her words as my insides twist at the reveal, and I try not to let thoughts of my birth mother consume me—the mother who left me and never came back.
As much as I try to hold myself still, my body resists, and I close the space between us, not giving a shit about all the stuff I haven’t figured out. I lean down and cradle her face in my hands, running my thumbs under her eyes to catch any of the fallen drops. Like they will somehow reveal her secrets to me, I let them soak into my skin, absorbing as much of the liquid as I can.
Her breathing stutters at the unexpected contact, and her blue stare holds mine. With every exhale, her warm breath kisses my lips, a sweet torture I can’t make myself move away from.
I shouldn’t be this close to her. I shouldn’t betouchingher like this. But now that I’ve started, I don’t know how to stop.
Grace shifts slightly, and the next second, her lips are pressing into mine. So soft and subtle, I’m sure I am imagining it. My muscles tense as I’m bombarded with a wash of emotion. But before I can react, she pulls away, and my hands fall from her face.
She winces, dipping her chin, and I know she’s about to run. Before I can even think twice about what I’m about to do, I slam my mouth to hers, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck to support the assault.
Grace gasps into my mouth, and I use the moment to slip my tongue inside her, tasting and savouring. She tentatively moves her tongue against mine, her movements unsure but curious, and I groan into her, letting myself drown with no way back to the surface.