Thirty-Seven
Leo
Before the trip, Shane had pulled Leo aside to express in a solemn way, “Be sure to enjoy your time away, Leo, and…rein back on your fixation with that girl.”
Leo knew what he meant. He’d heard it enough times from Shane that he didn’t need repeating. According to his bodyguard, Leo drifted into a distant state when he was with Skye. Shane described it in full. “You look…enchanted, and not in a good way.”
And was he enchanted?
Yes.
And did it look mad?
Also, yes.
Leo wasn’t always aware of it, but he did find himself “drifting” around Skye. These moments consisted of him staring fixedly at her, watching her every move. If he wasn’t with her, if she didn’t occasionally turn to press a kiss against his lips, it would have looked absolutely sinister.
Then again, perhaps his emotions were sinister.
The more he had her to himself, the more he felt it wasn’t enough. He needed more, but what was more? She was here for the purpose of being with him for half of the year, and yet…the more he watched her, the more his body felt inflamed with heat and…what felt akin to a sickness.
Skye had infected him, and the only cure seemed to be her touch. Was that even possible, to have what made you fall sick be the only remedy to cure it? Was this love, or addiction, or were they both the same thing?
Everything remained the same around him, and yet he felt he was collapsing internally. The need to put order in everything, the need to fix one problem after the next until it came at him like a mad itch—
Leo wasn’t sure what was happening within him, and he didn’t really care. Not when he could sit back and watch her move about, his eyes focused on the rise and fall of her chest, at her waist-length hair, at the look in her eye when she fell into quietness, thinking—
He needed to know her every thought, her every desire, herevery fucking thing.
“Pull back before it gets worse,” Shane would say in these moments. “Before you fall, Leo.”
But Leo was already falling.
He could not pull back.
*
They spent two months on the white sandy beaches with the large sun beating down on Skye. He’d never seen her so happy. Not enamoured by the tourist thrills, she went to town, experiencing everyday life with the locals.
She didn’t want fine dining.
She didn’t want to shop for clothes, or expensive jewellery.
She didn’t even take pictures of their stay on the islands.
Skye wasn’t that kind of girl.
She shrank back around the wealthy, looking uncertain and reserved. The people in Leo’s world flocked to this island, so bumping into familiar faces was not unusual.
“They don’t bite,” Leo assured her with a smile after they’d crossed paths with a middle-aged couple he knew well. They had been walking the cobblestone path overlooking the ocean. The Galloways were not part of the High Table, but close ties that provided resources for those in power. They weren’t snobby per say, but they did glance fleetingly at Skye like she was a temporary whore on the arm of an elite. Leo had kept it brief; their exchange was mindless chatter before they carried on their own ways.
“Honestly,” he emphasized, repeating, “They don’t bite, sweetness.”
Skye simply smiled, saying nothing. Her expression said enough: she did not feel welcome.
“Tell me,” Leo urged.
“I definitely don’t fit in,” Skye admitted. “I felt invisible.”