With Hands to Hold | ✔

|10|

Vincent had arranged for Spiraea to meet his family over dinner, the day had been set for the end of the week.

The days passed faster than Spiraea had time to blink, and the dreaded family dinner was not only a day away. Spiraea had been stressed about it in the few days that had already passed. The only consolation that she felt was that Vincent had arranged for the evening to take place at their home, so the girl would have some control and feel somewhat comfortable.

Vincent could tell that the girl was anxious, but all his efforts to comfort her didn't seem to help. He had tried to help her with her prep in the kitchen, but judging by all her huffing and sighing she was not impressed with any of his dicing skills.

He also tried to quell her fear by giving her some information about his family; his father, since retiring as Alpha when he wasn't offering Vincent his council was an artist. He loved to paint and draw anything he could, his absolute favourites were portraits of the people he loved. His Mother was a keen gardener, she had often spent her time whilst she was Luna, tending to the pack's fields where they grew most of their own produce. He even told her all about his brother and niece who would also be joining the evening.

He wanted to convince her that they were gentle and loving people, and that she had nothing t worry about. He knew that she had terrible experiences with Werewolves in the past, but he wanted her to know that not all of the were monsters, even if they did have literal beasts within.

Spiraea hadn't really listened to what Vincent was trying to tell her. That is to say she tried, but somewhere along the line she got distracted by him- he glowed so much talking about his family. It was obvious that he loved and cared deeply for them, it was endearing.

The girl found herself wishing that she had fond memories of her own family, but unfortunately the past had not been so kind to her. It was a sour pill to swallow, knowing that she would never have the picture perfect lifestyle that Vincent probably did and it made her feel itchy on the inside.

She hadn't felt that way before, it was mostly a sadness, but there was something more- an emptiness, a longing, a void that she wished could be filled. The girl thought herself rather silly, why would she be upset over something she never really had? How could she feel that bitter way towards Vincent? Why did she care that she did?

Then she found herself being silly for a completely different reason. Why was she still in denial about the way that she felt? He was always kind, patient and gentle with her, he had proved numerous times that he wanted what was best for her and he made her feel good. She liked how he made her feel, so what was her problem?

It dawned on her there, as she watched him talk with the most brilliant smile on his face, that she did like him. She liked the sound of voice, the sparks he ignited with his touch, and the way he held her carefully in his calloused hands. She liked the small details of his face- the small cut above his dark sullen brow, his sharp nose, chin and cheekbones, she loved his laugh.

She liked him a lot, far more than she had ever liked anyone before. He had a way of making her feel things, things she hadn't felt before and didn't know how to deal with- it was conflicting for her. He managed to fill her, giving to her until she could take no more, only he didn't stop giving.

He was unselfish, respectful and thoughtful in ways that nobody else had ever been.

It was terrifying.

She felt as though she were standing on top of a cliff, staring into an inky abyss below with no idea of what would greet her if she fell. It was intense and her realisation was enough to knock her breathless. She felt as if she was being consumed by him and just needed to get away.