Dahlia Wellburg hates her misery as much as she loves it. She sees herself as a stone: ordinary and unwanted. Yet, they know her to be a rose: soft, but with thorns.
. . .
Mature Content. Check the tags.
"Fuck money," I said. "And fuck you. And fuck your dad." I crossed my legs. "You're just a man, Evan. And I'm just a woman. There is nothing special about you. There is nothing special about me. Whatever you thought you loved in me, you can love in her. And I can love someone else, too. It's easy."
It wasn't easy. But saying words was easy.
He sighed, rubbing his hands on his face. "I'm not special for you?"
I smiled. "You were," I said. I put a hand on my upper stomach, feeling anxiety brewing. I shouldn't drink coffee. "You ruined them the second you chose money."
"He wouldn't have given me a penny, Dahlia. I would have nothing. You can't ask me to give that all up for just..."
For just you.
I stood. My legs were a bit shaky. My whole body felt weak.
"I know," I said. "But I'm not going to be your mistress. I'm not going to warm your bed while you take your wife to your stupid business parties. You know me, Evan."
Did he?
Did anyone truly know me?
. . .
Andros
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I didn't mean to park my car in front of a coffee shop, but as soon as I saw her car my hands worked without informing me. I parked the car beside hers and was just about to step out when I saw who she was there with.
Evan.
They had been together before he got married.
I was the one to arrange the marriage, but I wasn't the one who initially thought of this.
I watched as he took her hand into his, and my knuckles were white as my hands choked the steering wheel.
I prided myself to be a bit more level-headed than Hedeon and the Monet twins. But seeing her with him seemed to get a rise out of me that no one else ever could.
Why the fuck was I even attracted to her?
She was beautiful and complex in a way you don't notice at first glance. But everyone out there was complex. Why was this woman pulling all my strings? Why did she seem so special?
They talked for a bit, I saw anger flash her face and then she was marching out of the cafe. She was in a beautiful blue dress. Fucking hell. My hands itched to touch.
My eyes ran over her. Dahlia wasn't tall, at all. Everything she wore fit her as if it was made just for her. This dress was tight around her waist and flowed down those beautiful thighs my hands ached to touch again.
Hedeon had gotten to taste them, that lucky bastard.
As she neared her car, I lowered my window.
Her eyes fell on me and I watched, delighted, as her cheeks pinked. She tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, eyes inked with something dark but not black, looking at me as if she didn't quite know what to do with me.
I didn't know what to do with her either...
Well, I did know what I wanted to do with her. But there were other complications that I didn't want to address.
Like the warmth that flowed through me, caused by a single glance from her.
"Dahlia," I said.
"Andros." She walked closer. "Aren't you going to go in?"
"Here?"
She smiled. "To get coffee, that is what you are here for, aren't you?"
I'm here for you.
I shrugged and got out. Coffee it is.
"Would you like to accompany me?" I asked, extending a hand. "I won't like drinking coffee alone."
"I just had a cup," she said. "And..." She glanced at the cafe. Evan was watching me like a dog who got his favorite toy taken away.
I felt this urge to bash my first into his skull at least a dozen times. Wonder where that came from. I would have acted on it if I didn't have a pretty someone standing just feet away from me. And I could always indulge in my violent tendencies when Dahlia was tucked away in her little apartment, safe and unaware.
"And?" I asked.
"I do not want to look at my ex."
"And that is?" I asked.
"Evan," she mumbled, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her dress. "The one whose wedding Monet attended."
I walked closer to her, to fuck with Evan or to just be close to her, I don't know. I tilted my head to look into her eyes. My hand raised.
"May I?"
"What?"
"Touch your face, Dahlia."
She gave me a nod, and then seemed to remember what we said yesterday, and used her words. "Yes."
"Good girl."
That slipped out and I certainly did not regret it, not when her cheeks turned red. I cupped the side of her face with a hand, brushing my thumb on her cheekbone. "Can we have ice cream then, Dahlia?" I asked.
She closed her eyes as my face hovered closer. "I...I won't be a pleasant company today, Andros. I'm not feeling well."
I frowned. "Are you sick?"
She opened her eyes and stepped away from me. Her one hand lifted and pressed to her upper stomach. For a second she seemed so fragile that I wanted to pick her up. "Just... anxiety. It gets too much sometimes."
"Is there any way I can help?"
She shrugged. "I don't know."
"Would a hug help?"
"We can...we can try."
I pulled her into my arms, very aware that we had a bit of an audience looking at us from the cafe. This was a small town, and people had too much time on their hands.
But nothing in the whole world could have made me not embrace her at the moment.
I tucked her to my chest. Her body was shaking, just slightly. Her tiny hands grasped the flaps of my suit jacket as she made herself smaller. I set my chin on her head, rubbing her back in a way I hoped she found soothing.
The shaking subsided, and I couldn't help the feeling of happiness that I felt at that fact. I calmed her down.
