Soft || 18+ Reverse Harem ||

22 - vulnerability

"I appreciate your concern. None of this is your fault. It's me. It's me and my head. In winter, I collapse."

- Virginia Woolf
. . .

Dhalia

"While I did hope that you wouldn't resist coming with us, your lack of questions is starting to bother me."

Alexandre set his arms on the railing beside me, looking at the sea.

I didn't say anything. The night had fallen, and I didn't know what to do with myself. The ship was at the harbor. I had a feeling it was to start moving soon.

"Dahlia."

"Yes?"

"Your uncle was a good man."

"He worked for an organization that wants to kill my family. That doesn't give good man vibes."

"Every good man sometimes finds himself in bad situations. He never wanted to be there."

"He was forced?"

"Yes. The head of that organization had a weird fascination with him. Everything she made him do, he did not want it."

"What...what are you talking about?"

"Come with me. I need to give you something, and then we'll talk."

. . .

"What is this room?" It was tiny and beautiful.

Alexandre shut the door. "It's where I spent most of my time."

"Building...clocks?" The walls were covered with them, all sizes and all around. All of them looked to be out of an expensive antique shop. There was constant ticking in the room. It was somehow not overbearing.

"My grandfather used to do it." He took off his suit jacket and draped it on the chair behind the cluttered desk. "He had a shop in a small town in France. He proposed to my grandmother with a ring that had a clock in it."

I smiled. "That's cute."

He eyed my smile, his features softening. "Yes. It is. I'm not as good a clockmaker as my grandfather was, but I like to try."

I looked at the walls. "Is it hard?"

"It requires patience and sturdy hands."

"I don't have either of those."

I walked to a small clock on the wall. It looked to be a Victorian clock. The Roman numerals looked to be hand-painted.

"Do you make every part?" I asked.

"I do. It doesn't feel like it's mine if I don't own every piece of it." Alexandre opened a drawer and pulled out a tiny black box. He set it on his desk. "I have something for you."

"What is it?"

"See it for yourself, Dahlia."

He slid the box over the desk towards me. I picked it up and opened it.

"I couldn't give you anything for your birthday, because I was a stranger. But now, I'd like to think we know each other enough for me to be able to give you a birthday gift."

"It's..." It was a necklace. A little clock hung from a dark chain. It was beautiful and delicate. It didn't have any sound, which was good because if it had I wouldn't have been able to wear it. It was a tinier version of the clock I had been looking at. "It's beautiful, Alexandre. But I can't accept it."

"Why?" He sat on his chair. "It was made with you in mind, Dahlia. A clock needs its owner."

"I'm its owner?"