Edited.
I stood in silence, watching as he lifted a glass of red to his mouth. His sleeves were rolled up while he appeared to work on the meal for the night: steaks and salad. It smelled of rosemary and butter. The kitchen was spacious, with black finish countertops and dark wooden cupboards and drawers. A big island stood in the center, and a paper-wrapped bouquet of colorful flowers lay on the counter.
He didn't turn around; the music was so loud he probably didn't hear us enter the house. I hesitated to speak or do anything; his presence was too overwhelming, too certain of itself. Gathering my resolve after standing there like a bloody idiot staring at his back, I finally tried. "Hello." He didn't seem to hear it. Taking a step further I reached the kitchen island, I tried again, "hello." The song reached it's peak, growing louder. Palming the counter, letting my hand slide over the slick wood I moved closer, hoping to catch his attention. At, last he turned his head, and grey silver eyes met mine, the most beautiful man I had ever laid my eyes on looked at me as if he saw a ghost.
A loud shattering.
Red wine bled over the floor.
"Oh, shit," I gasped, and held his probing stare at me. His gaze slowly made its way down my body to the mess at our feet. Without a word, I moved to clean up the mess, feeling the weight of his gaze upon me. "I'm sorry," I said, on my knees before him picking up the shattered pieces stained with wine.
"Leave it, you'll cut yourself," he said in a low, dark voice unlike any I had heard before. I glanced up at him, again struck by his intense gaze, no hint of a smile on his mouth. Like a stupid fool I didn't move, I just stared back at him with sharp glass in my hands. "Emilia," he said my name, and I looked up again. "You will cut yourself." My eyes traveled down his imposing frame, ending with the bulge on his pants. Was he hard? Meeting his gaze once more. He cleared his throat, and I instinctively stepped back. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from him, his assessing me. With his hands in his pockets, he seemed to tower over me, and I felt like an ant compared to him. The guys I grew up with at the institution wasn't built like this. He was shaved clean, black hair neatly combed to the side. He looked like some mafia member from Italy in the 1970s. There was something old about him, in the way he held himself. Eyes so grey they looked like rainy clouds, and his mouth, that was a different story. The most handsome man I had ever laid my eyes on. The picture I had found online didn't do him any justice, and it didn't come close to reality, at all.
This was Henry Salvatore.
I might had fallen in love at first sight and almost forgotten who I came here with, Atticus.
"You are bleeding." He looked at my hand, which I now noticed was cut. All I could focus on, however, was the man who was now hunched down before me, cleaning up the wine and glass I had made him drop. Silence drummed in my ears as I stood frozen and watched, until he finished and gestured for me to walk out of the kitchen. I realized I was breathing heavily and took one slow breath. My cheeks heated. I wanted to slap myself in the face to make my body calm down.
Get it together, Emilia. It is just a man.
"Bathroom to the right," he said, walking right behind me. I let him lead me through two open double doors, into a big dining room with an oval table and chairs for ten table. I hoped they hadn't invited many people over. We walked into a dark hallway and inside a bathroom, alone with him.
Fuck this shit.
He was silent as I watched him open the cabinet and began to take out supplies. The bathroom was simple and clean, it was most likely the guest bathroom. It had a toilet, which he had placed me on the lid. Dark marble floors continued seamlessly up the walls. He was still kind of hard; the bulge on his pants was visible, or it was just that big. I noticed him looking at me and where my eyes went, my cheeks instantly heated. Get it together. He wetted a cloth and reached for my hand, and as his touch ignited a fiery sensation in my body, he said, "I'm Henry Salvatore." I stared at his perfectly sculpted bronzed hands. "Emilia?" he asked. I looked straight up into those grey eyes again, my stomach churning. "Don't you speak?" His tone was harsher now. I frowned, staring at our joined hands as he patted away the blood. I swallowed.
"I speak," I managed, my throat feeling dry. "I'm sorry for startling you."
"Hmm," he replied, fetching a small bandage and placing it on my finger. I felt bloody foolish. All I wanted was to leave this house and never look back. I dared to look at his face again, his eyes already on me, sending a chill down my spine. I didn't know what to make of this person before me; he was unlike anyone I had encountered before, and I couldn't read him. Neither could I muster up a single word to say. As he let my hand go, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, realizing I had been holding my breath. He placed his hands in his pockets, sitting below him as he towered over me, I felt like nothing. Like I had no power. I hated it.
"Why are your knuckles bruised?" He looked at my other hand, now noticing the bruises and cuts. I cleared my throat. "I got into a fight," I said, trying to joke away the dark wind growing inside of me. But there was still no hint of a smile on his face, only a tightly clenched jaw. I dropped my gaze away from his penetrating stare.
"And the real story?" He asked as we made our way back to the kitchen.
"A man wasn't pleased with my rejection. He scraped my car after I punched him in the face a few times," I replied, glancing over my shoulder, regretting it was he looked right back into my eyes. That man had no chill.
"I see," he replied short. I rubbed my hand, still feeling the tingling sensation where his hands had been. Henry strode past me and checked on the steaks in the oven. Afterward, he leaned on the counter, facing me. I had placed myself as far away from him as possible and let the kitchen island divide us. I watched him intently as he picked up a glass of wine from the cupboard and filled it with wine, then filled another glass. He stepped forward and slid it over the island towards me.
"Thank you," I said, earning a slight nod from him. I took a deep sip, trying to calm my nerves. My heart was racing, and I wondered if he could hear it too.
Silence fell, and I didn't know what to do with myself. I looked around, behind me, eventually I ran out of placed to look. Eventually, my gaze fell back to the man whose eyes were fixated on me. I couldn't tell if he looked at me with distaste or interest. Another deep breath. His jaw clenched, folding his arms over his chest. "You are a student of mine," he said, his tone harsh. I flinched, his words hitting me like a slap in the face. "Do you think it wise to fraternize with your professor, Emilia?" He uttered my name like a curse, and I felt surge of anger and resentment towards him.
"No, Atticus didn't tell me," I said. He never told me. I figured that all on my own, something neither of them needed to know. They were on my suspect list, and his demeanor made him more of a suspect. "Let's not pretend you don't get the list of students who was accepted into your coarse. Do you think it wise to fraternize with your students, Professor Salvatore?" I retorted.
For a minute straight he stared at me, and I knew he wanted me out of this house, he hated having a student here. Finally he uttered between his teeth, "touché."
"We are simply having dinner, are we not, Professor Salvatore?" I replied and I seemed to push a button as he, without a reply, turned his back to me and continued with the salad. I just stood there, watching the colors mix, waiting for Atticus to hopefully come down soon. Perhaps he would make the situation bearable, as he had a sense of humor, ulike the pretentious prick in front of me.
I savoured the wine, almost moaning; it was delicious and spicy. Drawing a deep breath, I looked up to see grey eyes fixed on me, as if my very breathing was an annoyance to him. I made a decision, embolded by the alcohol coursing through my veins. I rounded the island.
"Need any help?" I offered.
"No," he replied curtly.
"Alright, I'll just stand here like a beautiful vase then," I retorted, and silve eyes shot to mine, sizing me up and down. He walked straight toward me with a knife in his hand, face stern. I tried not to cringe when he reached over my head; his gaze dropping to my face, surveying me from above. Frozen in place, I closed my eyes, inhaling his spicy and citrusy scent. Then it vanished, and I opened my eyes to Henry trying to hand me a vase. I frowned.
"If you want to help, you can place those flowers in this," he said low, gesturing to the wrapped bouquet. I took the vase, and he handed me a pair of stem cutters. I had completely stopped breathing, holding his scent in my lungs. "Is something the matter, Emilia?" Henry asked when I didn't reply, his expression unreadable. I drew away from his cold eyes, filling the vase with water before unwrapping the flowers. Focusing on the task at hand, I was able to gather myself and take my first full breath since entering the kitchen.
"Got to love an awkward silence," Atticus said by way of greeting, giving both of us a silly grin. With that remark he diffused the tension, and the unbearable unease left my body – finally. He took the bar stool next to where I stood and sat down, propping his chin on a knuckle, and said, "I see Henry already put you to work."
"I asked to help," I said, and mustered up a smile. Atticus searched my face, as if my feelings were no secret to him. He looked between me and Henry with a worry, then his attention went to my finger covered with a small bandage.
"What happened to your finger, Ace?" Ace, again. Atticus stroked his fingers over mine. I felt... a little too much. This night was going to kill me.
"I scared him," I said and looked at Henry. "He lost his wineglass, and it went into a thousand, I'm sorry."
Atticus frowned deeper and said to Henry, "and you made her pick it up?"
"No," Henry replied with his back to us.
I appericiate you taking your time to read my story. Please leave me a vote, follow and a comment if you want to show me some support ♡
Find me on other socials ♡
Instagram: emersonwinter.author
Pinterest: emersonwinter1
Tiktok: emersonwinter.author
Inkitt: emersonwinter
Thanks ♡