Aria's POV:
I silently sit beside Derek, my long hair tangled in knots, face covered in ash. I let myself sink down into the sofa of the near by café that Derek and I fled to after the explosion. I don't even remember getting here to be honest. My brain is scrambled to bits.
"Call them off. We'll sign the paper," Derek says into his phone, looking out the window. My head turns towards him as he continues his conversation. "Don't do anything stupid, D, it won't end well for you."
I give Derek a questioning eyebrow, but he just puts his arm around me, pulling me to his chest. I want to fight it. I want to know what's happening. Who's D? Why did this happen? What paper? My life was perfect a few days ago, and now it's gone to shit. Who's responsible?
"Alright. I'm glad you see it my way," Derek finally says, hanging up the phone. He begins stroking my hair gently. "I'm sorry, Aria. I never wanted any of this for you."
I don't reply, too wrapped up in the warm feeling. It's almost as if a calm, soothing fire is burning in my heart. I wish I knew how to identify this feeling. I love this feeling. I just wish I didn't love it from Derek. He's his brother. I don't want to risk reliving those god awful years. They burn into my memory like a carved rock. They won't go away. I can't expect them to anyhow.
"A car is on it's way. When we get back home, use my bathtub in my room and get cleaned up," Derek says.
"You just wanna see my titties when I get out, don't you?" I make a joke knowing full-well Derek isn't like that. He chuckles and rolls his eyes.
"Damn, you caught me," He replies sarcastically.
I let out a little laugh as Derek smiles at me.
"I'm glad you're smiling, preziosa," Derek comments, eyes beaming with admiration. I can't help the light shade of red on my cheeks. I sit up fully and look at Derek. No falling.
"Why do you want me to use your bathtub? Don't I have one in my room?" I ask. Derek looks away from me for a second. He tries to say something, but the car pulls up in time to stop him.
"Alright, let's go. And for the record, my bathtub is the nicest," Derek answers. I roll my eyes with a smile, but stay wary of what he really wanted to say.
Once we're back at the house, I compare both tubs and realize Derek was right. He has a jacuzzi bath, I do not. In a heartbeat, I sink down in the water and splash water in my face. Derek told me he'd wait in the living room that way I can get dressed in his bedroom. Is Derek really so bad?
A pit forms in my stomach as I start to doubt myself. Derek seems very compassionate, but so does his brother, when you first meet him that is. Then once he's adjusted to you, out the window goes his kindness. He grows cold and violent. That's Ryder Montgomery. Is it too much to continue to be wary of Derek? Am I misjudging? Why am I even asking myself these questions as if Derek and I will actually get married. It's a redicilous thought and I'd rather not toy with it any longer... but I can't help myself. This is my situation whether I like it or not. I'm stuck here.
I drain the water out of the bathtub and make my way back to the bedroom. While getting dressed in new clothes, I notice an assortment of family pictures in Derek's room. They're the only things that bring light to the modern and dull room. Grey walls, coupled with dark furniture. I can't say it doesn't look good though. It actually looks amazing, and a nap in here would be one of the best things a woman can experience with his blackout curtains.
Once I'm dressed, I walk out of Derek's room, my feet leaving the softness of his carpeted floors for the cold hardwood of the house; the sudden coldness sends a shiver down my spine, giving me goosebumps. I make my way to the top of the stairs and start heading downstairs.
"Aria."
I look to the bottom of the stairs, my heart sinking. My stomach turns over and I feel sick. My mouth runs dry as I look at his face. He's home...
"No," I reply, walking down the stairs, holding my head as high as I can despite the weakening in my knees. It's almost as if I've aged one hundred years in two seconds. I brush past him and he grabs my arm. "Don't touch me."
Ryder drops my arm and turns to fully face me. "Don't fucking talk to me like that."
"Fuck off," I say firmly, holding my ground. I walk faster away from him to the living room, only slowing down when I realize he's not following me. My heart still beats out of my ribs as I find Derek lying down on the couch, covered in a blanket while watching Netflix.
I sit down at his feet, trying to relax myself. "Your brother's a dick," I say simply. Derek looks at me wide-eyed, jolting in an upright position.
"Are you okay? Did he touch you?" He reaches his hand out to try and examine me, but I swat his hand away.
"I'm fine, he didn't hit me or anything if that's what you're thinking," I reply. Derek doesn't say anything, he just runs a hand through his thick hair. "Derek, why is he the way that he is?"
"Aria, I could have a gun to my head and I still wouldn't know," Derek answers. I sigh and bring my legs up on the white couch, making myself more comfortable. Derek takes his blanket off himself and drapes it over me instead. He must've gotten showered as well and dressed in a white tank-top and sweatpants.
"Derek, I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, really, but can I please leave?" I ask in one more pitiful attempt to leave. Derek shakes his head in reply.
"Trust me, I don't want this for you either. There are more sinister people at work here, Aria," Derek replies as he stands up, leaving me to question what he means. He makes his way to the grand, white marble kitchen and grabs two beers from the fridge. What does he mean by sinister? Who is he referring to? Ian? D? I'm so lost. "Jack Daniels, right?"
I smile and grab the bottle from Derek's hand, my thinking diminishing as he sets the bottle in my hand. "And they're peach flavored!" I exclaim excitedly. I love these things. They're not like most beer where you can taste the bitterness.
"I thought I was the only one who liked these things," Derek comments as he sits down again. I crack open the beer with my sleeve covered hand. "Are you sure he didn't hurt you?" Derek confirms, cracking his beer open as well.
"No, he didn't, I promise," I reply. Derek doesn't say a word as he white-knuckles his beer. "Derek?"
"What?" He asks, his tone dull.
"Never mind. We should head to bed soon."