17 DARREN.

Everything I thought I reckoned about love was a lie. Real love wasn't passion or hard or fast. True love wasn't an explosion of seismic waves and fireworks. Sometimes it lain between the pages of a folded sheet of paper. Sometimes it was the small, but meaningful choices you make that lead you to realize the one thing, one person, you've been waiting for was there the whole time.

If you were to ask me for the first time what I thought about love, I'd tell you that it wasn't anything remarkably special. At least not in the way you think. It was the quiet burst; the dull, slow, molten realization that it was inside you all long. Some of us love once; most of us, twice. But I had the fortune to have loved three times. I hadn't grasped the concept of it at the time.

It wasn't until I met her. The pain-in-the-arse, obnoxious, and snooty woman who managed to capture my heart that I thought was long since crushed. It had only belonged to one other woman in my life, my younger sister, Janet, and I was afraid of giving it away to Aya.

Because before Aya, there was poor, sweet, Wallace. I didn't want to crush her heart. I didn't want her to know anything. Love was a blessing and a curse. I didn't want to mishandle her like I had done in the past with others. Like I had done to Wally. She was my client, I couldn't love her in true capacity.

And, yet, there I was, waiting outside the hotel room as per her request. We were going to leave for venue in four hour's time. I was usually good–and okay with–being alone with my thoughts, but all I could think about was her.

Her soft, delicate hands that never held a bloodied scalper in her life. Her fingertips never having touched a needle and thread and puncturing it through a person's skin while they cried out in pain.

Her face, her deep, brown stormy eyes shrouded in mystery and pain. Her smile, sharp and polite and bright–God, I couldn't help but know she smiled like that all the time towards others except for me.

It was rare that she did.

Through the door, clashing of sort occurred. I stood without fault and clutched my hand to the door knob. I jiggled it. Locked. "Are you alright?"

No response. Then, though distant (I assumed she was far from the door), she yelped, "yep! I tripped on my shoes, which is by the side table, and tumbled into the telephone–and then I crashed head first into the bed."

I winched and pulled a face. Good grief. All that to put on a dress?

"Right," I said, not sounding convinced in the slightest.

"No matter," said Aya triumphantly, "I am alright."

"Good."

"Oui."

My head slumped forward on the door. I still held the doorknob. I laughed.

I could picture her in my head in that damn dress she bought all those weeks ago. I remembered everything about it. It was satin. Light pink. The cut was odd, but it wasn't my dress so I had no place to judge. And Aya, although the mishap she had, looked very, very pretty in it.

That was the most important part.

"Oh, stop," she said through the door. Her voice grew louder this time. And them, she stopped. It was a long while before she said anything. My heart pulled in my chest, my mind flashed with worry. "Shit," she said in a whisper. I don't think she knew I had heard her.

I sighed. I wasn't going to mope in defeat now. "Drat it," I said through grit teeth, my patience wearing thin, "I'm coming in."

When I busted the door open, Aya was flopped on her stomach on the singular bed in the tiny room. Fuck, she was topless. I saw part of the dress on her–it was right above the curvature of her buttocks–but that was about it.

We made eye contact. She gasped. I was mortified.

Thank fuck my hand was still on the knob. I closed the door.

I heard her scream into the blanket. "You inconsiderate piece of shit!"

"That was not my intention," I told her, my back to the wall. "It's been fifteen minutes." I scoffed. "How long does it take for women to dress?"

"I don't know! Shouldn't you know? You got a sister."

I face palmed. This argument was pointless. "Forget it," I said. "I apologize for opening the door."

I sighed, shaking my head in disbelief. I heard her groan and struggle to shimmy herself into it. I would never understand the concept of beauty was pain. I didn't reckon I ever will.

She groaned. "It's okay." I heard the mattress spring. "I managed to get on. That's a good sign... I just need help."

I tensed. My arms flexed as desire coursed through me. "The zipper?" I asked. "You completely missed it the last time."

Aya exhaled. I felt her smile through the door. "Oui," she said.

I tapped my foot on the polished floor, extending my hand to the doorjam again and peeled the door open. "Would you stop saying that?"

Her back was expose. She sat up in the bed, and didn't realize how small she looked in comparison. Her hair was a mess, too. She'd make a fuss at the sight of it. "It's French," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Now help."

I rolled my eyes. "Hair looks nice, by the way," I lied, making a careful round to the large bed in the room. I sat, and the mattress dipped with the sheer weight of me. My fingers grazed her skin, pushing hair off her shoulders and back. I trailed to the zipper enclosure which was at the small of her back, with slow measure, began to zip. I attempted to hold my breath as to breath on her too hard.

She inhaled, her body tightened when I made graze physical contact with her. "Thank you," she said, her voice sweet. I was about to get up when she said my name. "Darren?"

She said my name. I never heard her say it in the way she did that day. It was nice, kind. Apologetic.

I so desperately wanted to forgive her then and there without hearing what she had to say. But I had to be professional. "Yes?" I responded, not missing a beat to sit back down.

Aya swiveled, hands in her lap. God, the dress made her look like a goddess. "I want to apologize. For this morning. I shouldn't have been so mean, I just..."

My heart skipped. Jumped. I forgot how to breath. The kiss. Our kiss. We stared at each other for a moment too long. I couldn't look away. "If this is about..."

Aya looked at me with those big brown eyes of hers, her teeth snagged at her bottom lip. "Darren, you know that it is."

Fuck.

My eyes flashed cold. "I can assure you, it won't happen again."

She looked away when I did and trotted to the floor-length mirror. "Thank you for zipping me up."

I stared at her through the looking glass. "Happy to be of service."

For a brief moment, I saw a blush spread cover her cheeks. I wanted her flushed. It was wrong of me to admit, but it was the truth.

Aya touched her collarbone with her painted fingernails, admiring her reflection. "You lied to me," she said, defeat crossed in her voice.

Internally, I panicked. Externally, I stood stiff as a board.

"My hair is a mess. How on earth am I going to fix it in time?" she narrowed her eyes, patting her lush brown hair.

My eyes widened. I didn't much like crossing vulnerability, but I felt like I owed her something. "I can help with that, too."

Aya's face paled. "Absolutely not." she crossed her arms right under her bust. I looked away. Good heavens, the cut of the dress made them engorged. I wasn't trying to look, it just... Lord, help me.

I circled behind her. Aya's head stopped below my shoulder. "I have a sister, remember? I can do hair pretty well. I don't know how you managed to fuck your hair up this bad."

She soured. "I fell!" she retorted. "And what can you do?" mockery steeped her tone.

"You forget, princess, I use hair gel."

She snorted. "What good is that going to do?"

I went to grab a chair and hairbrush. It took me a minute to fill a bottle with water so I could dampen her hair. "It will help with the unruly pieces. Thankfully, it's not much. I can do a plait." I ushered her to sit. "French, if you want."

She took the seat. "What can't you do?"

There was a lot I couldn't do. For one, I wasn't allowed in Russia or Germany. The next was that I wasn't allowed to see my mother, which the American government sanctioned a cease and desist, no contact order for her to me and Janet.

We hadn't seen her since I was in the army. That was years ago.

The worst of it, I wasn't allowed to practice medicine. Yet, at least. I wasn't ready.

"I can't curl women's hair," I said helpfully. I draped a bath towel over her. I doused her hair in cold water, careful not ruin her dress.

I brushed her hair with the comb and began to untangle it. I worked the plait.

It took ten minutes to complete. Just in time.

Aya gasped. "Oh, this is beautiful! Thank you."

I cracked a barely-there smile. "Of course. Just make sure to remove it before the event."

˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ ❀

When Millicent Baker, one of Aya's good friends, informed me that we'd be heading to the airport in a limousine, I was floored. Did all that flashiness matter? No, of course not to anyone of normal station. I remembered, it was difficult to adjust to luxury when you weren't accustomed to it. Everything was always handed to you in excess, even if you didn't want or need it.

That was one thing Aya and I both seem to agree on. We just wanted normalcy in the chaos around us. The girls went in front of us as we exited the vehicle. Without fail, the paparazzi followed. Their large cameras flashed and blinded us. I was focused on keeping Aya in my view to even consider stopping for a fan to take a picture with her. I politely declined on her behalf.

It wasn't as much of a shock for me to tell the crew that the flight would be an hour and thirty minutes and not eight hours if we had drove there as planned. It was relieving, in way. The aircraft opened to a retracting staircase. My hands found the small of Aya's back to keep her moving. She didn't seem to notice, too occupied talking to her brother and friends.

"What scene are you most excited to see?" asked Millicent, her blond hair shining bright under the private plane's lighting, to Aya. I sat behind her.

"When Amy burns Jo's manuscript," she laughed. "I don't think I should be saying anything with Laurie, well, because the obvious."

Then her friend turned to me. She sat diagonal. "What about you?"

"I haven't had the leisure to watch movies," I answered. I didn't want to confess that I was a little excited for it. It'd be my first time watching something like it. The closest film I'd had the pleasure of watching was the early-action drill instructions during my early career training as a medic.

I don't know how many times I had watched it. It wasn't as enjoyable, say, Little Women, could be.

She gasped. Under the light, she looked like Janet. Down to the color of her hair and sparkle in her blue eyes. "You're lying!"

I was unmoved.

"You've at least read the book, right?"

I nod. "One of my favorites."

Aya poked her head behind her seat. The aircraft was in full motion. A coked grin spread her dangerous lush pink lips. "Your favorite, huh?"

I stared at her. "No, not my favorite. Just one of the many."

She smiled at me. She was so sweet when she wanted to be. I caught a sparkle in her eye. "Okay, scholar and soldier? And doctor?" she cooed, teasing. She reeled her head back, her seat moving with her.

I didn't have the heart to correct her. I wasn't any of those things. Not for a long time.

"For what it's worth," said Millicent, breaking the silence, and me away from my thoughts, "the book is a lot better. Adaptations are great, too, but they can only portray so much."

Emaad laughed. "I think you guys are forgetting where we're going? My adaptation?"

"We're not forgetting," said Aya, "we're keeping the playing field leveled."

This point in time would change the course of our lives forever. The International Film Festival would be the turning point.

My turning point.

Aya's, too.

It didn't look it, but I was so damned proud. Of all that we'd accomplished thus far and what we would do in the coming months.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚ ❀

The venue was in Casino of Cannes, a magnificent building in the heart of the city. Since it's inception eight years ago, it hosted twenty-one different countries, over eighty-thousand participants, and twelve-hundred journalists who report th event. The building itself was massive enough to hold that many people. Emaad was lucky he had the privilege of his film's first screening to be at such a prestigious and high-traffic event. He was always lucky like that.

A few hours into the event, after some screenings of other films, we watched Little Women for the first time on the big Technicolor screen. As the credits rolled in, I was so sure I heard Aya scream the loudest, next to her friends. I overheard from the other security personnel that Dina Ahmed had been in a short relationship with Emaad. And some of them were still talking about the jazz club incident from months ago. What a small world.

I still had that scar. A bloody piece of the deck's wood had cut deep into my chest. Sometimes, if I pressed firm enough, it still stung.

The flood of people exited the screening room and made their way to the piece everyone was really here for: the red carpet.

As I helped usher the people out, Aya and I caught sight of one another. It was like the world stopped and it was only us. Her soft eyes looked into mine, and I about melted at the sight of her.

It was broken soon after when she dispersed into the crowd again. I looked away and made way to the carpet.

A flash mod of cameras blinded the area as people trailed in. Reporters clashed in people's faces; the air was thick and hot, ventilation was hard to come by. I stood on standby at the edge of the carpet so the others could take their pictures for the film.

It was hard to stay focused when Aya was the only person that caught my attention. Her hair was still done in her plait. I pulled a face at the realization. She'd already taken some photos by that point. I attempted to grab her attention by making noises, however as quiet as possible. It was notoriously difficult.

"Your hair," I mouthed to her once she looked in my direction. I touched my hair to signal her.

The other security personnel gave me funny stares; but I wasn't here to please them, talk to them, or do anything for them. As far as my job was concerned, I was only to protect my team.

Aya's ears perked along with her eyes. Her face reddened at the realization.

She stepped away from the cameras and backed into the corner where I was. "You didn't tell me I had my hair up!" she hissed, embarrassment in her eyes. She tried to pull her plait out, but her fingers kept tangling it.

I scanned the area clear of people–of reporters and other attendees. I ushered us out into a quiet space and undid her hair for her, because she would've gone out looking like she was out in the wild. "There."

She looked up at me. "I could have done it myself," she said, arms crossed.

"Yes, but, I don't think you'd want to look like you'd been mauled by ravenous animal." My hand was wrapped to her arm, as was hers to mine.

Aya was not impressed. Her demeanor shifted. Her eyes darkened, jaw clenched. She didn't say anything before leaving me and going back to take photos.

Things subsided after that. Cameras flashed in our eyes, chatter filled the conference hall. Everything was normal. Well, as normal it could be without disaster striking.

"Aya, is it true that you have a secret boyfriend?" one reporter shouted at the bunch. My body clenched. There was no boyfriend, unless you counted me. I wasn't that, either. I was her brother's friend. I was her bodyguard. It couldn't work.

I told her that.

She understood that.

She laughed it off, a grin on her perfectly sculpted face. She was so beautiful. The French plait's waves complimented her well. "No boyfriend for me," she told them, burying her face to the mic.

That was far from the truth.

She kissed me. She did.

How could she stand there and pretend? How could I continue on like this? It was wrong of me to think like that, but dammit, a kiss was ruination. A kiss was–our kiss–was life altering in ways I didn't think possible.

They did one last round of photos for the evening. That was when her dress broke. The straps came undone, loosening the bodice. And, of course, I was there to step in and help.

Aya gasped at the shock of it all. It would be in the papers now. "Oh my God!" she shrieked. Tears brimmed her eyes. She covered her mouth.

I knelt in front of her. I was on my knees for her. Lord help me. "Breath," I told her gently.

"My dress..." she whimpered. "It's ruined..."

I shook my head. I never saw her this vulnerable until that night. It was a different kind of pain. I was racked with guilt. "No it isn't," I soothed her, concentrating on the clasped enclosures. "It's just the straps. They came undone."

"I really liked this dress..."

"You're fine, love." I fixed the enclosures, hooking it back to the dress no issues. Once she looked at it from her view, my thumb wiped a tear that rolled down her sweaty cheek.

Fuck the cameras.

I stood, keeping my head down as to not attract any more attention to my face.

Click!

Once the photos were taken, the group separated into the event. I didn't see most of them for the remainder of the night.

That was until Emaad came up to me. Adrenaline pulsed through me. "Hey," he said. He was rather not composed. His hair was tousled, suit wrinkled and his tie came loose.

"Hello."

He tapped his foot. "We're going to an after party, Aya told me that you didn't want to go?"

I wasn't keen on partying. "I don't," I told him. The instant relief on his face told me everything I needed to know. "What about Aya?"

Emaad cocked his head. "She wants to ask about jobs. You know how she is."

I had to give him some sort of credit. It was a little bizarre to network at an after party, where everyone would be trashed out of their bloody minds. Emaad should know how weird that was, too.

I contemplated on changing my answer. I almost let my guard down for her. Why should I put my heart on the line when the other won't pick it up?

Until I did.

"When do we leave?"

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top