Page 75 of Velvet Chains
Laura
I’M A fucking mess.
Eyes puffy, nose red, tears still leaking down my face like a busted faucet. I just can’t seem to stop crying, even though I’m happier than I’ve been in days. Maybe it’s the relief of being alive, of seeing Ser again after all the shit that’s gone down.
We’re standing by our separate cars, trying to say goodbye without completely losing it. Ser pulls me into a hug, squeezing me so tight I swear my ribs crack.
“You better call me as soon as things settle down, bitch,” she says, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “I mean it. No more disappearing acts.”
I laugh, the sound coming out watery and choked. “I promise. No more vanishing into thin air.”
She pulls back, her eyes narrowed. “I’m serious, Lu Lu. You ghost me again, and I’ll hunt you down myself. Don’t think I won’t. I’m not that scared of your mafia husband…”
I raise my hands in surrender, a grin tugging at my lips. “Okay, okay. I got it. Regular check-ins, no exceptions.”
Ser nods, satisfied. “Damn right.”
We hug one more time, holding on a little longer than necessary. Then, with a final wave, we climb into our cars and drive off in opposite directions.
By the time I get back to the mansion, my eyes are dry but still puffy as hell. I trudge up to my room—our room—and flop face-first onto the bed.
I lie there for a while, just breathing in the scent of the sheets. They smell like Victor, like sandalwood and smoke and something uniquely him. It’s comforting and unsettling all at once.
Eventually, I roll over, staring at my phone, my thumb hovering over the screen. Victor’s message glares back at me, taunting me with its brevity.
Don’t wait up, won’t make it home tonight. Got things to handle.
I’ve been staring at it for the better part of an hour, trying to come up with a response that doesn’t make me sound like a clingy wife.
Which I’m not. Obviously.
I pace around my room—well, I guess it’s our room now.
The thought sends a flutter through my stomach, a mix of nerves and excitement that I’m not quite ready to examine too closely.
I flop down on the bed, the luxurious sheets cool against my skin. Frette, the label says. I had to Google it because, of course I did. Turns out these babies are Italian-made, with a thread count higher than my credit score.
I groan, burying my face in the pillow. It smells like him, like sandalwood and smoke and something uniquely Victor. It’s comforting and unsettling all at once.
“Get it together, Laura,” I mutter, my voice muffled by the luxurious Italian bed sheets.
I sit up, taking a deep breath.
Okay, I can do this.
It’s just a text. No big deal.
I type out a message, my fingers shaking slightly.
Okay, no problem. I’ll just be here, all alone, in this big, empty room. With no one to talk to but the dust bunnies.
I wince. No, too needy. I delete it and try again.)
Have fun with your “things.” Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."winking face" emoji
Ugh, no. That sounds like I’m trying too hard to be cool. Delete.
I take another deep breath, closing my eyes.
