Page 25 of Pretty Poison

Two hours—that’s how long I’ve been locked in my room, staring at the disgustingly bright white dress I picked out. Before that, I spent almost double that time browsing stores and boutiques, trying on various dresses that all looked the same. I mean, how does one choose the ‘perfect’ dress? They all look the same: a boring white, usually silk or tulle dress. The only difference is the sleeve length and neckline.

I settled on a slim, floor-length dress, lacking personality and flavour; it’s much like how the wedding will be. A tasteless dress for a tasteless wedding—it’s fitting if I do say so myself.

I zip up the white dress bag and close my closet doors, hiding it from sight and, hopefully, my thoughts, too. I’m not sure what to do with myself.

A part of me wants to stumble into Dario, longing to hear his voice again, but the other part of me hates that I want to be near him at all. It’s like a switch flipped inside me, and I don’t hate him anymore. Knowing that Gabriel has no intention of securing my safe return, made me see clearly enough to find a little bit of good in Dario that I didn’t think existed.

With a sigh, I stand up again and walk into my bathroom, turning on the shower. As the water warms to a comfortable temperature, I strip down and prepare my skin care products. Iplace them on the long vanity before checking the water with my hand and stepping in.

Compared to my hand, the water feels cold on my body, a shiver consumes me as my skin pricks with goosebumps. My back arches as I pull away from the water and swiftly turn the nozzle to the right, waiting to step back under it.

Reaching my hand out again, I test the water, another chill rolling through me. “What the fuck?” I mumble under my breath.

With a huff, I twist the knob, turning the water off, and step out, wrapping the towel around me and treading back into my room.

I pick up my phone from the nightstand, and send Dario a message:

Me: My shower isn't working. Any chance you could send someone to check it out?

Without hesitation on his end, I see the three little grey dots appear, followed by his response:

Dario: Sure. I’ll be there now.

I was half-expecting him to send someone to check it out. That would match up with his claims of being ‘too busy’ with organising whatever it was he was supposed to be busy with. Instead, he’s coming here himself.

I sit on my bed and wait, my half-wet hair trickling droplets of water onto my neck before the towel has a chance to soak up the beads. The feeling makes me uneasy. And with the chill in my room, it feels as though I’m stark naked on a snowy winter morning, creating snow angels while the freezing air bites at my skin.

After a minute or so of playing the waiting game, Dario finally strolls into my room, his phone glued to his ear. Taking one glance at me, he mumbles something before hanging up and pocketing it into his slacks.

“What’s wrong with your shower, Liana?” he asks, avoiding eye contact and directing himself to the bathroom.

Hopping up, I follow him. “I don’t know. The shower works, but it doesn’t stay warm. It’s hot for a few seconds, then it’s too cold to bear.”

He hums in response, sliding across one of the window-like doors to gain better access to the shower. Turning the knob, he waits a few seconds, his hand under the running water.

I watch him, his face contorting into confusion, frustration and all-around annoyance in a matter of a second before he turns it back off again. “I’ll call someone to sort this out and in the meantime, you can use mine.”

His words make me flinch on the inside, startling me. “I don’t—”

“I don’t mind sharing with you, Liana,” he says in a low tone. “It’s just a shower. And it looks like you’re ready for one.” His eyes flick down at my body and I swallow, my throat feeling as though it’s full of gravel.

I knew he’d see me in a towel, but the look in his eye as he glances at me is impossible to decipher. His lingering glare on my skin sends a hot flash through me, and I fold my arms across my body.

“I don’t want to impose on your personal space.”

“Before you know it, it’ll be your personal space too, Liana. Just take the damn shower, would you? You don’t need to be stubborn here.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, my lips pressing together, creating a thin line.

“Come on,” he says, walking towards me and gathering up everything I sat out next to the sink. “It works a little differently than yours; I’ll show you.”

He exits the bathroom and I follow, my legs unable to keep up with his long strides.

He enters his bedroom, but I pause outside the threshold. I don’t want to step inside. It feels weird, like I’m invading his privacy.

“Are you coming?” he asks, peering his head around the bathroom door frame.

He steps back into his room, his head tilting to the side. “What’s wrong, Liana?”

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