Page 46 of Twisted Violet
I hop in the line, unable to resist the temptation.
I glance back at Rome and he gives me a quick smile as he studies our surroundings. I fight the urge to laugh at how out of place he looks. Not only is his 6’4’ frame practically towering over everyone surrounding us, but his posture is stiff as hell, like he bracing for an ambush at any moment.
It’s sweet though, the way he brought me here. He pays a lot more attention to me than I thought he did.
I look back again, searching for him in the crowd, but I can’t find him anywhere.
Panic blooms in my chest and makes it harder to breathe.
He must’ve just stepped away.
He’ll be back.
It’s fine.
But it’s not, because now it feels like everything’s closing in on me.
The noise swells, the crowd shifts, and suddenly, paranoia creeps in. I study the crowd, checking every face like I’m expecting to seemy monsterstaring back at me.
I don’t,but my eyes keep frantically searching for him anyway, like my body refuses to believe it’s safe, now that I’m out here all alone.
When I finally spot Rome again, a few booths down, my chest eases a little. Not enough to feel totally safe, but enough to breathe again.
Rome’s still here.
Still close.
The vendor helping him is an older woman, with long dark hair pulled into a braid and reading glasses perched on her nose. She says something to Rome, and he smiles at her as he responds. The woman laughs, quiet and knowing, then she points to something on her table.
Rome pays cash for it and tucks something into his jacket before heading back over to me.
I wipe the sheen of sweat off my forehead and pretend not to notice.
We finda spot to sit under a canopy of string lights strung between two buildings. There’s a small fountain nearby, bubbling faintly under the noise. The crowd thins here and the air feels cooler, softer.
Rome sits beside me on the edge of the curb and cocks a brow when he sees the over stuffed box of tarts I bought.
“What?” I say, narrowing my eyes. “They’re delicious.”
I pull one out and take a bite. The pastry shatters between my teeth. The crust is flaky, still warm, and the custard center is soft and just sweet enough. I nod in approvaland keep chewing.
Rome watches me like he’s taking mental notes.
“You wanna try one?” I ask, shoving the box towards him.
“I don’t eat things that look like they belong in a dollhouse.”
I snort. “It’s an egg tart.”
He shrugs. “Still suspicious.”
I take another bite and feel some of the filling smear across my cheek. I plan to wipe it, but Rome gets there first.
He leans in, closer than he has all night, and swipes his thumb across my cheek. His touch is warm, firm, and way too gentle for a man as large as him.
He wipes it off on a napkin and tosses it in the trash without a word.
My skin burns where he touched me, and not in a bad way.
