Page 149 of Legacy
I see it—the way her throat tightens. Her chest rising faster than it should. Her eyes flick to the record player in the corner, and I swear her whole body stiffens.
Then panic.
It floods her eyes, quick and violent.
“Adriana?” I step forward, all my instincts screaming at me to fix whatever I broke this time.
She blinks.
I can see the war happening behind her eyes, the past and present colliding like shrapnel.
“Are you okay?”
A pause.
Then a lie. “Yeah… I just have to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
I nod, even though I know she’s not fine.
I watch her walk down the hall, back straight, heels silent.
I lean against the counter and drag a hand down my face, the scent of basil clinging to my skin.
I plate the food and set the table, each movement slow and deliberate, like I’m trying to steady the storm building in my chest.
This isn’t a date.
She doesn’t want a date.
Then why did she dress like that?
Like she’s tryingtoo.
That hair, waves spilling over sun-kissed skin like she walked straight out of my memory and into my living room.
That red dress—tight, elegant, defiant.
Like it was made for her and her alone.
Even her lips are red.
She looks like the night I met her.
The night she invaded my mind and never left.
I hear the click of her heels again, and my pulse kicks up.
She returns, slow and composed, but she freezes when she sees the table.
Just for a second.
Barely a heartbeat.
But I feel it.
She takes a breath, shoulders lifting, then lowers into the chair across from me like it’s an execution, not dinner.
“It looks good,” she says softly.
