Page 67 of The Lies I've Told
“He would be proud, Aiden.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not here,” I said, rising from my chair in search of the only thing that could bring me solace when my mind was filled with chaos.
Millie.
“What if we don’t remember?” I asked, our bodies still slick from sweat as we lay side by side on the bed, wrapped in silk sheets.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” he said, his hand gently cupping my face.
“But what if we don’t? What if I wake up tomorrow, and this”—I reached forward, placing a tender kiss on his lips—“is gone? Just another drunken night forgotten.”
He pulled back, his eyes downcast. “Then, maybe it’d be for the best.”
“What? Why would you say that?”
“Because I’m nothing but damaged goods, love. And you deserve more than that.” His gaze found mine once more, and I was struck by the pain I found. “So much more.”
I awoke in Aiden’s bed, the smell of him so fresh on the sheets, it was as if he were here with me. Pulling the pillow close to my face, I inhaled his woodsy scent as I listened to the sounds of the city below.
Over the years, I’d been offered a handful of jobs here, and a few of them had been tempting; after all, New York was an epicenter for fashion. Much more so than Miami where Lorenzo had based his thriving business. But my parents had instilled a sense of loyalty in me that forced me to stay and work for my success rather than jump the line.
That, and the thought of braving a New York winter really scared the crap out of me.
But part of me wondered now, if I’d taken a position here, would I have met Aiden? Maybe at a bar after a long day at work, or perhaps at a fancy art gallery?
Or would we have been destined to be close but never near?
I turned my head, gazing out the window onto the tall buildings that surrounded us. I sounded like a lunatic.
Fate and future?
None of it mattered. Not when he lived here, and I was going home in a few days.
“Guard your heart, Millie,” he’d said.
I’d do well to heed his words.
As I settled back against the pillow that smelled far too good, my ears perked up at the sound of the front door unlocking. As I was in an unfamiliar place, in an unfamiliar city, my heartbeat rose in my chest but soon settled at the sight of Aiden in the doorway.
He was quick; deliberate even, as his shoes hit the floor with a thud, followed by his jeans and belt. He swiftly removed his shirt and dropped it as well before sliding into bed alongside me.
His skin was prickled from the sudden blast of the air-conditioning unit, and he smelled of whiskey, but it was his eyes that set off the most alarms. Even in the dim light, I could see the deep pain radiating from within.
“Aiden,” I breathed, “what’s wrong?”
His forehead rested against mine as his chest rose with effort. I could feel him shaking. Tears prickled my eyes as he pulled me closer.
“Nothing, love,” he whispered.
But then he kissed me, and I knew it was a lie. Because there was anguish and fear in the way his lips moved against mine. Passion and pain all wrapped in one.
We made love slowly, and I knew, with every thrust, a part of my heart went with it.
But, in that moment, I would give anything to ease his sorrow.
Anything to soothe the ache in his soul.
Even if it meant losing mine in the process.
