Page 39 of Firethorne
He frowned and opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then he closed it and took a moment, tilting his head as if he was deep in thought before he replied, “I’m happy to be of service.”
We stood staring at each other, getting lost in a world that was slowly erecting around us, a world we were creating, one delicate moment, one stolen glance, one kindness at a time. Then Lysander cleared his throat, and I remembered myself and where I was.
“I have to go and finish setting up for dinner,” I told him, but I reached forward and took his hand in mine, the warmth of his palm sending a spark of electricity right through me. “I’m glad I met you, Lysander Firethorne,” I said as I tried to hide the emotions that threatened to break free as my voice began to crack.
“I’m honoured to have met you, too, Maya Cole,” he replied, and reluctantly, I dropped his hand. But his warmth stayed with me, like it was branded on my palm as a reminder that he was here. That I’d found him. That something special was blossoming.
As I walked away from his studio, heading back to the dining room, the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention, my heart fluttering as I felt his gaze searing into my soul.
Not all of us are lying to you.
No, he wasn’t.
He was telling me his family couldn’t be trusted. Warning me to be on my guard. But with him, I could feel myself soften in a way I never had before. A way I’d always been afraid to, but maybe I needed to be more daring. Let my guard down with the right person.
Once my shift had finished, I made my way back to our cabin and went straight to my room, taking the sketch out and pinning it on my wall, right next to the other one he’d given me when he’d first shown me his studio. Then I sat back, comparing the two sketches, marvelling at how improved this latest sketch was compared to the one he’d given me days ago. The colours and shading were stunning, making my eyes sparkle and my hair shine. He’d captured features of my face perfectly, the fullness of my lips, the blush of my cheeks, the lines of my nose, my face, all of me. This sketch was a million times better than his first draft. It proved to me that he really saw me, the real me. Proud, curious, fragile, vulnerable at times, but ultimately, strong. He knew me, and he was showing me through his art.
Maybe I should’ve been pissed off that he’d messed with my head by sending the messages, leaving writing on my mirror, toying with my emotions and my sanity, but I wasn’t. Like Cora said, they didn’t function like we did.
The Firethornes were different.
Lysander was different.
And he was doing his best, considering his father and the upbringing he’d endured, the daily venom Damien spat at him, and the battering to his self-esteem. He was trying his best to make sense of it all.
And so was I.
Maybe it’d be better if we tried to make sense of it together.
Maybe this party would be the answer to everything.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
Chapter Seventeen
Maya
It was the night of the party, and in a way, I was relieved my father had gone on a weekend business trip with Mr Firethorne. He told me it was something to do with future building work on the estate, and I was glad he was being included in important decisions, but I’d zoned out when he was explaining it all. And now, as I stepped out of the shower and headed to my room, I was grateful of the time alone so I could get ready and psyche myself up for what lay ahead.
A large box had arrived on my doorstep an hour ago, which I assumed was my outfit from Miriam. I hadn’t opened it yet, I’d just placed it on my bed, leaving it for later. But now, I eyed it with curiosity as I sat on the end of the bed and dried my hair, wondering what she’d chosen, hoping it would fit, praying it was okay. The longer I stared, the more nervous and apprehensive I got. So, as soon as my hair was dry, I shut my hairdryer off, dropped it onto my bed and stood up.
I loomed over the box like it held an explosive device, and as the nerves tickled my stomach, I reminded myself that it was justa dress, an angel outfit, nothing to worry about, and I lifted the lid.
Inside there was red tissue paper. Carefully, I folded it back, confused when I saw black leather underneath. This sure as hell wasn’t an angel outfit.
What the fuck had she sent me?
I picked up the short, black leather dress—so short I wasn’t even sure it’d fit. Holding it up, I noticed it was strapless and there was a tail on the back. It was more risqué than anything I’d ever worn before and on the front, the numbers six, six, six were embroidered in red.
The sign of the devil.
I placed it on the bed and went back to the box, pulling out a pair of thigh-high black leather boots, a hairband of black devil horns, and a black pitchfork.
I smiled to myself. Miriam was obviously pissed off that I was going with Lysander, and this was her way of getting back at me. But it wouldn’t work.
So, I wouldn’t be an angel. It was no big deal. If she thought she could embarrass me, I’d prove her wrong. I’d wear the damn devil dress. I’d wear the fuck out of it and show her that her little prank had backfired. If she wanted me to be the devil, I’d be the best devil at the party.
