Page 43 of Firethorne
“I’m not the desperate one around here,” Lysander hissed, sipping his drink and glaring at his brother.
“Are you sure about that?” Damien replied.
I lifted my glass to take a sip, but Damien suddenly barrelled into me, knocking me sideways and making me stumble. I didn’t fall, Lysander caught me just in time, but the glass I was holding smashed on the floor before I could drink any of it.
“What the hell?” I snapped, staring first at the shattered glass, then at Damien, who was staring around him at no one in particular.
“People can be so rude at these events,” he moaned. “Pushing and shoving.” He was trying to blame whoever had knocked into him first, but I hadn’t seen anyone. No one had been there.
Damien clicked his fingers at a waiter, and they came rushing over with a dustpan and brush to tidy away the broken glass.
“You need to watch yourself,” Lysander hissed, but Damien just grinned back at him.
“Here,” Damien said, taking a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. “Have this instead, Maya. It might taste less...bitter.” And with that, he turned and walked away.
After the debacle with Damien on the terrace, things began to settle down. I started to enjoy myself, sort of. Lysander was a social butterfly, there was no denying that, and he did try toinclude me in all his conversations as he flittered around the party, gracing everyone with his smiles and gentle wit.
But I was so far from a social butterfly it was a joke.
I tried my best to match his enthusiasm, but after a while, I found myself needing space, wanting to be alone. So, when he was deep in conversation with one of his old school friends, I excused myself, saying I was going to the bathroom. But once I stepped away from the crowds, my legs moved of their own accord, leading me to the staircase.
Once I was on the second floor, I breathed a sigh of relief. No one was up here, and it was quieter. I felt like I could finally relax.
I walked down the corridor, feeling as though the room I was heading towards was calling out to me.
The library.
I pushed the door open and felt a blanket of serenity wrap itself around me. The subtle lighting created the perfect ambience in this room. Rows and rows of books were sitting, waiting for someone like me to come along and choose them, to pick them from the shelf and open them, then get lost in a world that’d never be perceived in the same way by anyone else ever. That was the magic of stories, everyone’s experience was different. I felt at home here, far more than in the crowd downstairs.
I crept across the library, my heels clicking softly on the hardwood floor, and then I stopped and stood in front of a bookcase at the far end of the room, scanning the shelves. I found a copy ofJane Austen’s ‘Emma’, and I opened it and started to read, not even bothering to find a chair to sit in.
I don’t know how long I stood there; it was a lot longer than I’d expected to be away from the party. But when I looked at my watch and saw that it was almost midnight, I exclaimed, “Jeez, the party is probably finished now.”
“I doubt it,” a deep voice answered from behind, making me jump, gasp, and drop the book I was holding.
I spun around, my hand clasped to my chest, and I saw Damien sitting in a dark corner, staring at me.
“What the fuck are you doing, creeping around?” I snapped.
He raised his brow in response.
“Creeping? Really? Can it be described as creeping when I was in here before you?”
“It’s creepy as fuck that you’ve been sitting there for however long, watching me without letting me know you were in here,” I shot back, bending to pick up the book and put it back on the shelf, all while keeping my eyes on Damien. I didn’t trust him.
“But then I’d have missed out on listening to your little sighs as you read and watching your facial expressions in the reflection of the window over there. You’re a very expressive reader.”
I glanced at the window as he spoke, the darkness outside making the glass mirror-like. And then I snapped.
“And you’re a fucking stalker. What kind of man sits in the dark watching a woman?”
“I’m not going to justify my actions,” Damien announced, pushing himself out of his seat. “You’ll paint me as the villain no matter what I say or do.” He took a few slow steps towards me and then asked, “Did you read the books I sent you?”
“Yes,” I snapped.
“And what did you think?”
I wasn’t in the mood to chat with him or discuss my thoughts. I felt violated by him invading a quiet moment I’d taken for myself.
