1.
By ten in the morning, Eden had felt like she had lost her dignity, her privacy and maybe her already crashing business, all because she kissed a stranger whose name she didn’t even know.
The club was called Buio; darkness, in Italian and Eden thought that was either very pretentious or very honest.
Immediately she walked in, she regretted her decision. This place was a place for nobody like her. First of all the club was gigantic she had to give it that and it reeked of alcohol and money with a bit of sweat.
She stood at the edge of the main floor with a glass of water she'd had since they arrived, watching Amara disappear into the crowd like she'd been made for it. Maybe she had. Amara had made it her lifelong duty to always try to get Eden out of the house. “Try” is used because more than half of the time she was not successful, this simply wasn't Eden’s scene. Today was a success because Eden herself knew if she didn't get out of her own head she might just go bananas. So she's here in a club vibing to the loud music, her interior decoration and fashion designing business she had built from scratch with her sweat and blood in shambles. She simply wouldn't think about it today.
The music was low and deliberate, not a kind of beat that demanded a lot of dancing, more the kind that got under your skin while you were busy pretending it wasn't. The lights were amber and bruised, turning everyone's faces into something slightly cinematic, slightly dangerous. Somebody's cigarette smoke cut through the ventilation. Somebody laughed too loudly near the bar. A couple leaned against the far wall, the girl's head tipped back, the man's mouth at her throat, and Eden looked away before she felt anything about it.
She had come here to breathe. She had come here because the week had taken something from her. She wasn't sure she'd get back; the Ferretti account, the Russo project, two weeks of invoices unpaid, a studio bill she'd been moving around in her head like furniture she couldn't fit through the door. She had come here because sometimes the only dignified response to catastrophe was to put on something that made your legs look good and go stand inside someone else's noise for a while.
So. She was here.
She was “very”here, being “very”responsible about it.
She noticed him because the temperature in the room changed and she could feel an intense stare. She was turned around and was startled to see intense eyes about ten feet away trained on her. The intensity made her feel so conscious that she fought hard not to adjust the already tight and short dress Amara forced her into.
She could barely see his face, where he was seated was dark and he was indeed lounging because what?? This scene was so hot and uncomfortable. She didn't know why but she stared back and didn't move her eyes either. While he seemed to maintain his composure effortlessly she was struggling hard and by the time she had decided that the water she had had all night was alcoholic he breathed out smoke from his nostrils and mouth. His lips formed a hollow. There could be no more erotic scenes. At this point she was wet and dripping and her stare was faltering. He seemed to notice this and smirked, she felt stupid because she could have just turned away. She bit her bottom lip and wanted to proceed to turn around when she noticed his smile had disappeared and his gaze was now dark, more intense and most especially the “scene” was moving towards her. She didn't know how to move anymore, she was rooted to a spot.
He took long strides and was by her side in no time.
“Follow me” he commanded.
Her legs moved against her will. Immediately behind him. She was hypnotised because that was the only conclusion she could arrive at. Who was this sexy creature?
She followed him and it was not a thing of curiosity, she needed to just breathe the air he did. She hoped the water was alcoholic once more because that was the only excuse she could tolerate.
He was tall, like really tall and he took slow strides that looked languid. He was a god. He was wearing a flannel two piece and somehow his biceps bulged as he moved. He never turned back to check if she followed. They took the staircase one at a time. She noticed his hair was tied in a low bun and he had a buzz cut. His left arm was inked all the way from his wrist and disappeared into the sleeve of his flannel shirt. She wanted to badly see where the tattoo ended, when it ran too. She never wanted anything more.
"Water," he said, and the observation in his voice was so dry it took her a second to realize he was looking at her glass. It took her a while to realize they had gotten to their destination and he was talking to her. His voice was a smooth baritone, low, husky and sexy.
"Yes,yes,.." she spluttered
Eden looked at him properly for the first time. Up close he was breathtakingly stunning, more specific, more present, the kind of face that had clearly caused problems before and seemed entirely at peace with that record. His eyes were dark and direct. He was watching her with an attention that felt less like flirtation and more like genuine interest, which was somehow more unsettling.
He leaned an elbow on the bar, taking his time in the way of someone who had decided the conversation was going to continue and hadn't bothered to announce it. "Why are you here if you're not going to drink?"
Eden opened her mouth and then closed it.
