Page 74 of The Forbidden Villain
“Professionally. Who did you want to be?” He takes a greedy pull from his cigarette, sending smoke flying. I snatch it from his mouth when he half turns to me and throw it in the nearest trash can. He has those splayed all over the perimeter too, probably for this exact reason.
“Stop smoking around plants. It’s not good for them.” I breathe in the flowery scent when a gust of wind whooshes over us. They must have some peonies here too. In fact, I’ve never smelled a mix like this in my life, which makes me even more curious about the design. I know they have all the resources to bring in different seeds to grow various plants, though the Scotts can’t do the impossible, right? “A doctor.”
“I want to hear the truth.”
My hand stills in midair right before I can touch the roses. “Why would you think it’s a lie?”
“Because when people talk about their crushed dreams, there is a certain sadness and longing in their tone. You can’t miss it. Whenever you speak about medicine…the only emotion flashing on your face is boredom.” He clicks his tongue. “I find it…tragic.”
Since this whole conversation and encounter is weird—what isn’t when it comes to Levi?—I reply as I rub the rose petals, their soft texture making me wish to take some home. “Landscape design.” His brow rises. “My uncle…” The title tastes bitter in my mouth, and I swallow past the lump forming in my throat, hating the slight nausea hitting me when his face comes to mind. Even dead, he has the power over some of my emotions, and that’s unacceptable. “He had a huge house. It was dark, cold, and gloomy. On most days, it felt cursed to me, and growing up there was very lonely. But he had a beautiful garden, and it was the only place where I loved spending time.” I’ve never shared this with anyone. Even with Dr. King. “He kicked Rafael out when I was seven years old. It forced me to spend even more time in the garden and allowed me to observe our gardeners. They taught me a lot about soil, land, different types of flowers, and how to do some stuff. So at eighteen, landscape design sounded like a good idea.” Giving the rose petal one last rub, I look at him again. “Happy now?”
“It takes way more to make me happy,moy cvetochek.” He resumes his walk and goes farther into the garden.
“Why do you use a Russian endearment? Do you love the language or something? And please don’t take it as encouragement to continue using it.” I splay my palm and lightly graze the various bushes we pass, and resist the urge to stop at every single one to explore them more. Whoever designed this garden is truly a master of their craft.
“Giselle MacRae.”
“What?” I ask with confusion, practically drilling a hole into his back, since he marches toward his destination and doesn’t care to answer my question.
“The person who designed this garden is my aunt. Giselle MacRae.” The name rings a bell because I’ve met her husband.
Let’s just say Callum gives another meaning to the words cold and brooding.
“She has her own landscape design school. I’ll introduce you two. If you decide to learn about landscaping on a professional level, you have to go to the best of the best.”
A sense of excitement flourishes in the pit of my stomach, sending a shiver down my spine, because I’ve learned not to get excited about things. “I’m sure your aunt has better things to do than teach me.”
Besides, isn’t this an actual degree that one learns at university anyway?
“My aunt doesn’t discriminate.”
“I never said she did!”
“That’s what you implied, and honestly, Lavender, nobody gives a fuck about your age, so you shouldn’t either. People out there are starting medical school at ninety, and you’re just thirty.”
“Well, it’s great you know how old I am.”
“Yeah, and I don’t give a fuck. So if you want to use that as an excuse between us, don’t bother.”
“I’m sure you have enough girls your age fawning over you. I mean, based on all the media outlets, it’s a wonder you manage to do anything else but fuck around.”
Oh my God.
Why did I have to say that? He’s probably going to be smirking all day long and gloating at me, thinking I’m jealous when I’m not jealous.
Okay, I am, but since I understand how unreasonable it is, I won’t even be able to defend myself.
I bump into his back when he stops abruptly and turns, then wraps his hand around my throat and tilts my head up, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. “Do not think about me with other women. I don’t like it.” I blink at the displeasure in his tone. “Stories about Wyatt and me are vastly exaggerated, and even if they weren’t, it doesn’t matter. My past has no bearing on what’s going on between us in the present. I’m loyal when I want to be, so stop being jealous.” Too shocked to react, I still when he leans forward and presses a small kiss to my throat, right on my puckered flesh. My heartbeat speeds up, scorching heat coursing through my system and lighting the fire within me. “If it helps, you’re the only woman I’ve ever tasted.” His thumb shifts to my pulse point, and his face darkens while his voice drops to a hushed whisper. “Do you like being my first,moy cvetochek?”
I grip his shirt, and then the crows fly high in the sky, snapping me out of my stupor. I take several steps back from him. Why does he have such power over me? “I don’t care. And I’m not jealous!” Why then do tingling sensations rack through me, adding to this fire spreading in my veins that wipes everything, the harsh memories included, while leaving me breathing and living only in the moment?
This can be an addiction in itself and freedom from my ever-exhausting mind.
When one was forced to live in their own head for more than a decade, it’s a different kind of relief to finally let it rest.
And that’s why Levi is dangerous to my newfound sanity.
He clicks his tongue, and mouths, “Liar,” before resuming his walk toward what seems to be a glass pool house, the modern one-level structure sticking out among the otherwise Gothic design. It has one king-sized bed, a small bar with various bottles of alcohol, a couch, a table, and a bookshelf filled with thick books, but their titles are hard to make out from afar.
