Page 7 of When She Tempts (The Fallen)
“It’s time to go,” Dem says.
Outside, while Giorgio and the driver load up the car, we go through another round of goodbyes. My brother holds me tightly and kisses my hair, whispering assurances to me, then Vale does the same again.
The low buzz of their words wraps around me, and then it’s suddenly gone, and I’m being helped inside the car. The door slams shut. Through the window, Dem and Vale wave at me, and I lift my hand and press my palm against the glass.
This might be the last time I see them.
I shudder and wrap my arms around me as I force myself not to engage with that thought. My mental walls rise back up. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Giorgio shooting me a wary look. He’s probably wondering what’s wrong with me. In a not-too-distant past, I would have been mortified, but now it’s just another bullet point on a long list of things that don’t matter.
We pass through the gate, and they disappear out of sight.
An unpleasant itch starts to build beneath my skin, so I reach inside my purse and take out my phone. Today began just like any other, with me scrolling through my feeds for a good two hours before I summoned up the strength to crawl out of bed. There’s nothing new for me to check or read, but I pull up Facebook anyway.
Graduation pictures, someone’s new dog, an ad for a bikini.
My finger hovers above it. It’s cute. If I was at home, I would be putting in my credit card details already, but I don’t even know the address of where we’re going. Regretfully, I scroll past.
The next picture makes me pause again.
It’s posted by Señora Bouras. Imogen’s mom.
It’s a picture of Imogen when she was a kid and the caption talks about how deeply she’s missed by her parents.
A tight sensation appears in my throat. They never got to say a proper goodbye. The story Dem told Señora Bouras was that Imogen died in an unprovoked attack, and that her body couldn’t be recovered. Señora Bouras didn’t believe him. I stood on the other side of the door to my brother’s office and eavesdropped on the call. He kept telling her she needed to let it go. He told her over and over until she must have hung up on him.
I don’t know what happened afterwards, but somehow, she allowed us to come to the funeral. There was an empty casket. While Dem was talking to someone, she took me around a corner where no one could see us and shoved me against a wall. Angry tears streamed out of her eyes. She told me it was all my fault that her daughter’s gone.
I didn’t say a word. There was nothing to argue.
I scroll past the long wall of condolences, knowing better than to leave one of my own. She won’t want to see it.
Instead, I pull up my messages and tap on Imogen’s icon.
I’m leaving my home, Imogen. I don’t know when I’ll be back, and maybe that’s for the best. The farther I am from people I love, the better, especially now. Dem is working on something dangerous that will make his enemies swarm around him like flies, and I’m his weakness. If I fall into the wrong hands, I’ll ruin everything. I’m not good under pressure. I don’t know what to do, how to act. I lose my head. I miss you.
Flipping my phone facedown on my lap, I press my temple against the window. I started sending Imogen messages a few days after I came back to Ibiza. I’m not crazy. I know they’re just going into the digital void, but they make me feel better. Sometimes, when my mind starts playing tricks on me at night, they’re the only thing that helps.
On the other side of the window, the sky is nearly dark. I can make out a few stars and a half-moon. Its edge is sharp and precise, and for some reason, the sight of it makes me shiver.
“You’re cold.”
I startle, whipping my head around in the direction of the voice.
God, I swear I forgot Giorgio is in the car with me.
His piercing blue eyes are trained on my bare thighs.
An unexpected bout of heat travels up my neck before it dawns on me he’s looking at my goosebumps.
I drag a self-conscious palm over them. “I’m fine.”
His jaw ticks, and then he shrugs off his suit jacket and hands it to me. “Put this on.”
My fingers curl around the expensive fabric. It’s still warm from him. I lift my gaze to his and exhale a shuddery breath. “Okay.”
He watches me as I put the jacket over my shoulders. I wish he wouldn’t, because the moment his scent reaches my nostrils, my thighs clench. Musk, leather, and something else I can’t quite name.
“Turn the AC off,” he commands the driver.
