Vain (The Seven Deadly, #1)(62)

I inched closer to him and rested my hand over his. “Thank you,” I told him.

“You’re welcome,” he said, smiling at me.

“No, you don’t understand, I’m not thanking you for the compliment, Ian. I’m thanking you for giving me the beauty you see.”

“I can’t take credit for that, Soph.”

I smiled at him and we stood quietly, our hands on one another as if we were both awakening to whatever it was that was surrounding us both then. It was written all over us. There was something practically tangible there, like a ray of sun, warming us through to our souls. You could see it, you could feel it, but you couldn’t quite capture it in your hands. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there though. Oh, it was there and it weighed a thousand delicious pounds.

I let that pressure inundate me, let it tether me to him.



Understanding. I was in love with Ian Aberdeen. So deeply, so incredibly. And it was true and it was sublime and it was mine.

Nothing could take that away from me and that was absolutely freeing to me. I owned that love. I chose it. I owed no one for it because it couldn’t have been purchased. It belonged to me free and clear. I had never felt more empowered.

Ian’s breathing deepened as he frantically searched my face. Say it. He had to have known. He had to have felt it as I did…but no words came.

A rap at the door came just as he’d begun to open his mouth and the moment died at our feet, never to resuscitate. It was gone and my heart tumbled beside it. I knew my expression was one of pain, of disappointment, because he furrowed his brows and slid his hands to my face, trying to force it to right. I was no longer going to mask myself. I was a different person from then on. Vulnerability was acceptable to me because it was real. He shook his head as another knock resounded.

He cleared his throat. “Co-Coming,” he spoke, still attempting to smooth my skin.

“We’ll be down at the cars,” Simon said and we heard his footsteps fade away.

Ian turned his head away from me and toward the door. “We can take my car, for privacy.”

I was hurt and no longer capable of hiding how I felt, so I turned toward the bathroom, feigning I needed something. “That’s fine,” an unfamiliar broken voice sounded from my lips.

I picked up the pocketbook I’d set down on the bed at some point and made my way toward the door.

“Soph,” Ian whispered, grabbing at my arm. I let him stop me, but I refused to face him.

“Yes, dear?” I said, trying to sound lighthearted.

“Don’t,” he begged.

I looked his way but still refused to turn. “Don’t, what?” I asked, a fake, polite smile plastered across my lips.

“We should talk,” he said.

I ignored that. “We should probably leave, Ian. I don’t want your mother hating me any more than she already does.”

I slipped my arm from his grip and opened the door, following the short corridor out into the living room and through the front door. I could feel Ian’s heavy presence right behind me, close yet so very far away. I wanted to run to him and away from him all at the same time. I was so confused. I loved him. I swore he loved me back, but he’d just stood there.

I descended down the winding pebble-paved drive and found my way to the cars. Standing beside them all was Ian’s family. I smiled at them despite my heavy heart.

“You’re a vision, Sophie,” Simon said, reaching for my hand and kissing my cheek.

“Very lovely,” Henrik added with a jovial smile.

I looked on Abri in her sleek black dress and met her gaze. “Very beautiful, Abri,” I told her sincerely. She simply nodded.

No one, from what I could tell, knew what had transpired between Ian and me in that room. No one, except for Abri. She studied me closely, then her son, and back to me. Her eyes narrowed on us both.

Henrik opened the passenger door of a silver Audi for Abri and she got in, her gaze still plastered on Ian and me. Simon let himself into the back of the sedan and Henrik walked to the driver’s side. I watched all of them before Ian’s hand found my lower back.

“I’m over here,” he whispered in my ear, sending shivers down my spine despite what had transpired.

He led me to a black Mercedes G-Class. “This is yours?” I asked him.

“Not really. It’s just the car I used when I lived here. My parents bought it.”

“I see.”

He opened my door for me and I slid in. I reached for my belt but he beat me to it, wrapping me with it and buckling me in. He kissed my neck unexpectedly, perplexing me, and shut the door.

“What was that?” I asked him when he got in on his side.

“What was what?” he asked, buckling himself in.

“The belt? The kiss?”

“I needed to do it, wanted to be close to you then, I guess.”

He shrugged his shoulders as if that explained it and started the engine, bracing his hand on my headrest as he backed out of the driveway. We followed his parents to Aubergine’s in silence. He never took his hand off the headrest and the warmth from his hand kept permanent butterflies fluttering. It felt bittersweet though because, at the same time, my heart pounded in hurt.

Just because he didn’t say he loved you doesn’t mean he doesn’t care, Sophie.