Page 54 of A Dark Fall
“Sit down, Alex,” he says in a low, firm tone.
When I look back at him, his eyes are hooded and dark, commanding me to do what I’m told. He nods back to the place I was sitting.
“Please,” he says, softer.
I know if I leave now, it’ll be the equivalent of a child stomping off because they didn’t get their way. I’d also be cutting my nose off to spite my face, because I still want him despite the mystery he’s so artfully trying to weave around himself. If he has trust issues, surely all I need to do is be patient. Wait until he sees me as a pair of safe hands.
I slide back into the booth and sit down across from him. Immediately, his gaze softens, though I still wonder if he’s regretting asking me out.
“Well, this is going great, isn’t it?” His tone is softer now too.
“It was. Now it isn’t,” I say, shaking my head.
He nods and purses his lips.
“Look, I’m not trying to pry into your life, Jake. I’m just not used to being on dates like this.”
“No, I’ll bet you’re not,” he scoffs, running a hand over his mouth. Then his face turns serious again, and he leans back in his chair and lets out a loud sigh. “Okay, Alex. You want to know about my childhood ...” He shifts in his chair a few times, clearly struggling to find a comfortable position—or getting ready to exit the booth entirely, perhaps. That’s how uncomfortable he looks.
Suddenly, I hate myself for forcing him into this, but I’ve come this far and can’t exactly back out now.
“I grew up in Bromley—or was dragged up until I was eleven and they took me and my brother into care. My mother had issues deciding whether to feed us or buy two bottles of vodka and get her mates around every other night. We never won often.” He looks away for a moment, and I continue to hold my breath, my face impassive. He brings his eyes back to me. “I bounced around for a few years, mainly in north London, but Jon was a few years older, so as soon as he hit seventeen he joined the army. But as I moved about a bit, we lost touch pretty quick.” Another rub of his mouth with his hand, and he drops his head. “When I was sixteen, I met a guy who felt sorry for me and gave me a job, and that was that. Three weeks ago, you met the finished product, I guess.” He shrugs, nonchalant.
The casual look on his face is almost convincing. He’s trying to persuade me nothing about his story affects him in the slightest—not the fact his mother chose alcohol over him or that he has no idea where his brother is now. But I’mnotconvinced. Somewhere in there is someone who cares.
I realize I’m still holding in a breath, and so I let it out quietly. “Jake, I’m sorry ...” I begin.
“I don’t want your pity, Alex,” he cuts me off. “Fuck, that’s not why I shared. It’s exactly why I didn’t want to. I don’t want you looking at me with pity. Never like that.” His eyes flare hotly.
“That’s not why I was apologizing,” I tell him. “I was apologizing for forcing you to talk about something you didn’t want to talk about ... But thank you. For sharing.”
His mouth softens. “Well, if I could have thought of another way of stopping you from leaving, I’d have done that instead. Trust me.”
Okay, so he has no idea I would have only got as far as the door before turning back.
I’m not quite sure how to lighten the heavy, sad tone that’s settled on both of us, so I decide to use flattery. Mum always said men like being flattered as much as women do.
“Well, I wouldn’t have left. I like the finished product far too much.” I smile.
He cocks an eyebrow. “So, you played me?”
I shake my head and take my last sip of wine. “Not intentionally. I was annoyed at the silly game. I know I started it, but I suppose I was hoping you would come after me.”
His mouth curls up into a wicked grin. “Oh, I’ll always come after you, baby. Promise.” He winks. Actually winks, and I can’t help but burst into a stupid giggle.
When my laughter clears, I lean forward over the table toward him. “See? That wasn’t so bad. Sharing.”
He leans forward too so our faces are only centimeters apart. “It was fucking awful.” He shudders. He takes my left hand in his, holding our fingers together, palms touching, and traces his fingers softly over mine. It’s soft and lulling. He lingers on the one next to my pinkie, running his fingers up its length, and then he moves along to my forefinger where I wear my Tiffany Elsa Peretti ring, a graduation gift from my parents. An emerald set in platinum with “Dr. A Marlowe” engraved on the inside.
I look up from our hands to find him staring at me. His face is serious but his eyes soft as he leans in and touches his nose to mine, rubbing them softly together. It’s utterly adorable.
“So, you like the finished product, do you?” he says, sounding cocky.
My breathing quickens, and I need for him to kiss me, so much so my mouth tingles and aches from the want. The warmth of his breath tickles my lips as his fingers continue to caress my own, and I feel a lot like someone falling for someone. Someone I’m not supposed to.
A million bloody pieces, Alex.
“I do.” I nod. “I mean I don’t know anyone as successful, as well-dressed, or as hot who was ‘dragged up in Bromley.’”