Page 48 of Violent Attraction

It’s been a fucking month and still no conversation has happened.

I hear the door to the room, the room that was once my mother’s old sewing safe haven and I turned into a drawing studio, open. There are only three people besides me that have access to this room.

My brother and sister.

And Santiago.

The boy that has occupied not only my head but my heart for as long as I can remember. My whole heart. Of course, I would give him access to my safe space.

As I listen to the footsteps, I know exactly who it is.

I continue to draw as I wait for him to approach me and do the one thing that he always does when we’re here and alone like this.

Like second nature, the footsteps stop behind me, and within seconds I feel a feather-like touch on my shoulder moving my hair from one side to the other. I feel his lips on my skin next, he places a soft kiss on my shoulder blade that is exposed by my shirt before pulling back.

“You would look beautiful in that.” He says, most likely looking over my shoulder at the dress design that I’m working on.

I shrug, looking down at the drawing. “It’s not something that I would be able to pull off.”

“You most definitely can.” He places another kiss on my shoulder and I can’t help but to lean back and melt into him.

There is something about being in this room and being in his arms like this that makes me feel safe.

Like everything is going to be okay. All I have to do is not leave the comfort of these walls or the comfort that comes from him being around me.

Maybe once we are out to my father, I will be able to experience this feeling outside of this studio. Maybe I will be able to feel safe as we walk down the sidewalk together or have dinner out in public.

But there is only one way that I would be able to feel that.

“Have you talked to him?”

I know the answer before any words can leave his mouth. The tension coming off him tells me everything I need to know.

He hasn’t.

I turn to face him.

Santiago lets out a sigh. “I started to, the words were about to come out, when he stopped me.”

My brow bunch together. “He stopped you?”

I look at him and there is something about his expression that is throwing me off.

Why does he look so pissed off? Like the conversation with my father made him angry beyond comprehension.

He nods. “That’s why I’m here. He requested for me to get you. Ronaldo wants to see you.”

If any other person was here, instead of the man standing in front of me, telling me that my father wanted to see me, I wouldn’t question it. But the way the tension is rolling off him, my whole body is on high alert.

“Why does he want to see me?”

“He didn’t say,” again, his expression has me wanting to ask questions.

I continue to look at the man standing before me, with a questioning look, and after about two minutes I finally stand up.

“Okay.”

Maybe my mind is going haywire and my father requesting to see me is a good thing. Maybe he knew what Santiago wanted to speak to him about and decided to stop him for a reason. Maybe he somehow found out about our relationship and about Santiago wanting to propose and this is him giving us his blessing to get married.