Don’t Be in Love

45

Don’t Let Her Go — Dorian

My heart clung to my ribcage. This was what she’s been upset about? This was why she wouldn’t answer my calls or look at me? She thought I was in love with someone else?

There was rain in my shoes and rain in my pockets and rain coating my hair and skin, but I’d stand out here all night explaining what happened if it meant she’d understand.

The words began tumbling out of my mouth without a second thought. “I don’t love her, I love you , and if you had stopped making up your mind before I had a second to finish explaining myself, you would’ve realized that this entire time I’ve been trying to give you the space you wanted. I’ve tried to get over you each time you told me you weren’t interested so I could hopefully salvage some shred of my dignity, but all I could think about was you . All I ever think about is you . You’re all I paint for God’s sake.”

Exhale. Inhale . “The problem was never that I loved her , because I didn’t. It was always that I loved you .”

She stared at me with cheeks completely flushed. Rain filled our silence.

I wanted her. I wanted her. I wanted her. I had never wanted someone so strongly before and it terrified me.

“You can’t just make me fall in love with you and take it all back,” I whispered. “Say something. Please.”

Her eyes were dewy. “Are you sure?”

“What?” I asked dumbfounded.

“Are you sure that you love me? Because if you take it back in a few months or a few years, I don’t know if I’ll survive it when being in love with you has already been this treacherous.”

“Did you just say you were in love with me?”

“Treacherously so, yes.” Her eyes darted across my face. “So tell me Dorian Blackwood, are you sure?”

“I was sure the first night I walked you home,” I exhaled.

A smile finally kicked up on her face. At last, I let myself touch her, my hands going to the sides of her jaw. “I adore you, Adelaide Adorno. I love absolutely everything about you.”

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I love you too.”

I groaned. “This may be hotter than the time you buttoned up my dress shirt.”

“Kiss me,” she breathed.

“Finally.” I leaned down and pulled her in the rest of the way.

The second her lips hit mine, all the tension in my body diminished. Her gasp between our lips was swallowed as I refamiliarized myself with the divot in her collarbone and the muscle in her arms and the dip in her waist. I took note of it all as if I was rushing to collect evidence that’d wash away soon. Two steps forward and she was moving with me, her back against the building, and out of the awning.

She giggled as the rain hit us, but she didn’t break away, only dug her fingers into my hair deeper.

I could do this for a lifetime.

Hold her. Kiss her. Paint her. Listen to her breathe.

“Dorian,” she murmured.

“Hm,” I mumbled against her lips.

She pulled away, hands still at the back of my neck. Rain licked at her eyelashes and glazed her hair. My lips hovered between her brows. I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath as if I submerged from a lake.

“I can’t stay. This can’t be my reason to stay,” she whispered.

I didn’t have to ask why. It’d take time for me to earn her trust. I understood. I wanted more for her than myself.

I asked, “Do you love London?”

“Of course. But I don’t have a job lined up or—”

“Are you happy here?”

“I am.” She didn’t hesitate.

“Then you have to just trust that the rest will figure itself out.”

“But what if—”

“Just give it a try. If you’re unhappy after a month or two months or two years, then we’ll pivot. You lead and I’ll follow.”