Page 92 of Always Mine
Best Kind Of Beautiful
Marco
Ilaughloudlyatthe saying she’d always use to get her way when we were younger.
The sweet plea falling from lips I wished I could kiss was all it took for me to give in and let her tag along with us to a party or the boxing ring so she could take a break from studying and her parents who were constantly “checking in.” For obvious reasons, it had much more pull with me than Seb.
“I’d say we’ve succeeded in giving a whole new meaning to that saying and discovered far sexier uses for cherries.” I put my boxers back on before I scoop her up from under the knees and take her spot on the couch, settling her in my lap. She’s readjusted her underwear but is still naked otherwise. I gaze at her, cheeks flushed, makeup slightly smudged as proof of the fun we’ve just had, marveling at how she’s the perfect match for me on every level. Her brilliant mind, her fierce loyalty to the ones she loves, and her adventurous spirit that’s both sweet and spicy.
“I must look an absolute sight,” she says, covering her face, mistaking why I can’t take my eyes off her. I pry her hands awayand softly kiss her lips. “Actually, I was just admiring how you look the best kind of beautiful like this.”
“Which is?” she whispers with a smile playing on her lips just millimeters from mine.
“Thoroughly. Fucked,” I say in a low, hushed tone.
She laughs and snuggles closer to my chest as she traces my tattoo, this quiet that settles over us after our frenzied need for each other quickly becoming one of my favorite things in the world.
“I think we have the fucking part of this relationship down pat. It’s like we’ve reverted to a pair of horny teenagers. Think we might need to try practicing a little more conversation and a little less action.”
“Well, in our defense, I do think there is almost a decade of repressed horniness to work out of our systems,” I say, waggling my eyebrows.
“Hmmm, let me think,” she says tapping her chin in mock contemplation. “Whose fault is that? I’d like to enter into evidence the night of July 4th six years ago.”
“Are you going all lawyer on my ass, Soph?”
“I’ll let you off the hook this time, but can I ask you something?”
“Anything. Well, except to marry you, ’cause I kinda have my heart set on doing the honors of asking that question.”
“Oh my God, Marco. You’re insane. I mean, what are we even talking about here! Don’t try to distract me by steering this conversation way off path. But since you brought it up, what about my dad? I mean, hypothetically speaking, you would need to ask him.”
“Of course I would ask him, but I’ll marry you regardless of whether he said yes or not. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
“Hmmm, love me a bad boy,” she says drowsily. “But how do…” Her voice trails off, and I notice she seems to be fighting sleep.
“Did I fuck the life out of you, baby?” I joke.
“Yeah, sorry. I just feel so drowsy.” She shakes her head as if to wake herself up. “As I was saying, how do Artyand AJ know each other, and what did Arabella say to you as we were leaving? It looked intense.”
She stares at me imploringly, concern lacing her eyes, deep pools of molasses, rich, sweet, and syrupy. The same way it tastes knowing I can finally envision a life where she’s mine and I’m hers. The mention of her dad and the fact she didn’t miss the interaction between me and Arabella makes my throat constrict. All the information I’ve carefully withheld feels like a razor blade pressed against my Adam’s apple ready to slice through my skin. The haunting realization dawns that this dream will shatter into a million pieces if I don’t start filling in the gaps Sophia keeps stumbling over.
I go to answer when I notice her body is heavier in my arms, and she’s fighting to keep her eyes open.
“Baby, what’s the matter,” I demand, peering at her, panic starting to rise. I push the hair off her face and rest the back of my hand on my forehead to check if she’s running a fever.
“You don’t feel warm, sweetheart,” I murmur before realizing how light-headed I also feel.
I still and take a few sniffs of the air, scrunching my nose up as the smell settles there and more of it starts to permeate my office. Sophia’s head lolls onto my chest, and her eyes flutter as drowsiness sets in.
“What the fuck. That smells like...” I sniff the air again. “That’s fucking gas!” I shout, gently moving her off my lap and onto the couch so I can get my phone to call Seb. While I wait for him to answer, I look over the multiple monitors lining the back wall and checking over all the different angles and areas of the club they monitor.
“Sebastian. Can you smell gas down there? I’m up in my office with Sophia... Yeah, we can smell it.”
Movement behind me catches my attention, and I swing around to find Sophia is slowly getting dressed. Still feeling light-headed, I round the desk gingerly and come to stand behind her to offer a steadying hand. She passed me my trousers and sweater from thefloor, and I put my phone on speaker and hurriedly dress. Sophia motions for me to zip her up.
“Security have removed a few people thinking they were wasted,” Sebastian continues.
“Fuck! They were probably feeling fucking light-headed. This makes no fucking sense. I booked the inspector to come yesterday to check everything, knowing we were hosting tonight. We need to get everyone out. Cut the music and get Trix to make an announcement for people to leave through their nearest exit.”