Unveiled
Page 93
Between the doors of the lift.
‘Oh my God,’ I blurt, smacking the call button like a loon, my aching heart beating a strong staccato against my rib cage. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.’
Each second feels like centuries as I wait impatiently for the lift to open, persistently smacking the button for no purpose, other than for something to physically hit. ‘Open!’ I yell.
Ding!
‘Oh, thank God!’ The string falls from mid-air, down to the ground at my feet when the doors begin to part.
And the fireworks hit me like a charging bull. Flurries or them – all attacking me, making me light-headed and dizzy, challenging my ability to see.
But I see him.
My hand shoots out and holds the wall to stop me from collapsing in shock. Or is it relief? He’s sitting on the floor of the lift, his back to the wall, his head dropped, and the thread leads to a loop fastened around his own wrist.
What the hell is he doing in here?
‘Miller?’ I inch forward, wary, wondering what state he might be in and how I might handle it. ‘Miller, baby?’
His head lifts. He slowly opens his eyes. And my breath is robbed from me when piercing blue eyes sink into me. ‘There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, sweet girl,’ he breathes, reaching for me. ‘Nothing I couldn’t do.’ A slight cock of his head gestures for me to come to him, which I do without thought, keen to comfort him. Though why he’s in the lift is a bloody mystery. Why would he put himself through this? I take his hand and engage my muscles to help him up, but I’m on my way down to his lap and being arranged just so before I can react on instinct and remove him from the monster hole.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, resisting the urge to fight with him.
I’m wrestled into position. ‘You are going to give me my thing.’
‘What?’ I’m confused. He wants his thing in a scary lift?
‘I’ve asked once,’ he snaps impatiently, and he wholeheartedly means it. Why is he doing this?
With nothing else to say and not being permitted to help him from this hellhole, I take my only other option and wrap my arms around him, squeezing him to me. It takes a good few minutes of fierce cuddling before I recognise the lack of shakes coming from him. And it all becomes clear.
‘You got in here willingly?’ I ask, wondering how else I thought he could have accidently stumbled into the lift.
He doesn’t answer. He’s breathing into my neck, his heart is beating a nice, calm thrum against my chest, and there are no signs of distress. How long has he been in here? I don’t ask. I doubt I’d get an answer anyway, so I let him squeeze me to his heart’s content, hearing the doors closing behind me. I definitely detect a stutter of his heart rate now.
‘Marry me,’ he says quietly.
‘What?’ I cry, flying back from his lap. I didn’t hear him right. I couldn’t have. He doesn’t want to get married. My eyes dart all over his face, noting between my shock that there’s a sheen of sweat coating it.
‘You heard me,’ he replies, remaining impossibly still. His only movements are his lips parting slowly to speak. His wide blue eyes aren’t even blinking, just burning holes into my startled face.
‘I . . . it . . . I thought . . .’
‘Don’t make me repeat myself,’ he warns evenly, making me snap my mouth shut in shock. I try to form some coherent words. I can’t. My mind has shut down on me. So I just stare at his impassive face, waiting for anything that could clue me up on what I think I just heard. ‘Olivia . . .’
‘Say it again!’ I blurt, recoiling as a result of my own abruptness but declining from apologising. I’m too dazed. The mild sign of a twitching lip would usually have my own lips twitching in response. Not today, though. Today I’m useless.
Miller takes a deep breath, reaches forward, grabs the sheets at my chest with his fists, and yanks me to him. We’re nose to nose, twinkling bright blues on wide, unsure sapphires. ‘Marry me, sweet girl. Be mine forever.’
My lungs burn under the strain of holding my breath. I didn’t want any noise when he repeated what I thought he said, including breathing. ‘Oooooh,’ I exhale it all on that silly gush of comprehension. ‘I thought you never wanted to marry officially?’ I had got my head around it. His written word and spoken promise are more than enough for me. Like Miller, I don’t need witnesses or religion to validate what we have.
Lush lips straighten. ‘I’ve changed my mind and we’ll speak no more of it.’
My mouth drops open in shock. Just like that? I would ask what’s changed, but I think it’s probably obvious, and I’m not going to question it. I’d told myself Miller was right, and I really did believe it. Maybe because he made sense, or maybe because he seemed so adamant. ‘But why are you in the lift?’ My thoughts spill from my mouth as I sit before him, trying to wrap my mind around what’s happening.
Miller’s slips into thought and takes a risky peek of his surroundings, but he soon centres his attention back on me. ‘I can do anything for you.’ He speaks quietly, surely.
I get it.
If he can do this, then he literally can do anything for me.
‘My life has fallen into place, Olivia Taylor. Now I am who I’m supposed to be. Your lover. Your friend. Your husband.’ He drops his gaze to my tummy and I watch in wonder as his eyes take on a peaceful edge. They’re smiling eyes. ‘Our baby’s father.’
I leave him undisturbed while he stares at my stomach for what seems an eternity. It gives me time to let his declaration settle. Miller Hart isn’t your average man. He’s a man beyond any reasonable ability to describe. I think I have that ability now. Because I know him. Everyone, including me one time, used words they deemed fitting when describing Miller.
Detached. Emotionless. Unloving. And unlovable.
He was never any of those things, although he tried his damn hardest to be. And succeeded quite successfully. He repelled positivity and welcomed detriment. Like his paintings, he tarnished his natural beauty. Miller Hart’s walls were built so high, there was a risk no one would ever breach them. Because that is how he wanted it to be. I didn’t bash those walls down on my own. Brick by brick, he dismantled them with me. He wanted to show me the man he truly wanted to be. For me. There’s nothing in this world that could give me greater pleasure or satisfaction than seeing Miller smile. A simple thing, I know, but not in our world. Every smile he gives me is indicative of true happiness, and despite his signature cool impassiveness, I will never live with the worry of reading him. His eyes are a sea of emotion that I’m certain only I can construe. I’ve completed the Miller Hart induction programme. I’ve aced that damn course. Yet I’m under no illusion that I did it alone. Our worlds collided and exploded. I deciphered him and he deciphered me.
There was him and there was me.
And now there is only us.
‘You can be whoever you want to be,’ I whisper, moving forward, needing to be closer to him.
Inconceivable peace reflects back at me when we’re looking at each other again. ‘I want to be your husband.’ He speaks softly and quietly. ‘Marry me, Olivia Taylor. I beg you.’ His demand steals my breath. ‘Please don’t make me repeat myself, sweet girl.’
‘Oh my God,’ I blurt, smacking the call button like a loon, my aching heart beating a strong staccato against my rib cage. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.’
Each second feels like centuries as I wait impatiently for the lift to open, persistently smacking the button for no purpose, other than for something to physically hit. ‘Open!’ I yell.
Ding!
‘Oh, thank God!’ The string falls from mid-air, down to the ground at my feet when the doors begin to part.
And the fireworks hit me like a charging bull. Flurries or them – all attacking me, making me light-headed and dizzy, challenging my ability to see.
But I see him.
My hand shoots out and holds the wall to stop me from collapsing in shock. Or is it relief? He’s sitting on the floor of the lift, his back to the wall, his head dropped, and the thread leads to a loop fastened around his own wrist.
What the hell is he doing in here?
‘Miller?’ I inch forward, wary, wondering what state he might be in and how I might handle it. ‘Miller, baby?’
His head lifts. He slowly opens his eyes. And my breath is robbed from me when piercing blue eyes sink into me. ‘There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, sweet girl,’ he breathes, reaching for me. ‘Nothing I couldn’t do.’ A slight cock of his head gestures for me to come to him, which I do without thought, keen to comfort him. Though why he’s in the lift is a bloody mystery. Why would he put himself through this? I take his hand and engage my muscles to help him up, but I’m on my way down to his lap and being arranged just so before I can react on instinct and remove him from the monster hole.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask, resisting the urge to fight with him.
I’m wrestled into position. ‘You are going to give me my thing.’
‘What?’ I’m confused. He wants his thing in a scary lift?
‘I’ve asked once,’ he snaps impatiently, and he wholeheartedly means it. Why is he doing this?
With nothing else to say and not being permitted to help him from this hellhole, I take my only other option and wrap my arms around him, squeezing him to me. It takes a good few minutes of fierce cuddling before I recognise the lack of shakes coming from him. And it all becomes clear.
‘You got in here willingly?’ I ask, wondering how else I thought he could have accidently stumbled into the lift.
He doesn’t answer. He’s breathing into my neck, his heart is beating a nice, calm thrum against my chest, and there are no signs of distress. How long has he been in here? I don’t ask. I doubt I’d get an answer anyway, so I let him squeeze me to his heart’s content, hearing the doors closing behind me. I definitely detect a stutter of his heart rate now.
‘Marry me,’ he says quietly.
‘What?’ I cry, flying back from his lap. I didn’t hear him right. I couldn’t have. He doesn’t want to get married. My eyes dart all over his face, noting between my shock that there’s a sheen of sweat coating it.
‘You heard me,’ he replies, remaining impossibly still. His only movements are his lips parting slowly to speak. His wide blue eyes aren’t even blinking, just burning holes into my startled face.
‘I . . . it . . . I thought . . .’
‘Don’t make me repeat myself,’ he warns evenly, making me snap my mouth shut in shock. I try to form some coherent words. I can’t. My mind has shut down on me. So I just stare at his impassive face, waiting for anything that could clue me up on what I think I just heard. ‘Olivia . . .’
‘Say it again!’ I blurt, recoiling as a result of my own abruptness but declining from apologising. I’m too dazed. The mild sign of a twitching lip would usually have my own lips twitching in response. Not today, though. Today I’m useless.
Miller takes a deep breath, reaches forward, grabs the sheets at my chest with his fists, and yanks me to him. We’re nose to nose, twinkling bright blues on wide, unsure sapphires. ‘Marry me, sweet girl. Be mine forever.’
My lungs burn under the strain of holding my breath. I didn’t want any noise when he repeated what I thought he said, including breathing. ‘Oooooh,’ I exhale it all on that silly gush of comprehension. ‘I thought you never wanted to marry officially?’ I had got my head around it. His written word and spoken promise are more than enough for me. Like Miller, I don’t need witnesses or religion to validate what we have.
Lush lips straighten. ‘I’ve changed my mind and we’ll speak no more of it.’
My mouth drops open in shock. Just like that? I would ask what’s changed, but I think it’s probably obvious, and I’m not going to question it. I’d told myself Miller was right, and I really did believe it. Maybe because he made sense, or maybe because he seemed so adamant. ‘But why are you in the lift?’ My thoughts spill from my mouth as I sit before him, trying to wrap my mind around what’s happening.
Miller’s slips into thought and takes a risky peek of his surroundings, but he soon centres his attention back on me. ‘I can do anything for you.’ He speaks quietly, surely.
I get it.
If he can do this, then he literally can do anything for me.
‘My life has fallen into place, Olivia Taylor. Now I am who I’m supposed to be. Your lover. Your friend. Your husband.’ He drops his gaze to my tummy and I watch in wonder as his eyes take on a peaceful edge. They’re smiling eyes. ‘Our baby’s father.’
I leave him undisturbed while he stares at my stomach for what seems an eternity. It gives me time to let his declaration settle. Miller Hart isn’t your average man. He’s a man beyond any reasonable ability to describe. I think I have that ability now. Because I know him. Everyone, including me one time, used words they deemed fitting when describing Miller.
Detached. Emotionless. Unloving. And unlovable.
He was never any of those things, although he tried his damn hardest to be. And succeeded quite successfully. He repelled positivity and welcomed detriment. Like his paintings, he tarnished his natural beauty. Miller Hart’s walls were built so high, there was a risk no one would ever breach them. Because that is how he wanted it to be. I didn’t bash those walls down on my own. Brick by brick, he dismantled them with me. He wanted to show me the man he truly wanted to be. For me. There’s nothing in this world that could give me greater pleasure or satisfaction than seeing Miller smile. A simple thing, I know, but not in our world. Every smile he gives me is indicative of true happiness, and despite his signature cool impassiveness, I will never live with the worry of reading him. His eyes are a sea of emotion that I’m certain only I can construe. I’ve completed the Miller Hart induction programme. I’ve aced that damn course. Yet I’m under no illusion that I did it alone. Our worlds collided and exploded. I deciphered him and he deciphered me.
There was him and there was me.
And now there is only us.
‘You can be whoever you want to be,’ I whisper, moving forward, needing to be closer to him.
Inconceivable peace reflects back at me when we’re looking at each other again. ‘I want to be your husband.’ He speaks softly and quietly. ‘Marry me, Olivia Taylor. I beg you.’ His demand steals my breath. ‘Please don’t make me repeat myself, sweet girl.’
