Heart In A Cage

08

Isabella

The front yard's gravel pavement takes me through a world of beauty. A huge shade is casted from the leaves of a thriving birch tree, and below it is lavenders emerging from the grass, barely budding with the crisp weather. The fountain is my favourite―slabs that have constructed a bowl with three tiers, water falling from the highest one and splashing onto the thick lip of the stone structure. Hedges spotted with florets make for an astounding finalization to the large garden, and I'd marvel at it for longer if my inspection hadn't been disrupted by a rasp of the iron gates.

Andreas' tatted hand is tense around one of the thin poles, and his examination of me as I walk over is daunting. It's a merge of intensity and fascination and getting closer only does well in adding on to those nervous swishes in my stomach. He takes my hand and leads me out the gates, his eyes jumping to me continuously until I'm seated in the car.

He shuts my door, rushes into the driver's seat, and beams at me.

"I told you to wear your worst. Are you trying to kill me?"

I didn't think what I wore was that amazing—other than the way my breasts sit at the neckline. Maybe it's the colour that's staggering him since he favours dark clothing, or the black pearl necklace hung around my neck?

"Thank you. You look nice too." An understatement. His blouse is a pitch black, like his jeans, and it's almost too tight around his brawny torso. The cuffs are unbuttoned, exposing a new inch of skin where I find a segment of his tattoo, and the only break in the dark nature to his fit is the silver buckle joining a glazed leather belt.

Silence with a few glances back at each other fills the car during our ride. To occupy myself, I try to capture a mental image of the tattoo's extended designs. It's the same work—a jumble of vegetation. For a while, I even stare at his hair which has been thrown out in gorgeous waves.

After a long moment, he cuts into the quiet. "I've never seen you in a dress before."

I drag my eyes to the road ahead of us. "Is that why you were so excited?"

The corner of my vision reveals that he's fighting an urge to beam again. It's quite startling, and I manage to dismiss it until we finally arrive.

The thump of music greets us even before we enter the club. It fuels partygoers who are crazed over the dance floor and washed with multi-coloured shafts of light that shoot from high ceilings. People are sluggish on top of upholstered stools, gesturing or calling out to bartenders who are either sorting through fancy bottles placed on glass shelves or busy pouring liquids for someone else. I anticipate stopping at the bar and grabbing a drink, but we zoom past it, and I have to shout over the music to get my confusion through to Andreas.

"Where are we going? I want to dance." No regard is paid. He pauses for a moment, makes sure I'm enduring his charge through the crowds, then continues moving. At one point I need to tap his shoulder and demand a break. He says I'll be fine and proceeds to guide me.

When we finally finish moving, we're at one of the far booths that's almost completely hidden from where the madness resides. He releases my hand and slips onto the long leather seat, his back against the wall instead of the backboard and an arm rested on the table. Over here, the music isn't as thunderous, so I hear exactly what he says as he looks at me with urgent demand and pats his lap.

"You have to compensate."

A courteous part of me explains that something foolishly amorous is making me want to sit on top of Andreas. It's telling me that just because we're at the edges of a club, I don't need to give in and indulge. Someone can wander here at any moment, spot us in an act, point it out, and snap us out if it. That part of me I lay to rest, bury it deep beneath the surface of idiocy and lust where I can't simply unearth it. I take a deep breath and crawl onto his laid down body.