A Night To Remember

16. skeletons in your closet

Azrael Carmen

"For fuck's sake stop lurking in there." I snarled as he attempted to look inside my closet. Again.

My fake boyfriend looked like he had just been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. He muttered a string of curses under his breath then sighed loudly. I mindlessly pulled out a long sleeves black turtle from my luggage and glared at him from where I was sitting.

His disgustingly adorable frown had turned into a pout and I swore my eyebrows twitched as if they were trying to jump off my face. Placing the shirt beside my legs, I dug for a bottom to pair it with and ignored the idiot who lazily flopped on my bed. Sprawling across it as if he had always been here since forever.

"I was looking for your hidden skeletons." He said and my whole body tightened with alarm.

I knew what he saw in there and why it had intrigued him so much. There was nothing from that specific part of my life in the media or old records. My father had promised to erase it into dust. He did and I was grateful.

Those gold medals from my ballet day had stacked up in there everywhere, abandoned and forgotten. They might as well be those damn skeletons he thought I was hiding. I had long replaced the pointe shoes with my designer heels. It wasn't a topic I was willing to discuss. Not now. Not ever.

So as I grabbed a white mini skirt and a pair of knees high boots, I abruptly got up and headed to the bathroom to change.

"Do I get to look at the skeletons in your closet too, Elliot?"

He must have noticed the stiff neck and squared shoulders because his tone was soft and amused. "That's a shit place to hide your crime, Jane."

I shut the door behind me and pretended I didn't feel the interest burning from within him or the gaze that followed me intensely.

He said goodbye to my father at the front door half an hour later while I stood there and watched. I couldn't help but stared. He looked as if he was tempting the old man into his charm with all the right words. His grey eyes playful and grin so cockily arrogant. I decided to save my father from the danger that was him and grabbed him to leave.

The bastard chuckled but followed me to his surprisingly intact car. His Bentley. The same one I was in all those months ago. And, when he opened the door for me I was right back there where it all started.

I hated the stupid car. Loathed how it was so utterly him and despised that every time I looked into the rear view mirror and saw that backseat it mocked me. His citrus scented cologne played like music in the air, suffocating and swallowing me whole. I glared at the side of his face as London flashed in a blur behind him.

Then I found myself debating if I should jump out of the car and die or strangle his ugly neck. Because this felt a fucking lot like karma from every bad things I ever did and he was specifically sent to torture me.

"This isn't working out. Let's just break up." I announced, breaking the silence between us.

He glanced at me slightly when the light turned red. His smile lazy as he leaned his head against the headrest, tilting it upward like he planned to spend all these time in the world to taunt me. I sat there and watched the structure of his ugly face.