Stealing the Groom

Nine

A/N: Dedicated to sophiabanks69. Thank you for all the support!

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IX: Drunk Apologies Don't Count

UNSHED TEARS of fear clouded my eyesight as I stepped out of the cab that had thankfully picked me up at the curb of the night club. My rapid breathing didn't even begin to stabilize until I was swinging past the doors of the Richmond Inn Hotel. I really had scared that taxi driver, hyperventilating the whole way, so I gave him a large tip to make up for it.

"Well if it isn't the other Mercer," said the deep voice of none other than Cole Richmond when he saw me walk in from his spot leaning against the front desk. Great, this was just what I needed, I thought sarcastically.

"It's Chevalier," I responded tensely as I briskly walked past him.

"Whoa," he said hooking his arm around mine and spinning me around to face him. "What the hell happened to you?"

If his tone hadn't have been so indifferent, maybe I would have broken down in sobs and told him my tragic tale right there in the packed lobby. But thank God for his mocking smile, because I saved myself from the embarrassment of having had told him the glory details of the evil that is Dexter Arbogast.

"Look," I began before yanking my arm from his grasp. "I'm not not in the mood to have this discussion right now. So how about you shut up and let me go up to my room? You can be a jackass to me in the morning."

His jaw fell at my little outburst and I took it as my chance to escape. Stepping into the elevator, I tightened my grip on the metal railing and closed my eyes as it acceded.

I was safe, I know that. I managed to get out of that club unscathed. I'm fine, I repeated to myself at least a million times on the seemingly endless ride up to my floor. He can't hurt me here.

Now if only my body would get the memo and calm the fuck down, I thought as I walked down the hall towards my room.

It wasn't until the door was shut behind me and the locks were firmly in place that the shaking of my hands cease to an end. Worn, my frail body collapsed on the couch.

Remember what the therapist said, I reminded myself. Focus on something in the room, don't let memories of that night consume you.

My eyes swept around the elegant lounge room, seeking for something to keep me rooted in the present.

My sketchbook. Standing, I quickly walked towards the glass desk where it lay open to the sketch of Max's eyes.

Max. Think of Max, I instructed to myself.

So I did just that. I took the sketchbook with me to the couch and sat there with my eyelids shut, thinking of his chocolate eyes. Of the way he'd smile when I did something he found amusing, and the feel of his silky hair.

I let the memory of when he first kissed me fill my head. He'd been so nervous that when he leaned in he accidentally bumped his forehead with mine.

A smile spread on my face then, remembering how he'd blushed scarlet red and a giddy chuckle escaped his lips.

I fell asleep thinking of him and his adorable clumsiness, and letting my heart remind me of how much I loved him. Of how much I think I still do.

***

"Eleanor, please come in here," My spine automatically straightened at the curt voice coming out of the slightly ajar study door. Mother looked up from her book and delicately removed her white reading glasses to give me a raised eyebrow look as if to say, 'Why are you still sitting there starring at me?'