Black Lace (Complete)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

Chapter Four

Don't be foolish, I chided myself, slipping through the candlelit hallways with a cup of warm milk in my hands. I cradled it close to my chest. Father's estate was ancient, passed down to Father from our ancestors. Mother didn't want to ruin the authenticity by installing a heating system. It came at the cost of nighttime chill. When the moon descended from the sky and cast its silver glow on the world, it embraced everything in a fine mesh sieve of metal, ice and snow. It didn't actually snow, but it felt like it. I pressed the hot cup tighter in my palms, relishing the flowing heat it transferred to my cold hands.

"—Romina?"

I knew that voice. I spun in place, turning to face Mr. Herrera. His face was darkened by the scantly lit hallways, sending shadows dancing across his rigid features. Where the shadows danced, light left its imprint, shining slightly on his sharp cheekbones and strong nose. I stopped walking and waited silently for him to continue. He didn't need my help, did he?

"Sorry to disturb you so late," he said, almost sounding sorry. But he was not sorry. I saw it in the sure stare of his eyes. I felt it: that surety, that knowledge of something beyond me, something that had to do entirely with him. "I got lost."

That, at least, was likely. I too had gotten lost in the winding halls and endless doors as a child. I knew my way around now; I'd only ever been here, lived here, or breathed the air here. But maybe that was untrue.

I breathed different air in my dreams; fresh, vivacious, and clean air. It had been so long since I'd been outside. It had been so long since I'd been allowed outside. But it was for a reason. It was for my safety. Father cared for me, this was just his way of showing it.

"The guest rooms are just down this hall," I motioned an elbow to the right, past the doors to my room. A thought suddenly occurred to me. I rose a brow at him, skeptical and lips pursed. "You didn't get lost a few doors down from your room, did you?"

A sheepish smile came to his lips, and all its effect was inflamed by the chill in the air and the heat I was sure his body produced.

"Maybe not," he admitted, shifting his weight as he placed his hands into his pockets, staring down the hall. "What would you like me to say, then? That I came out here for you?"

His brazenness was as much of a shock as his words. My fingers clenched on the cup in my hands. My cheeks inflamed, and for once I was glad for the poor lighting in the hall. "Mr—"

"Aziel," he corrected, cutting me off. Confidence oozed from his relaxed pose, as if he knew exactly how much he affected me. Affected me?

I turned my focus to my racing heart, my sweaty palms, the flush covering my skin and chest. Yes, his effect. It was contagious. And I was his parasitic host.

"I don't..." I uttered breathlessly, confused and strangely enamored.

"I call you by your first name." He said calmly. "Romina." Something swelled deep in the pit of my stomach...tightening...warming. It was unbearable. My lips parted and I felt myself becoming loopy. Drunken. I felt drunken by him, drunken by his very presence and mind. "Call me by mine. Aziel."

"A-Aziel." I managed, testing his name on my lips. I did not know what Father or Mother would think of me calling a strange man by his first name, but in that moment I did not care. Nothing seemed to matter but how he lifted my arm, and placed his lips of the back of my hand in a soft kiss. Nothing seemed to matter but the flashes heat stowing away deep in my stomach.

Again his eyes fell to the red marks on my hands. For a moment they narrowed, but he released my hand gently, standing straight again.

"Good girl," he praised me.

I had no idea how to reply. "I-I should retire, Mr...uh, Aziel."

"Yes, you should." He smiled calmly, stoic as he was serene. "Sleep well, Romina."

I began walking away, nodding politely as I tried to contain the embarrassment from my face.

"You too, Aziel."

"Have sweet dreams." It was a strange comment. I hesitated before I opened my door and left the hall, glancing back to meet his mischievous stare.

Something in his words made me feel like he knew more about my dreams than I did.

I had yet to decide if that was a good or bad thing.

Bad, definitely bad, I chided myself, scolding such scandalous thoughts.

I closed the door and I saw a flash of black and white; his coat, shirt and pants. His footsteps faded until he reached the end of the hall, opening the room I thought to be his.

The guest rooms were spaced fairly far apart, one reason being their significant size, another to increase noise privacy.

I could not have heard what was happening in any of the other rooms, all but for the one next to my own.

I walked to the wall that connected my room to the next, placed my hand softly on the wall, and held my cup carefully in the other.

My hand felt the slight trembles as his footfalls shook the old house, rippling its effect into my own palm. I closed my eyes and breathed out of my nose.

So close.

I knew he was close to me. Very close, in fact. Our beds were separated by a single thick wall of stone and wood.

How wrong I'd been. How naïve.

A man like him would never stay far for long. And lest my eyes and mind go to rest for the night, he would go from being close...

...to closer.