The thought of my mother, of Emma, dampens the momentary reprieve seeing my things had given me, so I decide to forego the glassed-in shower and move to the deep, claw-footed soaking tub to figure out how the old-fashioned knobs work. Once I get it to the temperature I want and begin to fill it, I strip off my clothes and look through the drawers and cabinets. I find most empty, apart from guest toiletries, so I take in the view from the window until the tub is full. I switch off the water and set my bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash on the shelf by the tub and step in. The water is almost too hot as I descend so deep I’m in to my neck. I rest my head back on the lip of the tub and listen to the sounds of the last drops of water falling from the copper faucet. I slide deeper, going fully under, and hold my breath. I love the sound of water when I’m fully submerged. I always have. There’s a silence that belongs to it that no human sound can penetrate. That lets my mind quiet and allows me to escape for brief moments as long as I can hold my breath.
I come up for air and pick up the shampoo, glancing at the glassed-in shower stall. A shower would have probably been smarter, but I’ve always preferred baths, so I shampoo once, twice, the water growing sudsy as I rinse my hair before applying conditioner. I take the loofah that was already on the shelf out of the packaging and clean the dirt of the last few days off me. The funeral. Amadeo. Bastian.
My father is dead. I wasn’t prepared for it. I didn’t expect him to die. He’d lost weight the last few weeks and was unable to keep food down at times. I’d just thought he’d get better. But then he had a massive heart attack… I haven’t processed it yet, the fact that he’s really gone.
I push the thoughts out of my head. Now isn’t the time to start processing. Using my wide-tooth comb, I detangle my hair with the conditioner still in it. Then I descend again and let myself float beneath the surface. The tub is deep enough. What a luxury. And as I lay there hearing the sound of water, of the drip from the faucet, I let myself forget just for a moment. Just for now. I hold my breath and just let myself be.
Until a dark shadow falls over me, that is.
I shoot up out of the water, all the peace of moments ago vanished as water splashes the pristine marble floors.
“Are you trying to drown yourself, Dandelion?” Amadeo asks with a smirk, letting his gaze slowly glide over me.
“You fucking asshole. I had locked the door!” I slap the water to splash him.
He just laughs and steps back in time to avoid most of it. “I have a key,” he says, presenting it to me before closing his palm around it. “It is my house, after all.”
“It’s a fucking bathroom. Don’t you respect anything?”
He shrugs his shoulders, then pushes his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. He’s dressed casually, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows. My gaze moves over his forearms, dusted with dark hair, and catches on the dandelion tattoo. He checks the time on his expensive watch before stepping toward the tub and reaching in.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, scooting as far away as possible.
He glances at me like I’m the one with the problem as he pulls the plug and water begins to drain away.
“I wasn’t done,” I say stupidly.
He shakes the water off his arm, then reaches for a towel to dry it before unfolding it and holding it out for me. As if I would step out of the tub right here, right now in front of him fully naked, and let him wrap the goddamn towel around me.
“What the fuck?” I ask again, covering myself with my arms.
“Out, Dandelion. Come on. We have an appointment.”
“What appointment?”
“We need to get your ring sized before the big night.” He winks at me.
“It’s a fake engagement. I don’t need a ring.”
“But you do. Let’s go. Out.”
“I don’t want one.”
“Christ. Don’t be a fucking baby.” He gestures to the towel.
“Turn around.”
“I’ve seen you naked,” he reminds me, then grins that deviant grin that I at once hate and that does something to my insides. “I’ve touched you. Smelled you. Tasted you. You taste good. I don’t know if I mentioned that last night.”
I grab the nearest thing, which is the stupid loofah, and throw it at him. He just laughs like he’s really amused as it bounces off his shoulder.
“I’m going to fucking kill you in your sleep!”
“I am sure you’re going to try.”
I reach out far enough to grab the towel, but he tugs it just out of reach, making me slip back into the tub, so I have to catch the edge before I slam my face against it.
“Careful, sweetheart. Don’t want your pretty face bruised before our big night. People will talk.”