Awaken The Dark Paradise Chronicles 1

by Isadora Brown

  “Shut up, darl.” He didn’t pull away. “Just stop. You’re thinking about this too much.” He released her face and began to focus on taking care of her hands. “We’re all born with something. You’re born with visions that probably make no sense to you. You’re born with the ability to shoot an arrow at whatever or whomever you want. You have to practice. You have to do it again and again until you’re the best, and then you have to keep doing it to continue to be the best. And you can’t do that in two weeks.” When he finished with her hands, he placed his index finger under her chin and made sure she locked eyes with him. “You are the right girl, Reese. I believe that much.”

  Before Reese could stop it, tears began streaming down her cheeks and she launched herself into his arms. Despite the surprise, he caught her with ease. She heard him murmur, “I didn’t say that to make you cry again”, but he pulled her close to him and tucked her head under his chin then began rocking her back and forth.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his chest, getting lost in his warmth, his scent of smoky pine. She could fall asleep right here, right now. In fact, she probably would have if a thought hadn’t crossed her mind.

  “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” she mumbled.

  “I, uh—”

  “You should come home with me,” she told him. “You shouldn’t be alone on Thanksgiving.”

  “How do you know I’d be alone?” His voice betrayed his discomfort. All at once, he became silent, leaving her hanging for so long that she was certain he was going to say no. “I need to pick up that shirt you stole from me anyway.”

  “I did not steal—”

  She was interrupted by his blinding smile and she felt her own lips tug up.

  “Ah, there’s that smile,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Now, would you stop crying already? You’re ruining my shirt.”

  When Reese told her parents she’d be bringing a boy home for Thanksgiving, they—especially her mother—were ecstatic. In fact, it helped distract her mother from the bandages wrapped around her daughter’s fingers and focused her attention on planning the perfect outfit for Reese. Edina insisted on a dress, but Reese was adamant about her choice of attire and won out in the end—only because Edina had given Carmen the week off and she had to learn how to cook an entire Thanksgiving meal for her family.

  By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, Reese was as nervous as her mother, though she didn’t know why. Her outfit, a tight, high-waisted grey pencil skirt with a dark blue boyfriend shirt tucked in, was perfect; her hair, straightened and pushed back with a simple black headband, was perfect; her makeup, black mascara and pink lip gloss, was perfect. There was no reason to be nervous, and yet here she was, pacing the room like she was waiting for a boy to pick her up for her first date. She was glad her father had taken her brother golfing for the morning or else they’d be making fun of her right now.

  The doorbell rang and Reese’s heart jumped in her throat. She expected to head down the stairs, but her mother, knowing who it was, called out that she would answer it. Reese’s feet stayed rooted in place and she pressed her ear to the door, hoping to hear what was going on. They were too far down to overhear any conversation, but she heard his familiar footsteps. Before she knew it, he was knocking on her door.

  Swallowing, she rubbed her palms on her skirt. They were cool and damp, and she had no idea why she was sweating. When she opened the door, she was instantly greeted by blue-brown eyes. She nearly laughed at herself. This was Ollo for goodness’ sake; there was no reason to be so weird about everything. She stepped outside in order to let him in, taking in his pressed, three-piece suit. It was a dark charcoal color with a sky blue collared shirt unbuttoned to the beginning of his chest underneath a vest and tucked into pressed slacks. His pocket watch hung from his vest and was placed in the vest’s pocket. His brown hair was pulled away from his face in a half ponytail while the remaining tresses hung freely, caressing the top of his shoulders. She grinned when she saw that he still had his scruff. He looked younger, much younger, and she found herself staring longer than she should have.

  “You came,” she murmured as she shut the door.

  “I said I would.” His voice sounded rawer now that he was sober. He wasn’t even chewing gum. His eyes surveyed the room, staying silent for a moment. Butterflies began to flutter in her stomach. When his eyes found hers, the butterflies forgot to fly and dropped. “I thought there’d be more pink.”

  “I only woke up in August,” she said. “Give me some time.”

  There was an awkward feeling between them and Reese still wasn’t sure why. Was it because he was in her room? Because he had dressed up? Because when she mentioned waking up, his eyes dropped to her lips and the sudden desire to have him walk over and kiss her with everything he had throttled her entire being without warning? Because she was licking her bottom lip, just in case? Because his eyes widened when he noticed it? Because they were alone together in her bedroom with the door shut and her mom too far downstairs to hear them?

  His eyes finally released hers. She could breathe again.

  “I was surprised your mom just sent me up,” he drawled, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

  “She trusts me,” she replied. Suddenly, Reese’s eyes filled with tears and she blinked furiously, trying to will them away. How she could think about kissing Ollo—Ollo—when she had her family to worry about. She was being selfish.

  “Are you going to cry again, darl?” he asked, raising a worried brow. “I bought this suit specifically for today.”

  She chuckled despite herself, rubbing her eyes as best she could without ruining her makeup—thank God for waterproof mascara.

  “How can we do this?” she asked, taking a seat next to him. Their shoulders slightly brushed.

  “Do what?” he asked, playfully pushing into her shoulder.

  “This.” She looked at her room, still so bare. This wasn’t like her at all. Normally, her room would be trimmed in pink with pictures of Chris Pine hanging on her walls. But her room was still white, empty, boring. “How can we celebrate a holiday when we know this war is coming? It’s pretending. I feel like I’m lying to my family.”

  “You think too much about the future and too little about the present,” he told her, and surprised her by placing his hand over hers. It was bigger than hers, rough against her soft skin, like he had worked hard for a long time, and warm. “Enjoy today with your family, darl. Let yourself have this moment of bliss where you don't have to think about the impending danger because it’s highly likely you won’t get many of these in the future. Be seventeen years old for once.”

  She placed her head on his shoulder, nodding her head. “Thank you,” she breathed out.

  He didn’t reply, but interlocked his fingers with hers and squeezed.

  The room was silent for a long moment, the awkwardness fading away. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, a small smile on her face. “You smell good,” she said. “What is that?”

  “Peppermint,” he replied. She could hear the smirk in his voice. “Shouldn’t we head downstairs before your father comes home and decides he wants to kill me for being alone with you in your room?”

  “Daddy wouldn’t kill you,” Reese assured him as the two stood up. “He’d hire someone to do it for him.”

  34

  Andie

  Thanksgiving morning, Andie forced herself to wake up earlier than she normally would have and headed down the stairs in order to attempt cooking a Thanksgiving lunch for Jack and Beverly. When Jack had told the two ladies he would be foregoing a photo shoot in order to spend the holiday at home, Andie pitched the idea of cooking the meal to Beverly as a surprise for him. She went to the store after work yesterday in order to pick up the necessary ingredients, paying for them herself. Since Beverly was just as nocturnal as her nephew, Andie wanted to have the food prepared by the time they woke up. Because of her school and intern schedule, she wasn't able to adapt to th
eirs.

  Once the turkey was stuffed and in the oven, the table set and ready, once the fresh salad was tossed, and the cold sides wrapped in cellophane and carefully placed in the fridge while the hot sides simmered on the stove, she decided to get changed into something nicer than pajamas. She was surprised at how smoothly everything was going in the kitchen, though she was nowhere near gourmand status. In fact, maybe cooking wasn’t as bad as she originally thought. Maybe if she cooked more, she might not only enjoy it, but actually be good at it.

  It took her twenty minutes to change into a red sun dress with a floral print and pin her bangs back with bobby pins. She put on light makeup before heading down the stairs. Jack’s tall frame bent over the stove caused her to freeze and her heart tried to choke her throat. He was dressed nicely, and when he turned, perhaps knowing that she was there watching him, her breath vanished. He looked just as beautiful the way he was, which wasn’t all that surprising, and yet her body still reacted to him as though it was the first time she had ever seen him. This feeling was nothing new. It had been happening way more frequently now that she was living with him, and she had an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach that it was only going to get worse.

  She more than liked him, but for now, Andie was unwilling to say love. It wasn’t denial, per se, but saying the word made it true and she wasn’t ready for that confrontation just yet.

  However, it was getting much more difficult to separate herself from the word when he looked the way he did and when his eyes were looking at her the way they were right now. As though she was the only thing that was important to him in this moment. He wore a dark blue V-neck sweater, with a white long-sleeved shirt underneath, rolled up to the elbows—the same one he wore the fateful day they met—and brown slacks. His hair was combed back from his face, which brought out the contrasting features, but it was done in such a way that Andie’s fingers itched to mess the brown locks up.

  “It smells good,” he said, nodding his head at the stove as he slid his hands in his pockets. His lips quirked up, a sparkle in his jade green eyes. “I’m surprised.”

  Andie smiled, despite herself. “I know, right?” she asked, unable to mask the excitement in her face. “It was supposed to be a surprise. A thank you to you and your aunt for letting me stay here.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said. “If you wanted a Thanksgiving meal, I could have hired the chef of your choice to prepare whatever you want.”

  Andie chuckled. “That’s not the point of Thanksgiving, Jack,” she chided. “The chef probably has a family he or she wants to spend Thanksgiving with anyway.”

  “I don’t have a family to spend it with,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

  “I know this is hard for you to believe, but not everything is about you.” She smiled. “And anyway, that’s not true at all. You have Beverly. And you have me.”

  “Really?” She could have sworn his question was meant to be teasing but she heard the subtle hope in his voice.

  Andie nodded once. “Really.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, so long that Andie shifted her weight, trying to remember whether or not she had anything on her face. She was certain her skin was turning red and started to think about something they could discuss that might soften his stare.

  “Let’s go for a walk on the grounds.”

  Andie tilted her head to the side, taken aback by his request. “The food,” she said dumbly.

  “You have time, don’t you?” The question seemed to be rhetorical because he freed one hand from his pocket in order to gently grasp her fingers and pull her to the back door. She knew she should stay in the kitchen and observe the food, make sure it didn’t burn, especially since it was the first time she was cooking successfully. But what she wanted was something completely different from what she should do, and what she wanted was to follow Jack wherever it was he led her. She pushed the food to the back of her mind and allowed herself to be whisked out the back door and into the backyard. When she reached the center of his vast lawn, he released her and took a seat on the grass. Andie’s eyes widened when he lay down on his back, interlocking his fingers behind the back of his head, looking at her expectantly.

  “Well?” he asked in a low voice. “Are you going to lie down?”

  “What are you doing?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re going to stain your slacks.”

  “I can always—”

  “Buy new ones, I know,” she finished with a roll of her eyes.

  He grinned. “Come lie with me, Andie,” he said. “Take a break for five minutes of your life.”

  She let out a dismissive grunt, but found her body responding without forethought. She slid down until she mirrored him, save for her legs, which were crossed at the ankles and her hands were placed on her hips just in case a light breeze teased up her skirt. At first, her body was tense. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been on the grass just to take a break from life. Her eyes slipped shut and she inhaled the rich scent of freshly cut grass, the clear sky, the coolness which eased the tension out of her muscles.

  When she opened her eyes, she found Jack on his side, his elbow propped on the grass with his palm cupping his cheek and his eyes focused on her. There was a soft smile on his face, one she had never seen before. It was familiar and tender, and there was an emotion Andie couldn’t pinpoint in his eyes. She had to look away, up to his hair, in order to avoid them, because a weird feeling was flowing through her that she wasn’t sure she was ready to feel. She swallowed and forced a shaky smile onto her face.

  “Your hair always looks so perfect.” Even her laughter sounded fake and she hoped Jack wouldn’t call her on it. The goosebumps littering her body weren’t just from the cool blades of grass pressing into her bare skin. It was just after noon and lunch would be ready soon. Now. Whenever. Though there were no trees surrounding them, the sun wasn’t doing anything to keep her warm. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the weather at all. “Sometimes I really want to mess it up.”

  Her mouth nearly dropped open. Why had she said that? She looked up at him through hooded eyes, daring to sneak a peek, and found him staring down at her in a way that made her pelvis pulse. There was something in his eyes, something warm and amused, and there was a familiar glint there, like she had seen his eyes somewhere but didn’t remember where. Which was just silly because of course she had seen them before. This was Jack after all; she saw him every day, and before they met, he was constantly in the tabloids. But the delicate prickle in the back of her mind insisted there was more to it than just that.

  Before she could figure out just what it was, Jack reached out and curled a stray bang that must have slipped from the bobby pin’s grasp behind her ear, letting his fingertips linger on the side of her face. She felt them as though each individual finger was searing its mark into her skin. She shuddered and hoped he didn’t notice.

  “You should,” he said in a low voice.

  She blinked. “I should what?” she asked, snapping her eyes back into his.

  His smirk deepened a fraction. “Mess up my hair,” he replied.

  “Are you serious?”

  “As a heart attack.”

  She wasn’t sure why, but his response made her laugh. Using her right arm, she reached out, prepared to do just as he said, when she hesitated. Andie was suddenly shy and awareness of the fact made her pause. It took Jack gently wrapping his fingers around her hand and easing them to his hair for her to finally touch the strands. He let his hand hold hers longer than he needed to, and once her fingers had a good grip on him, he released her. She started her exploration slow, wanting to memorize the texture of his hair in case she never had the chance to do this again. The locks were soft and smooth and slid between her fingers as though that was their sole purpose in life. As crazy as it sounded, her fingers felt welcome in his hair, and as she pushed back his tresses, she smiled. She couldn’t feel
any gel or product in his hair, which meant he must use water or something to get them to stay. Her eyes widened when she noticed him lean into the touch and she swallowed again, unsure of how that made her feel. She was typically certain of her feelings and her choices, but Jack made her doubt herself. For a moment, she thought about pulling her hand back but her fingers buried themselves even deeper in protest. Instead, she decided to focus on the task at hand rather than the fact that his eyes had gotten darker and the urge to kiss him was practically overwhelming.

  That lasted only until he kissed her.

  It was sudden and surprising and she still felt the press of his lips on the curve of her neck. Her fingers had stopped their ministrations, but it didn’t matter because his hair was thoroughly messed up. She swallowed as her eyes stared at his face, unsure of what to do. Maybe she was just imagining things. Maybe he hadn’t really kissed her at all and it was just a hallucination or something. He couldn’t possibly have kissed her. He was dating some ballet dancer named Jean. Not that she kept tabs on his love life or anything. She just happened to pick up some tabloids when she had been bored this past week that had all mentioned the two of them … and how they met at the ballet he attended a few days ago … and could she finally be the one to make an honest man out of him? The answer was no, obviously, but that was beside the point. There was no way he had kissed her since he was already with someone.

  Her rationalization was interrupted by his eyes as they watched her throat bob, and his lips curled up again. “I like that,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “I like that I make you nervous.”

  Under normal circumstances, Andie would have protested that he did not make her nervous, that she just happened to be really thirsty, and no, that had nothing to do with his close proximity to her either. Except she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t open her mouth and formulate words because she knew without a doubt that her voice wouldn’t work. It had everything to do with his close proximity and his scent of his trademark cologne. And something subtle, like the night sky, and the way his head tilted to the side because he was going to kiss her. The way his eyes looked at her, so familiar, jade green, and as she looked into them she could make out gold surrounding his black pupils, and his brow was low and thick, but kempt and masculine and—