Garden of Sins

Shaking my head, I walk across the parking lot and enter the bar. Louisa’s greeting goes completely past me and I lift two fingers without looking as I walk past the bar. I enter the back completely rigid and walk up the stairs.

As usual, the room is not locked, Isabelle. You are incredibly careless. I lock up behind me and lean against the door.

You are leaning against the windowsill with your butt, watching me warily from the other side of the room. You are usually ready when I enter since you see everything from the window, you probably even saw me sitting in the car.

My gaze wanders over you and I feel the blood leaving my face. Your light green eyes are alert, your black hair thrown over one shoulder, and the dark red sweater hangs off your shoulder. As usual, you wear black jeans that are ripped at the knees.

“What is it?” you ask stiffly.

I clear my throat. “What are you ru

I see your shoulders stiffen as panic flickers in your eyes. “Why?” you ask, alarmed.

“Dorian,” I utter as I watch you closely. The blood immediately drains from your face and you hurriedly glance out the window.

“He’s not here,” I hoarsely reassure you as the back of my head sinks against the door. Your gaze slowly wanders back to me, but you don’t move any further. You have frozen into a statue.

“What do you mean by Dorian?” you ask cautiously and furtively without taking your eyes off me.

I rub my face with one hand. Behind my temples, it throbs. “Stop it,” I say, exhausted. Exhausted by these games, exhausted by the masquerade, exhausted by what I’ve just experienced.

“Carter, how do you know Dorian?” Your voice breaks and your hands cling to the windowsill.

We face each other like two wild animals who don’t know what the other will do next.

“I work for him.”

For a while, you stare at me uncomprehendingly, press your hand against your chest, and gasp. “What?”

“I just met with him.”

Now any remaining blood drains from your face. Shock, panic, and fear are reflected in your eyes and I hate him for the first time. I hate that such an expression on you is caused by Dorian.

“Wh...wait, what does...what do you mean you work for him?” you ask and rub your face frantically.

I don’t move from the door because I think I might lose you. I think I can never let you go. I can never let you run away from me. I can only hold you, not push you away, unlike all the others so far.

I’m not supposed to talk about this, but I guess it’s different with you. I can’t believe you’re engaged to him. I can’t believe you’re involved in this too. So deeply, so irrevocably. The knocking in my head grows louder the more I think about it.

“I’ve worked for the de Lucas for four years,” I explain slowly and your nostrils flare. “I do anything Dorian or one of them asks of me.” Your eyes widen and you press yourself closer to the windowsill. “He told me about his missing fiancée...” A slightly hysterical laugh escapes me. “And told me...to keep my eyes open. Then he sent me a photo of you, Isabelle.” I know I’m looking at you a little strange right now.

You’re breathing deeply, obviously trying to stay composed. “Okay, now what?” you ask.

“Now, I’m supposed to grab you, throw you over my shoulder...” With each word, you become stiffer. “And take you to him.” I haven’t decided myself what I should actually do.

“Okay.” You raise your hands. “Carter, no one has to know about us. Our paths can just part and you will no longer be associated with me. But, you can’t take me back to him! Please! We’ll just pretend like nothing ever happened...”

“Why did you run away from him?” I demand to know and notice your expression hardening as you pull your head back a little.

“Because our fathers decided that we should get married and I don’t want that,” you explain emotionlessly. Your fingers grip a little harder and I know that this is far from the whole story. Actually, I should do everything Dorian asks me to do, without question. That’s the way it is with the mafia. Those are the rules and whoever breaks them dies.

Actually, I’ve always followed those rules, but when I imagine returning you to him and handing you over, I get sick.

“I do not love him,” you continue, “nor does he love me. He actually hates me.”

I’ve noticed that none of the de Luca men are capable of love, even though I haven’t met many of the immediate family.

“Fuck, Isabelle.” I look at you desperately and rub my head.

“Let’s just pretend nothing happened. I didn’t want to put you in danger, but then there you were and I was here and I couldn’t get away. We’ll just do this: I’ll leave and you go back to your parents and your family, and stay away from people like Dorian!”

“No!” erupts from me before you have even finished speaking. I reach out my hand to you and you stare at me again, searching. Then you push off and move in your thick socks over the bare floor, past the pizza boxes, the candles, the empty bottles, and over the menus.

You stop in front of me. I take your hand and put it on my shoulder. You relax a little. Then I wrap my arms around you, pull you closer, and lean my forehead against yours.

“I will not hand you over to him,” I murmur and inhale your scent deeply. “I ca

You swallow and stroke my chest. “I don’t want you to get into trouble. I didn’t want to lie to you either, but I didn’t want you to know too much. Your voice is also exhausted as you stroke between my pectoral muscles with your index finger.

“I know,” I whisper, and the thought of somebody hurting you or forcing you to marry someone you don’t love makes me sick to my stomach. You do not belong with him. You belong with me.

“I have to leave town slowly,” you mutter as you continue caressing my chest.

“Not yet.” I can’t let you go yet, I only just found you, and here at the edge of town, you are relatively safe.

“Okay,” you whisper and stand on your toes to kiss me. I embrace you firmly with both arms and pull you closer to me. I go crazy when I imagine losing you. From behind, I reach into your hair and kiss you deeply.

You immediately sink against me and return the kiss.

It doesn’t matter who you are, where you come from, or where you actually wanted to go, just like me, because now, here in my arms, you are in the right place, exactly where you belong. And I’m going to make sure it stays that way, no matter what it takes.

You’re mine, princess. From the first moment I looked into your eyes. And forever.