Unveiled (Page 8)

And now I’m lying here – into hour five – twiddling my ring and getting all worked up over our Central Park conversation. I sigh, remove my ring, put it back on again, twist it a few times, and then freeze when I hear stirring from the other side of the office doors. I see the handle shift and snatch my book up, burying my nose in it, hoping to look engrossed.

The doors creak, prompting me to glance up from the random page I opened the book to, and I find Miller standing on the threshold, watching me. His feet are bare, the top button of his jeans undone, and his shirt has been discarded. His dark mop of waves is a dishevelled mess, like he’s been raking his hand through the curls. And I know once I seek his eyes out that’s exactly what he’s been doing. They’re brimming with despair. Then he tries to smile, and I feel a million bolts of guilt stab at my fallen heart. Placing my book on the table, I sit up and pull my knees to my chin, wrapping my arms around my legs. The tension is still thick, but having him close again is rekindling my lost serenity. Fireworks crackling beneath my skin, working their way deep, is familiar and comforting.

He spends a few silent moments with his hands resting lightly in his pockets, leaning against the doorframe, thinking. Then he sighs and without a word comes over to straddle the lounger behind me, encouraging me to move forward before he settles, slides his arms over my shoulders, and pulls my back to his chest. My eyes close and I absorb all of him – his feel, his heartbeat against me, and his breath in my hair.

‘I apologise,’ he whispers, pressing his lips to my neck. ‘I didn’t mean to make you sad.’

My hands start working in slow circles across the material of his jeans. ‘It’s OK.’

‘It’s not OK. If I had one wish,’ he begins, working his slow-moving lips up to my ear, ‘I’d wish I could be perfect for you. No one else, just you.’

I open my eyes and turn to face him. ‘Your wish must have come true.’

He laughs a little and moves a hand to my cheek. ‘You must be the most beautiful person God’s ever created. Here.’ His eyes journey around my face. ‘And here.’ Then his palm rests on my chest. He kisses my lips tenderly, then my nose, my cheeks, and finally my forehead. ‘There’s something on the desk for you.’

I instinctively pull away. ‘What is it?’

‘Go see.’ He encourages me to stand before resting back and gesturing towards the doors of the office. ‘Chop-chop.’

My gaze flicks from the doors to Miller, back and forth, until he cocks an expectant eyebrow at me, kicking my cautious feet into gear. I pad warily across the balcony, filled with curiosity, feeling blue eyes burning into my back, and when I reach the door, I look over my shoulder. There’s a hint of a smile on his perfect face.

‘Go,’ he mouths, taking my book from the table and flicking through. My lips are clamped together as I make my way to the regal desk, and I release my breath once I’m settled in the green leather chair. But my heart begins to bounce off my breastbone when I see an envelope positioned in the centre, perfectly placed, the bottom square with the edge of the desk. I find my ring and begin to spin it on my finger, worried, cautious, curious. All I see when looking at this envelope is another envelope – the one on Miller’s desk in Ice, the one containing the letter he wrote to me when he abandoned me. I’m not sure I want to read it, but Miller put it there. Miller wrote whatever’s contained inside, and those two combinations make for one very curious Olivia Taylor.

Scooping it up, I work the seal open, noting the adhesive is still damp. I pull out the paper and slowly unfold it. Then I take a deep breath and brace myself for his written words.

My sweet girl,

I will never do anything less than worship you. Every time I feel you or touch your soul, it’ll be etched on that beautiful mind of yours forever – and beyond that. I’ve told you all of this before. There aren’t words in existence that could justify my feelings for you. I’ve perused the English dictionary for hours looking for them – nothing. When I try to express myself, nothing seems adequate. Yet I know how profound your feelings are for me. And that makes my reality almost impossible to comprehend.

I don’t need to stand before a priest in God’s house to validate how I feel for you. Anyway, God never anticipated us when he created love.

There’s nothing that could or ever will compare.

If you want to take this letter as my official promise to never leave you, then I’ll have it framed and hung above our bed. If you want me to say these words aloud, then I’ll do it on my knees before you.

You are my soul, Olivia Taylor. You are my light. You are my reason to breathe. Don’t ever doubt that.

Be mine for eternity, I beg you. Because I promise I am yours.

Never stop loving me.

Eternally yours,

Miller Hart

x

I read it again, this time with tears trickling down my cheeks. The words, so elegantly written, hit me harder still, making me truly comprehend Miller Hart’s love for me. So I read it again and again and again, each time my heart warming and my love for him intensifying further until I’m an emotional wreck, sobbing all over the posh desk, my face sore and puffy from my relentless tears. Miller Hart expresses himself perfectly well. I know how he feels about me. Now I just feel silly and guilty for faltering . . . for making such a big deal of it, even if I did it silently to myself. But he saw my internal turmoil. And he’s acknowledged it.

‘Olivia?’

My eyes snap up and see him in the doorway, a distressed look on his face.