Little Snowflake: A dark romance novella, page 2
“Got a hot date or something?” Nate’s sudden voice at my side grabs my attention. I turn to my left, noticing his quickened breathing.
“No. Any reason you ran to catch up with me?” I question, casting him a few side glances. His dark hair is mainly slicked back with a few strands loosely falling around his face and his beard is short and stubbly. Since Nate could grow a beard at eighteen, he’s always had it at a short and groomed length. I think he thinks it’s his signature style. His navy suit is tailored to his exact measurements and his dark brown shoes match his eyes.
“I just wanted to say good job in the meeting. Everything you said is exactly what that meeting needed; someone to take control of a plan to keep the company moving forward.”
I give him a firm nod as we enter the elevator. The back of my hand pats his stomach, which clearly never gets a break at the gym. “You weren’t too bad yourself.”
Nate clears his throat as the doors shut. The elevator starts descending and while me and Nate often have a non-serious relationship, the air suddenly gets thicker.
“I’m serious, Tristan. This company would be lost without you. Me and you are De Santos Properties' future and I need you at my side for this company to stay up and running.”
His admission makes my stomach twist and my throat dry. We aren’t siblings who always declare their love, that’s done by an insult or a punch to the arm, so the sincerity of his statement is just as foreign to him as it is to me.
I swallow a lump of saliva to wet my throat. “I’ll be there, brother.”
The admission comes just as the elevator doors open, and the speed we both leave the elevator in opposite directions would have people thinking there’s a bomb inside.
There isn't. Just a loving brotherly interaction from brothers who aren’t loving.
This company needs me more than my family gives me credit for. Most of my time is spent in this building, working. I'm a workaholic to them. The youngest son who holds up the business when they have other commitments. But they only know who I show them. There's a beast just under the surface who's fighting self-restraint every day.
Considering how the past couple months have gone, I’m already losing the battle. It’s gone from just watching from a distance, to watching up close, to taunting her by entering her house. All because of those sad pretty eyes she has. So dainty and fragile like a little snowflake.
I live my life by routine, but two months ago, my grandfather closed DSP for a day to attend a funeral. All staff were instructed to attend this funeral even though no one actually knew who died. After refusing to waste my time memorialising the dead, my grandfather finally admitted that it was two dear friends of my grandparents that passed away. Me and Nate had never met them because my parents hated their child and his wife, so the friendship was kept between my grandparents and their (now dead) friends.
While I still didn’t care to attend the funeral, I did it for my grandparents. And even though standing around a double coffin carrying two dead people, surrounded by sobbing people wasn’t how I wanted to spend my day, it was worth it when I matched those tearful eyes.
Long blonde wavy hair, beautiful big hazel eyes, delicate nose, plump lips and a short frame – I was mesmerised by her beauty.
Judging by her standing so close to the graves and the number of tears, she was a close family member to the deceased, which is why I chose to keep myself at a distance. I couldn’t upset her further; she was already devastated, and her glistening eyes were already breaking my heart.
But I kept her in my thoughts. Even if I didn’t want to, she was burned into my memory, I could never forget a girl as beautiful as her.
It didn’t take me long to find out her connection to the deceased. The Romano’s, as my grandparents called them, and as their only granddaughter, she was very close to them. They lived at the edge of Charlestown in the Victorian built homes, of which only a few are still standing. They purchased the house in the early seventies from De Santos Properties, which was sold to them by my great grandfather. The Romano’s left everything they owned to their only granddaughter, Pria Romano.
Pria Romano.
All it took was one glance at her to cement her in my mind. She controls my thoughts and dreams. I look for her everywhere I go, and now, I have a possessive desire to own her.
My existence to her is absent, but her existence is so overpowering that it controls me. It’s the reason I began driving over to her house late at night and observing from a distance. Sometimes I’d watch from my car, other times I’d circle her property just to catch a glimpse of her perfect silhouette.
But it wasn’t enough, I needed more. A clearer view. I learnt her pattern and noted each time she let her dog outside so I wouldn’t get mauled to death. Once her dog returned inside, I got closer and closer to the windows, taking in a mental layout of each room I could see on the ground floor. She spent most of her evenings in her home library soaking in her own company, but occasionally she’ll spend her time with a friend; Savannah Beaumont. No boyfriend or male friends visited her which settled the jealousy inside me instantly.
After a month, I felt an obsessive need to be in her space, to smell her scent and touch her things. The watching wasn’t giving me the high I needed, so I did what needed to be done. I went inside her house.
I started off entering when she wasn’t home, but little did I know, her dog roamed the house freely. Fight or flight kicked in, but just as I was about to escape, the dog licked me. If I knew he was in the business of making friends and not enemies earlier, I would’ve entered her house a month ago.
I noted the house floor plans and peeked at her weekly planner, mentally remembering her working hours.
After a week, I craved the thrill. I entered while she was still home, saying hi to Bucky when he snuck over to me. She’s clueless, and probably should look at getting a home security system set up. Who knows what kind of obsessive bastard could enter her house.
And then I left a minute clue to test how observant she was. Kudos to her, she noticed the feather and missing candle not long after I planted it on her hallway shelf. It may have been just a test, but since then, I’ve been lighting the black cherry candle every day just to smell her. The fruit and ripe notes invade my airways, implanting the smell inside my brain so I never forget what she smells like.
The lipstick was a moment of weakness, but I couldn’t help myself. Knowing her gorgeous plump lips had touched the deep red lipstick awoke a longing urge inside me. And in its place, a feather, just to see if she’s taking notice. I hid a battery-operated camera opposite her dressing table so I could watch her reaction.
I wasn’t shocked when she convinced herself it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary and she put it to the back of her mind. It's easier when she thinks no one is entering her house, but I love the fear I ignite in her when she realises something isn't right and the only option is someone has been in her house. Her flushed skin and quickened breathing lights a primal reaction in me, imagining that's exactly how she'd react underneath me.
She’s let her guard down which is exactly what I wanted.
I almost break every speeding limit on my way home after the meeting just to write her a letter. Crystal white paper is laid out on my desk in my home office, my favourite fountain pen placed next to it, with ready to melt emerald green wax and the De Santos family crest wax stamp next to it. I roll the sleeves up halfway on my white button up shirt and grab the pen in my left hand, ready to write.
I don’t use the crystal white paper. Instead, I use an older style of paper sitting in my drawers. The paper is old, but it’s a family tradition to use an older style when sending a handwritten letter. Plus, a text feels a little too impersonal.
Once completed, I place it in an emerald-coloured envelope and melt the wax onto the seal before placing the wax stamp on top until the wax has cooled.
All rational thoughts leave my mind when I jump into my all-black Mercedes Benz A-Class and head over to Pria’s house. The ten-minute drive should be filled with ideas of why I shouldn’t be doing this, but each thought is disappearing as quickly as it arrived. I look down at my large hands and take in the gold ring placed on my middle finger. A ring passed down through generations, a symbol of family and honour. I’m sure my ancestors are cursing me from the grave at my actions over the past two months, but they aren’t exactly around to tell me their thoughts and feelings, so I don’t dwell on the thought.
Before I know it, I’m pulling up on the outskirts of Pria’s property. I pace along the hundred-fucking-acre garden, making sure I’m not seen before peering in ground floor windows to locate her whereabouts. There are no lights on in the house and Bucky is strolling the halls downstairs, usually a tell-tale that Pria isn’t home. That dog is glued to her side.
I pick her front door lock before cautiously stepping inside in case she is home. A quick greeting to Bucky is a must before I make my way up the stairs. I memorised her upstairs layout when I first started entering her house, so I already know where her bedroom is located.
Her bedroom dresser unit faces her double bed so is in sight of her eye-line, somewhere she can easily notice the letter. I debated whether to leave it in a drawer, but then I risk her not locating it.
But I peek anyway. Her underwear drawer is full to the brim with different kinds of panties, but mainly lacy ones. She has every colour of the fucking rainbow in here, and then some.
Something cobalt blue catches my eye, and all clear thoughts escape my mind. Rationality is all that's left, and I have to have this piece of her. I grab the lacy lingerie set and shove it in my pocket, double checking I left the handwritten letter on the dresser before I leave.
3
Pria
Taking Savannah’s mind off a guy is so easy that a child under six could tell her what to do. Three simple steps; one, let her rant about why he’s a piece of shit, two, take her to a club to get really drunk, and three, help her choose her next target and make sure the phone number swap takes place. In roughly three weeks' time, we’ll be back at the beginning repeating all three steps again.
We’re currently on step one. After Savannah’s FaceTime call earlier, I agreed to go out with her to help free her mind from ‘small dick disappointments’ as she worded it so kindly. She gave me a total of twenty minutes to get ready, so I shoved half of my blonde waves into a ponytail and left the other half down, brushed some mascara through my lashes and dabbed blusher onto my cheeks, and quickly brushed my teeth. I chucked on a short sleeve, sky-blue, floral cami dress and white pumps, giving my legs a quick glance to check they’re shaved. I spritz my favourite black cherry perfume in the ‘Z’ formation before applying clear lip gloss and heading downstairs.
Making sure Bucky and Ashy have food in their bowls, I give them both a kiss goodbye and double check all the windows are locked. A loud horn beeps from outside, alerting me that Savannah and the cab have arrived. I lock the front door, triple checking just to make sure.
I climb into the all white cab to be faced with a drop-dead gorgeous Savannah, who doesn’t look the slightest bit upset. I fall for it every single time.
“P! You look stunning!” Her enthusiastic tone only solidifies how upbeat and happy she actually is.
I kiss her cheeks while she reciprocates the action. “So do you, Sav. How are you feeling?” I question, already knowing she’s damn fine.
“Oh, you know,” she waves me off, “he just wasn’t the one.”
I nod in agreement. Just like the other thirty, then.
It takes a short fifteen minutes to arrive at our location. Due to Charlestown’s small size, there’s only one decent club. The thing about it is that it’s really good; I’m talking about an amazing selection of music, great entertainment and manageable drinks. The bad thing is that it’s the only club in Charlestown and everyone goes here. If you want to avoid someone, Club Indigo is probably the worst place to go.
At this time of night, Club Indigo is the only building lit up and open on the street, but eyes don’t drift far from the bright lights on the club doors. Glowing red lights streak from the top to the bottom of the double doors, enticing people to enter. There’s a long queue of party goers waiting to head inside, but Savannah knows the guy on the door. After a nod of acknowledgement, the doorman, who's dressed in all black with a fluorescent vest on, unhooks the entry rope and lets us skip the queue.
As he pulls open the heavy doors for us, the bass of the music thumps through my body. We smile at each other as we head down the golden mirrored corridor leading to the club. The music starts to get louder, tempting us both to sway our hips as we walk. I’m thankful to past me for not letting myself drink before coming out because this corridor would be trippy if I was drunk.
Club Indigo is as busy as always, with people filling out the dancefloor as they dance to the RnB tunes. The bar is packed with arms flying up to try to catch the bartender's attention, and the stairs leading to the upper balcony has people trekking up and down the curved staircase. I’m sure the bathrooms and the smoking area are just as busy.
The theme inside is colourful lights with the main colour being a grape purple. The bar on the left back wall has reflective mirrors on the wall so the lights can easily bounce off and create a colourful environment. The dance floor is situated in the middle of the club with the DJ booth on the back wall. The upper balcony holds tables and chairs for those who would rather sit down at a club, which seems illegal to me. The toilets are already queued to the right of the club with double doors next to it leading to the outside smoking area.
“Let's get a drink!” Savannah shouts over the loud music. I nod in confirmation before grabbing her hand as she weaves us in and out of the large crowds.
The good thing about being short is sliding through the gaps of the tall people in crowds. They unintentionally leave space for the shorty's, meaning we squeeze to the front of the bar without having to push a single person out the way. I would never do that anyway, but I can’t say the same for Savannah. She’s ruthless when it comes to heartbreak day.
“Two Cosmo's please!” Savannah holds up two fingers for clarification before smacking her card down. Before I can even protest, the drinks are paid for and already made.
One is practically thrusted into my hand, as we weave back out of the crowd of skyscrapers to a space we can both breathe in.
Rihanna’s SOS blasts through the speakers and ignites a squeal from me and Savannah. We waste no time getting onto the dancefloor, making our way into the centre. The song awakens a sexy feeling inside of me, giving me a sudden ounce of confidence to dance what I’m really feeling.
A few sips on my Cosmo gives me that extra push. My hips circle from left to right in rhythm with the beat, as I bend and straighten my legs at the same time. My free hand trails up the left side of my stomach before making its way about down again.
Savannah cheers me on and dances opposite me, clunking our Cosmo’s together as a cheers. A few drops of liquid splashes over the side and spills on the floor, but we don’t care. My free hand trails down Savannah’s front as I sing along to the lyrics. She steps forward and I spin around, shaking my ass on her. Her scream of encouragement attracts attention from those around us, and before I know it, low cheers echo around us from a bunch of guys. They dance along, focusing most of their attention on their friends but directing glances our way.
Savannah lives for these kinds of situations. She’s got the looks, confidence and the social life of a girl who knows how to flirt.
Me and Savannah are complete opposites, which is why my love life is non-existent. I can’t even say six words to a guy without my face beaming scarlet red. A natural blush looks good on most girls, just not me. I look like I’ve done a fifty-minute workout with no breaks.
But I’m fine living that way. I just haven’t found someone I want to spend my time with. I’m content with spending my evenings alone, reading, with the company of my pets, who can’t start arguments for no reason. I don’t feel the need to add someone to that equation. The only thing I miss is regular sex with someone I trust, but that’s what my vibrator is for. Plus, I think Savannah has enough guys for the both of us.
Savannah knows I don’t do casual sex, but she still tries to convince me to take a guy home from the club every time because she feels sorry for me. No matter how many guys she makes me speed date in the club, I always go home alone. I enjoy sex, but it just feels unnatural when it’s a one-night hookup.
That’s the thing with one-night stands, they only want to release their load and get out, which is exactly why they never end up pleasing me. They just think about themselves and not the girl they’re fucking. Why would I want to take a guy home to fuck me when I have to use a vibrator after? I might as well just skip taking a guy home and use my vibrator when I please. At least it does the job correctly.
Who needs a man? Not me.
Plus, I have certain...fantasies that an average guy would probably bully me for.
Which is why Savannah is so hyped about these guys dancing next to us.
I shuffle my body around so I’m facing her so I can keep my focus on my best friend and not the giant, intimidating men around me. My body becomes hyper aware of the situation I’m in and how small I suddenly feel. I know I’m surrounded by people, but I feel invisible to almost everyone. I don’t trust the guys around us, and knowing anything could happen right now just puts me on edge.
