04 | It will Scar

ALEX SAT OPPOSITE ME, BACK straight, hands linked on the table, looking like some sort of Adonis as I struggled to think of a question. I had thousands, of course, but me being me my brain had already classified many of them as invasive and stored them away.

"So, um, what do you do?" I finally settled on the most basic question, unable to meet his eyes with embarrassment.

He let out an amused breath that might have almost been a laugh. "You find me in a hospital room guarded by police, I've only a destroyed Armani suit to my name, you help me escape for god knows what reason? And you're asking me what I do?"

"Are you going to answer?" I snapped, growing tired of him mocking me.

"I'm a banker."

"Oh." I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice. What had I expected, after all? A spy injured on a secret mission? Something exciting and secretive? I was living in a fantasy world. This is reality, where people do normal jobs and live normal lives.

"That too boring for you?" His voice was light but I could feel his dark eyes studying me intensely, searching for truth.

"No," I lied.

"I work for my father's company. We deal with stocks and shares," he elaborated, staring out of the window. I got the impression he was a little bored with our conversation, and I felt my heart sinking. In his left hand, he had picked up his knife and begun spinning it between his fingers deftly. It was the sort of thing someone might have done absently with a pen - except this wasn't a pen.

"Are you left handed?" I blurted.

Alex's eyes snapped on to mine and he smiled a shit-eating-grin. His face had the ability to pull off the most cockily self-assured expression I'd ever seen. He deftly moved the knife between his left and right hands, using them equally to do things with a knife that should have been near impossible.

"You're ambidextrous." I smiled. "Impressive."

He shrugged and went back to looking out of the window. "My father taught me a lot of useful things."

I couldn't imagine a world where anyone needed to use both hands equally, especially someone who was a banker, but then I supposed I knew very little about the financial world.

"So you said you wanted to escape the hospital to find your father." I tried to change the conversation topic to peak his interest.

"Yes."

"Do you want to use my phone? Make some calls?"

"No."

The knife spinning got faster as I waited for a response, but after a while it became clear that I wasn't going to get one. "Why not?"

"I'm trying not to think about him," Alex said evasively. "And what it might mean if he was dead."

"What would it mean if he was dead?"

"Ask me something else."

For a moment I was affronted - stunned by the cool tone of his voice. For someone who wanted to avoid a topic, he was remarkably relaxed. He never lost his composure - not even for a second. He just kept spinning the knife.

"Is there something interesting out of that window?" I demanded, growing irritated.

"No, Grace. There isn't."

The charming man I'd met at the hospital appeared to be long gone; I hardly recognised the one in front of me. He was cold and callous, disinterested in the extreme. I wondered if it would be too childish to just walk out, or if I really cared about him thinking lowly of me. Of course you do, my mind teased. You couldn't just walk out on him... I hated to admit it, but she was probably right. Alex was a puzzle I just had to solve.

"Why did you bring me here?" I asked boldly, wrapping my hands around my coffee mug so they wouldn't give me away. "Why bother? I helped you get out, there were no strings attached to my help and you knew it."

The knife immediately stopped spinning - stopped dead. Alex placed it back on the table, adjusting it so it was exactly straight. Then his eyes finally met mine, and I forgot how to breathe all over again. In the morning sunlight, I realised they weren't charcoal - not quite. They had warm tones of brown shot through them, earthy and rich and deep. "I wanted to talk to you, Grace," he admitted. I searched his cheeks for a blush, for any hint of embarrassment, but there wasn't any. Damn him! "You helped me, and I wanted to know why. You also looked exhausted and skinny."

"So?"

"You're selfless," he assessed. I wanted something to fiddle with while he embarrassed me but I'd already finished my breakfast and I knew I couldn't spin a knife. "You give up your time, you forget to eat, to help other people."

"It's kind of my job."

"It's not. You do more." He leaned back in his chair. "You made me...curious, Grace."

"Well." I took a sip of coffee to soothe my suddenly very dry throat. "I'm really not that interesting."

"On the contrary, I find you fascinating."

"Oh."

"Are you finished?"

It took me a couple of seconds to realise he was talking about breakfast. My plate was empty and so was my mug - I didn't have any way to stall, I realised. "I suppose I am." I nodded. I could physically feel my heart sinking. "Are you?"

Alex shot me that crooked, self-assured smirk. "Nowhere near." He gestured for the waitress to refill our coffee and then settled back into his seat, watching me. He didn't say anything. As the seconds ticked by, I knew I should have felt more and more uneasy at the silence. But I didn't. I'd always liked silences - I liked being stuck in my own head, I liked having time to think. Clearly Alex hadn't expected this. "Are you going to say something, Grace?"

I looked up and smiled a little, shrugging. "Do you want me to?" He nodded. "Okay. Well. Um. Being fascinating kind of makes me feel a bit like a science project, you know?"

"I take it you don't like being under the microscope." He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his broad, toned chest.

"No." I pursed my lips. "Not particularly."

"Well, I don't know anywhere near enough about you for you to be classed as a science project." The waitress set down our coffee and we both took a sip, our eyes meeting awkwardly.

I smiled and put my mug back down. I didn't usually like talking about my life, but, embarrassing as it was, I was willing to do almost anything to prolong our time together. "Ask away."

"You said it's just you and your dad. Tell me about him."

"Uh..." It took me a moment to gather my thoughts - Alex was leaned forward over the table, his eyes especially intense. "Well, my mum died when I was eight," I admitted. "Her and dad used to be doctors - that's how they met, they were both working at the same hospital."

"And that's why you're a nurse," Alex inferred.

I shrugged. "I guess." I kept scanning his face for signs of boredom, but the look of curiosity in his expression didn't fade. "Anyway, dad and I get on well."

"So why aren't you a doctor?" he asked bluntly.

"Excuse me?"

"Both of your parents were. If you wanted to follow their footsteps in the medical profession, why be a nurse rather than a doctor?"

I swallowed hard and glared down at my coffee. "That's really none of your business."

Alex shrugged. "Earlier, you said something interesting..."

"Oh God." Suddenly I was regretting the whole ask away thing.

"You said that you look after him, as well as the other way around."

"So I did."

"Why?"

"Are you interrogating me now?" I snapped. My hands had tightened around my coffee mug.

"No." He shrugged. "I told you, I'm fascinated."

I couldn't believe his nonchalance. No matter what I said to him, he always remained effortlessly cool and collected, he never raised his voice, he never showed any sign of irritation or boredom. Yet here I was hot under the collar, fumbling for the right words, desperate not to say the wrong thing like I always invariably would.

"Am I frustrating you?" Alex asked. This time, though he was smirking his crooked smirk, his voice was a little softer. Too soft. He was making everything worse! The way he leaned towards me as though I was the only thing he saw, as if those words were crafted only for me...

"No," I lied, attempting to shrug casually. My effort probably paled in comparison to his cool indifference

"Good. So what did you mean?"

"You're not going to give up, are you?"

He brought a hand up and skimmed the five o'clock shadow of his jaw with his thumb. "I'm a very...determined...person."

"So you're stubborn."

"I suppose you could say that, yes."

"Some people would say stubborn is synonymous with annoying," I pointed out, though I immediately felt bad once I'd said it. Heat rose to my cheeks, and as embarrassment flooded through me, I felt a hand hovering near my face.

I looked up and found Alex's finger hesitating right by my blush. His eyes locked with mine, and his lips parted to permit an unsteady breath. I could see the question in his eyes. Is this okay? I stayed still and waited, my skin bristling in anticipation. He brushed his index finger lightly along my cheekbone, tracing right up to my hairline. I hardly contained a shiver at the delicious sensation of his skin on mine, barely there but there enough. He smiled crookedly. "Even when you insult someone you do it indirectly," he observed. "And you blush. My, my, my."

"That's really not fair," I complained lightly, trying to distract myself from the pounding of my heart.

"What isn't?"

"You're...seducing me into answering your questions!"

"I'm seducing you?" he asked innocently.

"N-no." I shook my head firmly. "Of course not."

"Then you shouldn't have a problem answering my question."

"Fine!" I hissed. "Three years into my degree my dad had an accident that paralysed him from the waist down! That's why I look after him! Okay?!"

Alex's composure didn't flicker. His eyes kept measuring my expression, kept watching me thoughtfully. After a moment, he spoke. "I am sorry, Grace."

"It's fine."

"But I have one final question, if I may?" He took a sip of coffee as I nodded reluctantly. "When your father's accident happened, you had to quit university to care for him. You'd only studied three years of a six year course - enough for you to be a nurse, not a doctor. Am I right?"

I couldn't bare to look up because I knew what came next. "Yes," I sighed. "The worst part is that I know all of the information - my dad has been teaching me since the day I was born."

"So why not go back now? Finish your degree like you wanted to?"

"I thought that was your last question," I said flatly.

Alex shrugged. "Humour me."

"I can't go back." I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment, and my eyes, too. I couldn't believe it. After all of this, I was actually going to cry in front of him!

"Why not?" he asked gently. "Grace?"

"I..." I took a deep breath. "I can't afford it. I can barely afford my monthly rent and utility bills, let alone three years of tuition fees! Okay?! Are you happy now? Can you leave me alone?"

Not that you'd ever understand, you rich, Armani-suit-wearing banker! My subconscious hissed viciously.

"Grace," Alex said softly. I didn't look up. "Grace." Finally I met his eyes, mine burning with shame. "You really think that matters to me?" I shrugged, and he rolled his eyes. "You think I'm a terrible person?"

"No."

"Why are you crying, then?" He sounded genuinely dumbfounded.

I quickly reached up to swipe the moisture from beneath my eyes. "I'm not," I said. I totally was.

"I shouldn't have brought it up." This time when he spoke Alex's voice sounded distant, and I suddenly became aware of the time. It was almost eleven a.m. - we'd been here for nearly three hours. The cafe had filled up around us, yet I hadn't been aware of it. My mind had been totally consumed by Alex, but now I could tell that our time together was drawing to a close.

A sudden, implacable wave of sadness washed over my shoulders. I wanted our morning to last forever - I wanted it not to fade into one of those dusty memories shared by strangers far away. But I was tired, and the possibility of seeing Alex again felt like a distant dream.

"We should go," he said, as if reading my mind.

My chest throbbed vaguely at the notion of parting, but it was dulled by the prospect of sleep.

As we both stood, something important ebbed on the edge of my consciousness. Alex disappeared to speak to the staff and organise payment. While he was gone, in a flurry of adrenaline I grabbed a napkin and scribbled my number down on to it using a hospital pen. I glanced at it on the table, crumpled and stained with coffee, and suddenly felt stupid. I balled it up but shoved it into my pocket.

"Shall we?" A voice startled me from behind. Alex moved to place his arm on the small of my back but winced, remembering his injuries.

Aha! That was the important thing!

"You need your wounds redressing," I told him, eyeing his arm and shoulder. "In fact, the stitches might even need replacing."

"I'll manage," he shrugged. "Don't worry about me."

Half of me felt a pang of disappointment. Half of me wanted to say you promised. But the other part of me - the silent part, the part that always won - knew that resistance was futile.

"It'll scar," I warned. "If you don't look after it."

Alex held the door for me to exit the cafe, his expression hooded. I caught the scent of his cologne as I passed under his uninjured arm and tried to commit it to memory. It was musky and slightly spicy, yet fresh, maybe a little citrusy. A perfect match for his personality, I thought sadly.

"I'm driving this time," I bargained, unlocking the car and holding open the passenger side door for Alex.

The second I saw his expression I felt my heart sink. This was where we would part ways.

"You're not coming with me, are you?" I asked.

He shook his head. "It's for the best."

"Right," I agreed unenthusiastically. Suddenly my off-white trainers had become very interesting to my burning eyes. I shouldn't have ever expected anything from Alex. He was a stranger, after all, and I'd helped him, but that was all. That was all we were ever going to be. "Where will you go now?"

Alex looked up at the crisp blue sky and let out a breath that seemed to sag his shoulders. Eventually, he shrugged. "To find my father. And then...then I'll face whatever comes next."

I didn't miss the grave tone in his voice, though I tried to ignore it.

Our eyes met once more, and when they connected it had a feeling of finality to it. I could see the apprehension and regret of my own face mirrored by his. Alex took a step forward, then halted. He seemed unsure, so I took the rest of the steps for him - steps until I was less than half a meter away.

"Look -" I began.

"Grace." It sounded like a warning but I was too far gone to care - if this was the last time we'd see each other, then why fret over something?

"- take this," I said, forcing the napkin with my phone number on into his pocket. "Just in case."

My sneaky antics had suddenly drawn us closer together, and as Alex looked down at me, I realised just how tall he was - and how breathtakingly handsome, all of his features hitting my senses again.

"I'll call you," he said firmly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "When this whole mess is fixed, I'll call."

"You promise?"

"Yes."

I briefly thought about throwing my arms around him, but the quieter part of me won out, again. I took a step back towards the car. "I'll see you later, Alex."

I forced myself to turn around before I could say or do anything ridiculous. This was where we had to part. Where we would end. Even with the promise of a call, in my heart I knew it.

"Grace," he called, and I didn't turn around but looked over my shoulder instead. Alex's expression was suddenly grave. "Even if you change your number," he began slowly, deliberately. "Even if you change your name, if you tell the police about this, if you tell anyone about this, I will know. I will find you. If I don't, then someone else will."

Fear had tightened my throat too much to speak, so I simply nodded and climbed into the car, in a state of panic.

The words he hadn't said rang through my mind explicitly:

I will find you, and I will kill you.

A/N Happy Monday!

Alex may have said goodbye for now, but I'm sure this won't be the last we'll see of him... ;)

I'm so excited for this story but I'm not even sure where it's going yet - usually I plan out the whole book once I've written the first couple of chapters but I haven't got around to that yet because it's more time consuming to think up an engaging, original and shocking plot (cos, you know, every mafia story needs a good twist, or a fight scene or six...)

Also, I'm so conflicted about the fact that I'm focusing on the Russian rather than Italian Mafia. There's something far more romantic and stylish about the Italian Mafia I think whereas the Russian one is a little more brutal and less structurally organised (they're both obviously very dangerous, but, you know)

Meh, maybe the Russians will grow on me...

Have a good week, and don't forget to leave me a comment (and vote!).