Chapter 242

It’s too good to gorge while distracted, so I push it aside while focusing on the other packet that has my curiosity going haywire. I pull the little parcel towards me, turning it cautiously and trying to figure out what it is. My brain is fully on this now, and I am so zoned on the distraction I realise I am feeling a little different. Sombre mood is on the up thanks to a cake, and even though I know this gift will probably sober me in some sort of pissed off way, I am enjoying the fact I now have cake. My insides are bubbly and cheerful and my heavy, achy thundercloud is looking a whole lot whiter and fluffy.

I carefully lift it and shake it to see if I can figure out what it is and get a soft noise of something moving around faintly, turning it over to inspect the overly neat and clearly professionally wrapped item. Quaint buses and tiny little Union Jacks glaring me in the face and I envision Alexi for a moment calling me ‘London’ and smile strangely, a swelling feeling in my chest.

Screw it.

I rip into it and throw caution to the wind, revealing a long black velvet rectangle that looks alarmingly like a jewellery box. Gasping in genuine surprise and I drop the paper on the table, taking a deep breath before clicking it open. I pause in shock as a very delicate chain bracelet stares back at me, shining in bright silver where it’s daintily nestled—two small charms on one end, and yet, overall, it’s simple and classy.

This has to be a mistake.

I turn over the little metal charms impulsively and that feeling of disbelief hits me in the stomach all over again. My insides somersaulting and emotion chokes me with a lump in the throat, eyes misting over.

One has a diamond set in the centre of a little metal heart shaped plate, it looks real anyway. I know my diamonds and I doubt Alexi is the type to buy a fake when he goes to the effort of buying a gift at all. It’s a small pretty charm that just sparkles when it moves.

The other charm is the one that gets me the most though and I pale as I stare at the tiny little metal circle, stamped with the image of a dandelion head that’s as clear as day. Embossed into the silver and filled in with a darker almost black inlay so it pops out beautifully.

Why would he choose this?

I never told him my sentiment about the dandelions, or how I used to think I could fly free on the wind as though I were one. It was a childish idea written in some long-lost journals from my childhood that I left behind in England. I never told anyone of the importance to the tattoo on my hip. My ramblings of a broken girl who tried to get that mess out of her head were abandoned under a floorboard in a derelict building I left behind. I never wanted to see those tatty notebooks again.

That’s when it hits me—my tattoo!

It’s hardly hidden on my hip.

Alexi has seen me naked more than once, he never questioned it even though he saw it; maybe, he just assumes I like them. I mean I have one tattooed on my body after all. I guess it’s just an assumption that a girl would have that because she is fond of them. He notices these things, obviously an easy gift for him that didn’t require much thought.

I sigh and swallow down the sense of anxiety and panic that seeing this gave me and return to complete confusion, mind scrambled and emotions torn as I sit here and stare at this piece of very pretty jewellery.

There’s no obvious message in this gift. No digs at me or anything untoward. It seems like a thoughtful present on the surface and I pick it out to examine it while trying to figure out why he would even bother.

Its dainty, pure silver stamped with a mark to prove it, and so very gorgeous; just my style. The box is from a well-known jewellery store, known for its one-off pieces and extortionate price tag. Alexi must have paid a packet for something I am passing off as veiled insults.

I always tend to pick silver jewellery for myself, as gold looks odd on me. Cool toned skin suits cool toned metals when it comes to wearing them against naked areas. He obviously noticed.

If I were to choose something for myself then it would be exactly this, even though I have a love-hate relationship with my dandelion tattoo, but then that’s hardly a surprise considering we share similar taste. We managed to put together this whole club without argument on any design aspect, so I guess we just have an eye for the same kind of things.

It’s beautiful and despite myself, I put it on my wrist.

If I can just forget who it came from then maybe I can appreciate how much I like it.

I should give it back to him and keep things as they are. Business like, with a lot of mistrust and distance.

I sit back and hold my arm up, watching it sit there delicately and exhale long and slowly, blowing out of my mouth as though I have no clue how to behave. I don’t know what to think and even though common sense says put it back in the box and leave it here, I like it more and more the longer I look at it. He certainly pulled the rug out from under me with this, and I can’t settle until I know why or what he hoped to achieve with it.

So much for birthdays being a day we can just bypass. He doesn’t celebrate his but buys me something for mine? This would have taken some effort on his part to get this and leave it here, since I spoke to him yesterday afternoon, and now explains how I remember the smell of his aftershave in the apartment. He obviously came up here himself to leave it.

Not really the Alexi I know at all. Sneaking in, leaving this and leaving me be as I asked.

Just when I think I have a handle on what a douche bag he is, he does something to knock me over and set my brain on another messed up path to confusion. I can’t help but think this is a gameplay at trying to get back in my favour. I’m too resistant and the kiss at the club showed him I am no longer easy to seduce.

Isn’t this what he does? … Pulls back and comes in gently with a new arsenal when things are not playing his way; hitting me from an innocent angle to soften me up before he strikes?

I don’t know anymore.

I pick up the cake and take a bite, distracted, still glued to my wrist in thought, and yet I just can’t seem to take it off.

Fuck it.

I like it, and he obviously spent money on it, so whatever his intentions were, I am keeping it. It only becomes something to use against me if I let him, and it’s no different to maxing his credit card on a shopping spree. Let him spend money on me if he thinks it’s going to get him somewhere—it won’t. I know him better than he thinks, and I am done looking for hints of good in him.

Once bitten twice shy. Or in my case, I have been mauled to death by him and have no intention of letting him get a sniff near me again.