Chapter 13
Us
Author's note: A very warm thank you to every single one of you who have followed this story, commented, and have reached out to me on a personal level to tell me how much it means to you. There are no words to show my appreciation.
This is the longest update to this story, so buckle up for a very bumpy reunion. Enjoy!
Kylo waits for her to speak. But the small silence that follows is cold and merciless—like the barrel of a gun.
"You knew I had come to see you at the play before, but you chose to ignore me," Rey begins, heart beating a bruising tempo against her ribcage. It's far from an icebreaker to a conversation —a Russian roulette might be more like it— but the fact that he revealed how he purposefully avoided her is not something she's willing to brush aside. "Why did you do that?"
"I don't have time to waste on arguments, Rey."
"I'm not mad," she states. He raises his brow in disbelief, but strangely enough, she's not. "I simply want to talk. But if you don't want to, if you're angry at me because of the way I disappeared seven months ago, or you want nothing to do with me anymore, then I'll open this door, get out of the car, and we can both return to our lives pretending we never met." She pauses for a moment, waiting for his reaction, but Kylo remains silent, eyes gleaming in the half dark. "But if that's not the case— then I'll stay, and we can both see where this conversation takes us."
"There isn't much to talk about after seven months. Your absence was very eloquent."
"Then why did you decide to follow me tonight?"
He presses his lips into a stubborn line and stares at a vague spot over her shoulder.
"Is it because of what I said at the stage door?" she presses on.
"You overestimated our exchange. Just because you feel there is something left to discuss between us, it doesn't mean that goes the same for me. I haven't been holding my breath hoping you'd return, you know," he slides his dark eyes back, piercing her with all their unfathomable intensity. "Some people simply move on."
Rey holds his gaze, trying not to blink and allow the sting of his words to show. She's sensing his desire to draw blood in the air, to push her limits and make her bite back. It would be so easy to give in, to say something in return that would cut just as deep— but where would that leave them? She doesn't want to say something that could be twisted against them. In fact, she doesn't want to say anything at all. She would much prefer to take his face between her hands, run her fingers through those silky waves she has missed so much, and kiss his full lips to the point of swelling. To let actions speak for themselves— but somehow she believes things won't go the way she hopes.
His guard is up. And it's as cold and unreadable as she remembers.
"Kylo," she sighs. "How do you expect me to have the simplest of conversations with you when you're making me feel as if I'm standing in front of an execution squad from the moment I got in your car? You can be very intimidating when you want to be."
"I am not intimidating," he scowls.
"Yes, you are. You're like that guy you played in Space Wars. The one whose love interest kept running away every time she felt too overwhelmed by him."
His lips curl into an unexpected smile, and he looks away, trying to hide it. Rey wants to consider this a good sign, but she knows it's too early.
He's battling with himself.
She can tell from the way his smile quickly falls away, and he narrows his eyes at the busy street, most probably already questioning his decision to allow her back into his life. Rain is coming down in buckets now, pounding on the metal hull of Kylo's fancy SUV and forming thick rivulets of water on the windshield. Street lights fall in mesmerizing patterns on his handsome face, creating an image that is ethereal and otherworldly, one Rey would appreciate a lot more if she didn't feel so lost. There are so many things that need to be discussed between them, but she has no idea where to begin. She has no idea if the mess they have created can be fixed at all.
She turns her attention to the puddles of water forming on the side of the streets. The urge to open the door and return to the rain suddenly feels very appealing.
"When you stopped to offer me a car ride, I thought for a moment there was more to it. That it was your way of reaching out to me," she mutters. "Please, tell me I wasn't wrong—"
There's a small moment of hesitation before he answers. "It's not the first time I've followed you. I made sure you got home safely the previous two times you came to see me. I didn't like the idea of you riding the subway alone this late in the night." His features are carefully schooled into that of impassiveness, but Rey catches his thumbnail scraping at the fine leather of the steering wheel.
"You got on the subway for me?" She manages to stop a Chesire smile from forming on her face. The mental image of him sitting squeezed between a man bobbing his head to the music spilling from his earbuds, and an old lady carrying a cartful of groceries from the flea market across Boston flashes in her head, making it hard to hide her amusement.
"Don't jump to conclusions," he points out coolly. "I had my bodyguard follow you on the subway. I'm not that crazy." The words 'for you' hang in the air between them.
Rey fists her hands discreetly on the coarse fabric of her coat, trying to ignore their sting once again. He isn't making this easy on her. "Then why isn't he the one following me tonight?"
"Because I didn't like the idea of the two of you getting drenched to the bone."
"So, you mean to say that the only reason I'm in your car is because of your strange sense of nobility?" she states flatly.
"Why are you making such a big deal out of this?" he growls. "I wanted to make sure you got home alright. My bodyguard is much better equipped to do that than me, but I didn't see why either of you needed to get soaked just because you decided to cross half of New York to see me perform on what must be the wettest day of the year!" As evident as his irritation might be, his voice has turned softer, more placating— as if he's finally putting some effort into whatever discussion is taking place. Maybe he's not that willing to give up on her, after all.
She sighs and shifts to face him better. "I'm trying to figure out if your behavior at the stage door has anything to do with the reasons you're here with me now. You didn't seem to want anything to do with me back there."
"We were surrounded by fans, Rey. What exactly did you want me to say?"
"Oh, I don't know! Something less cruel, maybe?" His rejection at the stage door still feels like a punch in the gut, and his exasperating behavior towards her now is not making things any better. "It was so difficult to get anywhere near you after the play, and you made me feel like a complete idiot for daring to speak to you. "
"People were watching, in case you didn't notice, and something tells me you wouldn't be too happy having a cozy new picture of us circulating the tabloids." He raises his brow. "Or has that changed, suddenly, and you're here to claim lost goods?"
"Lost— what?" she narrows her eyes. "Is that why you were so cold and dismissive towards me? Because you think I'm finally chasing after you for being a celebrity?"
"Who isn't these days? And why should I believe you're any different?" Fire simmers dangerously for a moment in his black eyes, and Rey's beginning to doubt they'll be able to have a civilized conversation in the end. Not with the number of unresolved issues that have piled up between them.
"You know what? You're right," she concedes, feeling aggravated despite her best efforts to remain calm. "Why else would I come looking for you after repeatedly dumping your ass in the past, if not for your fame and money? And why would I even think you'd want to be seen next to me— an insignificant hairdresser, of all people— after the way our photo was dragged and ripped to pieces all over the tabloids. I should probably be apologizing for acting like a crazy person in front of your fans, ridiculing myself, and ruining your impeccable public image!"
"Is that really why you think I was avoiding you at the stage door? Because I felt embarrassed by you?" he growls.
"Care to give me another explanation?"
"Fuck no! Because you won't like that one any better!"
"Which part? The one where you're waiting for me to come crawling back to satisfy your ego, or the one where you want me to admit how much I've missed you so that you can rub it in my face?"
They stare at each other for a long moment with heated faces.
The only sound left in the world is that of their synchronized panting breaths, and the relentless rain pounding on the car. Something in the beautiful fury of his expression urges her to close the space between them, to shut down their ridiculous argument with a kiss—but Rey hesitates.
The moment slips through her fingers like sand in an hourglass, and it's gone in the next breath.
He licks his lips.
"You always had me so well figured out, didn't you?" he says in a low voice.
The feeling that now emanates from him and bores down on her is that of disappointment. The anger and frustration have melted away, but for some reason Rey finds them to have been a much-preferred alternative in comparison. His hand is gripping the steering wheel tightly, and the downward curl of his lips tells her all she needs to know about where this conversation has headed.
Rey swallows the first sting of tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry— I didn't mean what I said. Not in the way it came out."
He's watching the monotonous swiping of rain on the windshield, his characteristic frown carved deep in his features. For a moment she believes he won't say anything back. That he will simply point to the door, the way he had on that dreadful night at the hotel, and ask her to leave. But he eventually does speak, in a low rumble that matches the one rolling behind the curtain of rain that has enveloped the city.
"I know you didn't mean it. You are upset. We both are."
"Did you even want me to come and see you in the play? Did you want to see me?" she asks in a small voice. It's the question she has been dreading to ask from the moment she found the advert in the magazine. And now that it's finally out, in plain sight for both of them to see, she realizes she doesn't know what she will do if he says he didn't.
"I don't know—" he pauses. He shuts his eyes momentarily, rubbing at them with his fingers. A few of his dark strands fall in front of his face. "I mean— yes. It was really good seeing you. But anything beyond that is very, very complicated."
"I think we are the ones complicating things between us," she breathes out her relief, wishing with every cell of her body there was a way to turn back time and undo all the wrong twists and turns that have led them where they are now. She searches for his eyes, hidden behind smooth black waves that shine so invitingly in the darkness. She restrains herself from fingering them away, from touching such a personal part of him now, when everything is so brittle between them. "We have been doing this from the very beginning. Don't you think it's time we started speaking more openly towards each other? Trying to build trust instead of demolishing it?"
"Well, that's an interesting notion coming from you," he side-eyes her. The slight sarcasm doesn't go unnoticed. "And how long will that last, Rey? A week? A month? Or will you be using the next rumor circulating the news about me as an excuse to hop on the next plane out of town when complicated gets too much for you to bear? Because let me tell you a little secret, sweetheart. It never ends. This is my life—" he points at his chest, "and you, obviously, can't handle it!"
It hits her suddenly. The realization that his wariness might not only have to do with the awful way she left him so many months ago, and that his bruised ego is not the sole reason behind his cold behavior at the stage door. He might be doing more than testing her determination to seek him out.
He might be trying to protect her.
Rey sets her hand on top of his. The one that's gripping the steering wheel hard enough to leave indents on it. She squeezes it, trying to convey all that she feels for him through their touch. The tightness of his grip loosens just enough for her to slip her fingers under his palm. She never truly appreciated how right his hand was in hers, how tender yet empowering it felt the few times she allowed it to touch her.
It makes her chest ache for the fragile connection they once shared.
"Let's go for a drink, Kylo. Let's find someplace quiet," she says softly. "A pub or small diner with not too many people inside, where we can simply sit back and talk for a bit. I don't think a car is the best place for us right now. Nothing needs to come out of it if you don't want to, if you're no longer interested in me or too tired of waiting. But It's something I'd really like for us to do. "
He clenches his jaw, staring at the rivulets of rain on the windshield for a long moment, before turning those consuming dark eyes on her. He nods silently.
.
.
.
He parks the SUV at Dumbo, and they hurry their way to a pub he points to at a corner of the street which seems to be small and relatively empty. The rain has eased up, but they still get wet enough by the time they reach the door. They wipe raindrops from their clothes and he shakes his head to get as much of it off his hair as he can. The water sparkles like tiny diamonds in his mane and shines on his face. Rey finds herself trying to take in every little detail about him, from the slight hunch of his shoulders to the tiny mole next to his prominent nose. She fears she will only get to have him for a couple of more hours before he disappears from her life forever.
"Is everything alright?" he asks when he catches her eyes on him. His voice is soft. Tentative—
"Yeah, " she lies. "Let's go inside. I'm getting kind of cold."
He opens the door for her, but his hand never touches the small of her back as they step into the pub. He doesn't pull out a chair for her either, the way he had once done in the boutique diner in Scotland. It's impossible not to notice small differences such as these.
They sit at the end of the bar with their backs to the few patrons watching the play-offs of a football game taking place somewhere on the West Coast. The odds of Kylo being recognized are very few if most eyes remain glued to the TV screen. Although, they probably wouldn't bat an eye if a celebrity slid into a bar stool next to them for a beer, judging from decades-old signed portraits hanging from the walls. It's as close as they can have to a quiet drink at a pub.
Kylo orders a Pellegrino. Rey does the same. She figures it's better not to have a repeat of that fateful night of the premiere, with emotions running out of control. They are served Seltzer instead, from a big muscled bartender with a long beard and a bald head, stating 'that's what we have around here, take it or leave it.'
Kylo stares down his nose at the drink with an expression as sour as the lime set on the glass's rim, but other than that he doesn't object.
They spend a couple of moments taking in the small pub with its dark rustic interior, wooden furniture, and breathtaking view of the Manhattan Bridge half-hidden in the mist. Rey doesn't remember appreciating its beauty so much while running to make ends meet in her daily life. When she returns her attention to Kylo, he's already studying her, twirling his glass of carbonated water in his oversized hands, most probably waiting for her to say the first word again.
Rey takes a sip from her drink and sets her glass carefully on the sticky surface of the bar. She straightens her back.
"I ran away seven months ago because I was too scared of how you made me feel," she begins. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches him sitting up slightly, his interest captured instantly. "Your intentions towards me were evident from the first day we met, and although your approach was persistent and a bit overwhelming at times, I want you to know that deep down I always cherished the way you insisted on getting to know me. No one has ever tried so much before."
She pauses to read his reaction. Kylo continues to watch her silently, with features bereft of any emotion— only Rey has been around him long enough to notice the imperceptible changes in his expression, indicating how he has been caught off guard. She believes it's a good enough sign for her to go on.
"I think I was always afraid of attachments in relationships, for many reasons that I refused to acknowledge to myself, much less speak to you about during our time together. I had never considered getting help to deal with certain issues from my past, mainly because I thought I could pretend they weren't there. Until that day at the airport when you fought so hard to make me stay. It was the day I realized that something needed to change—"
"Hold on." He raises his hand, shaking his head as if the information she has just shared is too much to process. "Did you say you 'got help'? What do you mean exactly?"
"I started therapy. I felt there were things about me that I needed to fix before I even considered trying to—" she hesitates, unsure of how to word the real reason she's here without igniting a new argument "—to come back to you."
He shifts on the barstool, turning to face her fully. "Let me get this straight. It took you seven months to decide if you should come back because you felt you needed to fix yourself for me?" His eyes are searing into her in a way that makes every particle of her body completely cease from spinning.
All her well-practiced monologue flees from her mind.
"Well, yes… There are so many things you don't know about me, or the reasons I left—"
"For fuck's sake, Rey! I never wanted you to fix yourself for me!" He glances away, running his hand through his hair and swearing under his breath. He rubs his face. "I mean— sure, I understand if you have trouble dealing with problems in your life. Hell, I don't think there's a single person on this planet that doesn't have to figure out their shit at some point. But I never wanted to make you feel like you aren't good enough, or there is something wrong with you." He shakes his head, muttering to himself. "I should have never asked you to leave my room that night. Fuck, I should have never even let you into my room. Not after what I did."
"We were both drunk. We weren't thinking straight. Please, don't blame yourself—"
"I was weak and foolish," he insists. "I hid what was going on with Pava because I was too much of a coward to tell you. I took advantage of your vulnerable state when you came to me for sex, and then threw you out of my room like a cheap one-night stand just because my pride got too wounded. I don't even—" he rubs at his eyes, as if trying to wipe an image away. "I don't even know why you came back…"
She sets her hand on his forearm trying to calm him down. She had no idea he had been blaming himself so much over what had gone down between them. "I was very hurt, yes. You should have come clean with me about Pava, before the premiere. But that night in your room— I did come to you for a one-night stand, so I am just as much to blame for the mess we made. All that happened between us opened my eyes to a lot of my flaws, and my decision to search for therapy is something I needed to do for myself. I came back because I promised I would. Because deep down I never wanted to put an end to us. Not without giving us a fair chance, at least "
He stares at his glass, chewing on the inside of his cheek and making her feel as if she has managed to turn his world inside out in just a handful of moments. She dreads to find out the kind of theories he has been weaving in the labyrinth of his mind.
He growls fuck into his glass, and gulps the beverage down. He waves at the bartender to approach. "This is the kind of a discussion that needs something heavier than artificial bubbly water," he grumbles.
"I don't think that's a very good idea. We both know where that got us," she says, gesturing firmly at the bartender to remain where he is. The man continues to polish glasses with a discreet roll of his eyes.
Kylo shifts in his seat and runs his hand through his hair, mumbling another curse under his breath for good measure. A few moments of tense silence slip between them.
"Was it very uncomfortable for you?" he asks, his gaze intense enough to melt the empty glass clutched in his hands. "That night in my room, I mean—"
Rey ponders on his question for a moment, then takes a sip from her drink. She has to give credit where it's due. "Not that much. Especially when your fingers were knuckle deep inside me."
His dark eyes are on her instantly. Rey shrugs with a half-smile, hoping her awkward joke hasn't just doomed whatever little progress they had made.
He chuckles deep in his chest in sudden, genuine amusement while Rey grins widely back in relief, some of the tension rolling off their shoulders at last. He watches her for a few heartbeats with color creeping on his pale face, and with crinkled eyes sparkling so strangely. She wants to believe it's that familiar spark she reads in them, the one she would occasionally catch lingering on her when the walls between them would lower— but he doesn't give her enough time to be certain. He never did.
Kylo breaks away with a clearing of his throat, seemingly interested in the football game on TV. Rey notices his long fingers pick at the napkin under his glass.
"So— " he says eventually, turning towards her just as a bunch of football players pile on a quarterback in the middle of the field. There's grumbling all around in the pub and someone tosses peanuts at the screen. "Does this— you going for therapy— mean you're discovering your hidden potential and curating your experiences? Vibing with the universe and all?"
Rey snorts. "Barely. I think I'm as fucked up as one can get. But maybe for once, I'm coming to terms with some stuff?"
He nods at his glass. "Sounds familiar."
"You've gone through therapy too?"
"Still do on occasion."
"Your life is very...intense, so I imagine it helps you a lot, right?"
"Sometimes it does. Most times I still feel like I'm barely hanging on." He gestures animatedly with his hand.
Rey laughs at the over-the-top comedian that so rarely makes an appearance. He smiles back, that shy but sexy inscrutable curl of his lips that always made him look so mysterious and alluring in the mirror. Her muscles go a little weak at the memory, so she puts her glass down, suddenly aware of the magnetic pull it still has on her. And not just her, but on countless people around the globe.
The feeling of being a nobody returns with a vengeance.
"I think you're doing alright, all things considered," she says. "You're very charming and talented, so it's impossible not to have attention on you."
He must somehow sense the change in the air because his smile falters. He glances at his empty drink. "My life is not as intense as it used to be, if that's what you're wondering. I was in the process of turning a lot of things around, and trying to get rid of quite a few bad habits, when you, so unexpectedly, walked into my life. All razor-sharp scissors and clear bright eyes. You felt like a sunray breaking through a storm. You still do— " he pauses, as if uncertain of himself. He scrapes at an indent in the wood of the bar. "Anyway, I can't say I got rid of all my bad habits. I still smoke. A lot. But other than that I'm done with wasting myself on people who don't matter to me, and drinking my body into a slow grave. I used to have my occasional lapses, but I have done well during these last months. All things considered."
He smirks and raises his brow pointedly, echoing what she had said earlier as if trying to lighten the mood. Rey can't say it works. It's only gotten harder for her to breathe with each passing second that he spoke. If all this is his way of letting her know how significant it was for him to decide to approach her, seeking a stable relationship among the chaos that surrounds him, and how much effort he has put in keeping himself together after the way their last night so disastrously fell apart — then she was tragically unaware.
Rey tucks a wisp of hair behind her ear, swallowing the sudden thickness in her throat.
"I'm sorry for not knowing you were trying so hard to turn your life around. It takes a lot of strength to pull oneself out of such situations— "
"It's alright. Don't beat yourself over it," he chuckles politely. "You didn't know because I never told you. Only a handful of people are aware. The ones that are closest to me. We— never really got the time to reach that point."
Rey nods. "No we didn't— but maybe that could change?" She smiles back with sudden renewed confidence. "What I really wanted to say at the stage door, but knew I couldn't in front of all those people, is how good it felt seeing you again. And how much I was hoping we could give another shot at us, even as messed up as we might be. I feel that what we had, what we felt for each other got cut off so abruptly."
What she doesn't tell him, though, what she still hides in the deepest recesses of her heart, too cowardly to admit, is how much she wishes they could be so much more. How she dreams of standing next to him, holding his warm strong hand in hers unafraid of what the world has to say, simply being with him, companions forever in this hurricane that is life. Together.
Loving him and being loved back—
She still doesn't even know if there is any hope she will see him again.
He chews his cheek, frowning into his glass for a few moments before he straightens his back. He faces her fully, elbow resting on the bar, broad chest taking in a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he has to say. Rey waits, knowing that the air between them has a long way to go before being cleared.
If it does at all—
"You said that no one has made you feel the way I have. That the attention I showed you was not something you had experienced before. To be honest, I don't know what to make of it. You're attracted to me, I never doubted that. Infatuated? Maybe a bit, although you never allowed that side of you to show. But feelings? Actual heart-to-heart feelings, like the ones I have for you— I can't say that I was ever really convinced."
"Please, stop. I know where you're going with this."
"Do you? I'm not so sure. If you do, then you know why Amilyn was not very happy about you coming into my life. She always had her guard up for gold diggers, and did her research accordingly when someone got too close. Although, I can't say it protected me all that much in the end."
"Are you talking about the sexual harassment allegations?"
"Partly—yes," he hesitates.
"Well, they don't matter to me anymore. I should have waited to come to my own conclusions about your character instead of blindly believing what others had to say about you. And I'm not that kind of a person," Rey shakes her head, feeling her cheeks heat in both humiliation and indignity. "I never once tried to take advantage of your position, or the interest you had in me to promote some kind of hidden agenda—"
"I know who you are, Rey," he cuts her off. His hand comes up to cradle her cheek, and it's such an unexpected gesture that her heart momentarily stops beating. "You don't have to convince me about the kind of person you are. I could tell from the moment I laid eyes on you."
The pad of his thumb brushes lightly at her cheekbone as Rey struggles to compose herself. Tears brim in her eyes, blurring the handsome contours of his face and making his black eyes shine like the waters of a midnight sea. She grips his hand to her face with her heart beating so hard she thinks it will shatter. Her throat is unable to utter a single sound.
"But I never believed you could be part of my life," he continues, "no matter how hard I wished that you could. Amilyn had warned me you weren't cut out to survive in my world— but I didn't listen. These past seven months I realized she was right. The patience and trust and understanding that are required to be in a relationship with someone like me— the love…" his voice gets cut off, and Rey knows that this is not Kylo speaking to her. It's not the talented movie star with the exceptional ability to move the audience's feelings to his every whim. This is a man she has only gotten glimpses of a handful of times, and there is nothing, nothing she wants more than to see him come out of his confines.
He drops his hand from her face, but Rey doesn't let go. She never, ever wants to let go. She threads her fingers with his, holding it tightly on her lap. His eyes fall on their joined hands long enough to make him struggle for the next words. Words she doesn't want to hear.
"You can't do it, Rey. Be with me— As much as I may want you to, and as deeply as I feel for you, you could never be happy by my side. And I don't have what it takes anymore to mend a broken heart. I don't think I'll manage to crawl out of whatever pit I find myself in, if I fall too deep for you. If I haven't already—" he pleads for her to understand with those soulful eyes. "Which is why I believe it would be best if we don't see each other again after tonight," he says, bringing her knuckles to his lips and pressing a tender kiss on them, before he disentangles his hand from hers carefully.
He takes away more than its warmth. He takes away the very sun from her sky.
Kylo never intended to discuss their differences when he offered a car ride. He was planning on breaking things off with her. Permanently.
He signals at the bartender to bring the bill.
Rey stares at his angular profile blinking away tears. It's a mistake he's making— this decision to burn all bridges and destroy any hope of a relationship between them. She knows this because she has made this mistake herself. And she is here now, so many months later, trying to convince him that their foundations are still solid when she was the one who struck them down in the end.
But he haunted her mind— He was her first thought each morning and the last before closing her eyes at night. She needs to believe it has been the same for him.
There is no way of guessing how big of an impact a romantic relationship between them could have on their lives, if it's inevitability that which brought them together, or if their feelings are just a passing whirlwind. The only way to know is if they throw caution to the wind, if they finally take that blind leap of faith they are now both so frightened of— and she needs to make him see that. She needs to bring back that fire that burned in his eyes for her —the belief that their fairytale can exist.
She isn't a hopeless romantic. A Hollywood star is no Prince Charming, and her damaged past does not make her a Cinderella. But maybe, just maybe, a true love's kiss is not that far out of reach—
"Don't do this," she blurts out as he's pulling a fifty-dollar bill from his leather wallet to pay for their drinks. "Don't give up on us."
His hand pauses for a second as he hands it to the bartender. "Keep the change," he mumbles. The bartender nods.
"I'm not good with words," she says when she sees him reaching for his jacket, eyes avoiding hers at all cost. "Not the way you are, at least. I'm not very good at charming cameras or captivating audiences, or conning someone I'm interested in into going on a date." It's a weak attempt at a joke about their first date during production so long ago, and it feels like she'll only break into more tears if he so much as glances her way with those sad eyes. "But there is something I want to say before you walk away, and I can only hope it makes you reconsider."
She feels his attention on her as she ravages through her purse. It weighs at her heart and makes her hands clumsy, but she manages to pull out what she has been looking for. She wipes at her nose with the back of her hand.
It's a small, thick book, a little frayed and crinkled at the edges from the numerous times she's flipped through its pages— but in an overall good shape for Kylo to make out the title.
"You carry Shakespeare in your purse?" he says, with a hint of surprise. "You were never interested in literature. At least not from what I remember."
"I wasn't. Not until recently. This copy only has his most popular plays, and I can't say I've read more than a couple so far. But there are a few lines I've marked that I love returning to, and I wanted to share some with you." She flips to a page that has been dog-eared and wipes at her nose once more.
"Rey… What do you think you will accomplish with this?"
"Make you stay." She lifts her watery eyes to see him watching her with an expression she's never seen on his face before. It makes her fingers tremble as she tries to smooth out the page.
She returns to the few lines she has picked out for him. She reads them in a shaky voice.
"Doubt thou the stars are fire.
Doubt that the sun doth move.
Doubt truth to be a liar."
"But never doubt I love—" His deep voice joins hers in the end.
Rey doesn't glance at his face to gauge his reaction. She's too spineless to do it. It's very possible that the poem has done very little to sway him from his decision, and that there won't be much dignity left in her if she sees their ending written irrevocably on his handsome face.
He doesn't believe she feels the same for him. She never gave him reason to—
"Of all romantic poetry and literature out there, you chose to recite Hamlet to make me reconsider," he deadpans.
"It's— it's not one of the most famous sayings about love. I had originally picked a line from a poem by Edgar Allen Poe that I found online, but then figured it was probably even less appropriate." She's babbling nervously, eyes low and cheeks heating, and she knows he has already noticed how embarrassed she feels about being so clueless when it comes to literature. He always noticed the tiniest detail about her. "Anyway, I think Hamlet's confession expresses how I feel more accurately." Her fingertips caress the lines she has just read as if they are a sinking boat.
"Which poem was it? The one you had originally picked out?"
"The Raven," she winces.
He remains eerily silent, so she peeks at him from under her lashes. There's a smile playing on his face, probably in response to yet another odd literary choice on her behalf.
"Should I even dare to ask why you picked the Raven?"
It reminded me of your hair. She wants to say. The smooth ebony texture, so similar to that of the wild creature's. But he will only laugh at her.
"I had my reasons," she says, instead. "The most important of all being—" She hesitates, not knowing how he will take what she's about to say. If it will gain her more time or drive him away forever. She takes a deep breath. "The most important being that the poem reminded me of what you hide so well behind your carefully constructed smiles and cold politeness. Why, although you are surrounded by people who worship you, so few get to know you. It's a feeling that haunts you no matter where you go."
His smile slowly fades away, but Rey doesn't stop. It has taken so long for her to recognize this barren feeling he carries. A feeling that has been her companion all her life.
"I don't know if there's a name for it. I don't even know if I'm making any sense. The closest word I can think of that describes it is loneliness, and yet it's not enough— " she pauses for a moment before adding softly. "I believe it's one of the reasons you chose acting for a profession. It allows you to live through the eyes of the characters you play— "
His smile has completely disappeared by now.
They are left staring at each other as if the last wall standing between them has finally been torn down. Behind him, the twinkling view of the Manhattan Bridge at night frames his features, making them look paler than the moon. Almost diaphanous.
He leans in—
It's not until his lips are pressed to hers, all the world shrinking down to the exquisite warmth and softness wrapping around her mouth that she realizes he's kissing her.
Wild wings break into a flutter inside her. She becomes feather-light, all thoughts and worries and fears vanishing into thin air.
He is kissing her—
Making her head spin. Or maybe it's the world that's spinning around them. It's so hard to tell when all there's left are a pair of lime-scented lips and a heart on the verge of flying—
Rey grips desperately onto the first solid thing she can find to ground herself, to keep the earth from turning. She thinks it's the muscles of his arm she digs her nails in, but her mind is unable to process anything more elemental other than how perfect and divine it feels to have his mouth on hers, tender but primal, and at the same time pleading for her to take him in—
His teeth graze against her teeth. His hot breath mingles with hers. His tongue slides hungrily against her own. They connect with a voracious hope scraping at her insides, a hope for something exceptional — a new beginning?— consuming the air between them.
"I missed you," she whispers between kisses, cupping his face clumsily in her hands. "You don't know how much I've missed you—"
He doesn't reply, simply tilts her head and licks the words from her tongue with a new kind of fever building in their kiss. She threads her fingers through thick, silky strands at the nape of his neck, clinging to him with a fierceness she's never felt before. Her mouth never breaks away from his for a single moment. All her breath, all the air she will ever need is coming from the man in her arms, and she will die if he takes it away. He is setting fire under her skin. Her body is clay in his hands for him to mold to his heart's content.
He is taking her apart. One throaty whimper at a time.
It's absurd this crazy need she has for him. This desperation to make him swear they will always be together. Hollywood and Bollywood and any other Hallmark romance movie she used to make fun of suddenly seem like they have always held the most important truth in the universe.
"Promise me you'll stay," she pleads between broken kisses, caressing his cheek. Touching his swollen lip. It is the sweetest thing she's ever tasted. "Say this isn't goodbye— "
He smiles against her lips. "I should have tied you to my bed that night. I was an idiot for letting you go," he laughs, and she laughs too, breathing him in, tasting his hot mouth hungrily.
His arms pull her to his body, clutching her so tight she thinks her ribs will crack. The barstool she was sitting on disappears, scraping and cluttering to the floor as she finds herself being dragged between his thighs.
Whooping and whistling and cat-calling explode in the air, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she's aware of the spectacle they are making, publicly devouring each other like a pair of horny teenagers. But she can't let go of him. This ravenous desire and the deliriousness of their kiss are clouding every sense of modesty.
"Get your lady a room!" someone calls out.
Kylo raises his middle finger in the direction of the voice, his mouth continuing to firmly explore hers. Rey laughs against his lips, smacking him teasingly on his shoulder.
"Don't be an ass. They're only trying to watch a game in peace, and we're distracting them."
"And I'm only trying to kiss my girlfriend in peace, but they won't let me," he growls back.
Rey's heart stops.
She pulls away slowly, barely registering his black ravenous eyes blown wide. One of his hands slides down the curve of her waist. It settles on her hip, palm splayed wide —
"What— what did you say?"
"That I'm trying to kiss you?" His voice is thick and husky.
"No, right after that. You used a word. A very specific word that implies—"
"Girlfriend?" He raises his brow innocently, as if he hadn't nearly given her a heart attack a moment ago.
She nods.
"Do you have any objections? We could use another term if you're not fond of it." His wide eyes dart between hers in what seems to be concern. "How does lady friend sound? My grandmother would have loved that one."
Rey narrows her eyes. Of all times he could have picked to tease her with his acting skills—
"Or we could say something along the lines of my better half or my significant other," he continues, brushing the tip of his nose against hers, playfully. "Something long and complex that will probably require a ridiculously expensive ring, and will have you bolting out of the pub faster than the speed of light," he smirks like the devious bastard he can be.
She opens her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but it immediately falls shut when he softly adds—
"I really hope you don't do that, by the way—"
Her chest tightens. Rey shakes her head.
"Girlfriend it is then," he smiles cheekily. "May I kiss you again? I think I'd like to do that some more. What do you think?"
He has his arm wound tightly around her waist, probably having found its way there during their heated moment, but still, he pulls her impossibly close to his body. Her breasts are pressing against his chest, the sensation of this newly discovered intimacy sending the sweetest shiver down her body. He stares up from his seated position as if she's the most radiant sun. And Rey feels like one. She feels big and bright, and so full of glowing happiness, she could release it to the world and sustain it for ages.
She beams at him, fingers diving eagerly through his glossy waves and disappearing in the thick black silk. Silk that now belongs to her—
His eyes fall half-shut in pleasure. If he was a giant cat, she would feel him purr.
"I think a kiss sounds perfect to seal the deal," she says, although her regained voice is as unsteady as her fingers combing through his luscious mane. "But before we do, there's one thing I want to say first."
"And what's that?"
She pauses her caress until she has his full attention. His dark eyes find hers, attentive and still waiting for what she has to say. "I won't bolt on you again," she says softly. "I'm here to stay. I promise— "
Something in his expression crumples.
He is left staring so openly at her, so unguarded that for a split moment Rey feels she's seeing him for the first time. The man she knew, the man she was holding in her arms up until a split moment ago, the talented actor and magnetic celebrity, seems so far away suddenly— part of another world, some other dimension, one that seems so insignificant right now, like the image hidden inside a mirror. An image with no true substance.
But the man in her arms is breathing. His heart is beating rampantly inside his chest for her. He is real.
"Kylo, I think I'm in—"
"No. Not Kylo," The man shakes his head. "I don't want you using that name again. That's not who I am."
"And what name should I use?" she asks carefully, her own heart beginning to thud just as hard inside her chest. She thinks she knows what he is about to say. Who he is about to reveal.
"Ben," he says, simply. No big words or extravaganza. Just a pair of dark, tender eyes looking directly at her. "I want you to call me Ben."
A sudden roar of excitement vibrates the pub down to its wooden planks. Probably some crucial touchdown tipping the football game in favor of the team the customers of the pub are rooting for.
Rey barely notices any of it.
She's too captivated by the simple but breathtaking smile of the man in her arms to pay attention to anything less than an armageddon taking place around them.
She grins. A wide, silly ear-to-ear grin that makes her cheeks hurt and eyes sting with tears. She caresses his dimples.
"It's nice to meet you, Ben," she says softly.
In the background, the mist has lifted from Manhattan Bridge and New York sparkles like an enchanted palace on the black surface of the East River. Rey knows it's just her eyes playing tricks on her. But as Ben leans in for another kiss, his soft breath on her cheek and a silky strand caressing her skin, she thinks that maybe, for this one glorious night, reality is as close to a fairytale as it can get.
She closes her eyes.