His Lips On Mine

Ginevra stood there, waiting expectantly for me to say something, anything.

"It was an apology?" I winced as the words left my mouth. An apology? With such a half-assed kiss? It was horrible.

Ginevra just stared at me.

"Maybe the kiss was a little too much," I chuckled nervously, hoping to defuse the situation, but nothing could cover up the ridiculousness of what had just happened.

"Kiss? It happened so fast I don't even know what that was," he said, trailing his thumb across his lips, and I couldn't help but follow the movement with my eyes. My chest tightened as I realized how badly I'd embarrassed myself.

After escaping death countless times, maybe this was where I'd finally meet my end—at the hands of my own awkwardness. My eyes darted around, scanning for anyone who might've witnessed that impulsive attempt. Please, no one saw that.

"Do you want to try that again?" he asked, his lips curling into a mischievous smile that made my heart race. He was definitely holding back a laugh, but there was something else there—he was enjoying this a little too much.

"There are people," I muttered, but honestly, I was more concerned about the possibility of embarrassing myself again. I wasn't sure if I could handle a second round of humiliation.

But instead of stepping back, Ginevra moved closer to me, his arms sliding around my neck with an ease that made my breath hitch. "My butler and chauffeur are close to finding me, so you better act now before I get dragged away," he murmured.

His lips hovered over mine teasingly, and my pulse spiked. He was waiting for me to make the next move. My heart hammered against my ribcage as he edged even closer.

"If you kiss me, I'll accept your invitation," he whispered, his eyes glinting with challenge, "otherwise, I'll think we have nothing important to discuss."

That sly grin of his only made my nerves burn hotter. This bastard really knew how to make things complicated.

"You know how to put a guy to work, don't you?" I muttered, half in frustration, half in disbelief. He didn't respond; he just smiled at me, that damn smile that told me he knew exactly what he was doing.

Kissing wasn't rocket science. I could do this. My heart raced, but it wasn't from fear—it was from the intense pull between us. Slowly, I leaned in, the gap closing between us as I moved to capture his lips.

Ginevra smiled as our lips touched. His lips were warm and soft, not what I expected from someone who was supposed to be cooler than the average living being.

He pressed his body against mine, and I dropped my groceries without even thinking, wrapping my arms around his waist. Goosebumps spread across my skin as our lips brushed together. His floral, earthy scent—though faint—felt dizzying, and I clutched the back of his jacket, steadying myself.

I was kissing Ginevra, and if anyone looked our way, they would see us. But at that moment, the thought barely registered. All I could focus on was him. The space between our bodies disappeared, and for a brief, strange, and wonderful moment, it felt like he was taking away some of the weight from my body, replacing it with a warmth that spread from the inside out.

He slowed the kiss, pulling away gently. "I've been found. I'll see you soon," he whispered, dazed.

He kissed me again, a final, quick press of his lips, before pointing toward someone standing behind me in the distance.

"I may not be able to see you tonight, but I'll see you soon," he said with a sly grin before walking off, leaving me standing there, heart pounding, with a stupid smile on my face.

I looked down, noticing the groceries scattered at my feet. I bent down to pick them up, still dazed by the kiss. Oh, wow!

_______________

Days had gone by since I saw Ginevra in town, and once again, in my usual scatterbrained fashion, I had forgotten to get his number. Typical me. However, the next day after we met, someone showed up at my door with a letter from him. A letter! Who even sends letters anymore? Most people text, email, or—at worst—send a voice message. But for him, it felt oddly fitting.

I couldn't just ignore it, so I wrote back, inviting him for lunch or dinner—honestly, whichever worked for him. It took me an embarrassing amount of paper to get the wording right. Everything I wrote felt wrong at first: too casual, too desperate, too formal. When I finally settled on something, I made sure to add my number at the bottom. Hopefully, he'd actually use it. When I handed the note to his "mailman"—a guy dressed so sharply he looked ready to attend a royal banquet—I felt ridiculous.

And now, here I was, a bundle of nerves because Ginevra was coming over tonight. For dinner. Is this a date? I'm calling it a date. It feels like a date.

After rummaging through my kitchen, I settled on a menu: roasted vegetables, chicken masala, and rice, with ice cream for dessert. Simple but satisfying.

I prepped the vegetables, set the rice to cook, and kept the chicken simmering on low heat. The smells wafting from the kitchen were mouthwatering, but as I stood there, stirring the pot, I felt an itch of discomfort. Could vampires even eat regular food? Or would he politely push it around his plate while I babbled awkwardly about everything and nothing?

Shrugging off the thought, I decided to take a quick bath. Well, "quick" turned into a full-on second bath of the day. Why was I doing this? I'd already showered earlier. The butterflies in my stomach refused to settle as I scrubbed myself again, feeling a bizarre mix of excitement and dread. Is this how people felt when they liked someone? Vulnerable, awkward, and maybe a little crazy?

After drying off, I rifled through my wardrobe. Jeans and a plain white T-shirt seemed like a safe choice. I threw on a watch and a thin bracelet for a touch of effort, though I told myself it was just to look "put together," not for him. Absolutely not for him.

Satisfied—or at least as satisfied as I could be—I headed back to the kitchen, trying to ignore the fact that I had definitely dressed up for him. My heart was already racing, and he hadn't even arrived yet.

I decided the table needed a finishing touch. A vase of flowers—something simple but meaningful. Grabbing a few blooms from the bouquet Ginevra had given me, I arranged them carefully and placed the vase in the centre of the dinner table. The sight of it made me smile. The soft petals and vibrant colours added a bit of warmth to my otherwise bare kitchen.

By the time everything was set, the nervous energy in my stomach had reached a fever pitch. I paced the floor, checked the clock for the hundredth time, and straightened the table setting yet again. Then, finally, the doorbell rang.

I froze.

Taking a deep breath, I smoothed down my shirt and walked to the door, my heart pounding louder with each step. When I opened it, there he stood—Ginevra, looking effortlessly elegant, a slight smile curving his lips. In his hands, he held a bouquet, the flowers as pristine and lovely as him.

"Hi," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but a grin spread across my face.

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. "For you," he said, handing me the bouquet with a twinkle in his eyes.

So, this is a date.

I couldn't stop the warmth blooming in my chest. Holding the flowers close, I stepped aside to let him in. I never imagined that this was how it felt to like someone. The way my heart fluttered. How I couldn't help but smile. My wolf was reduced to a puppy in his presence. Had the feeling always been there? I wondered.

I didn't care anymore. About being a Night Hunter, an abomination. I just cared about how I felt, how his eyes looked at me. Like he had known me forever. Like I had been his for the longest time.