Betrothed To The Mafia Lord

Chapter 388

James’ pov

I made sure the water was in a warm temperature before running the napkin beneath it, and then I

existed the bathroom in the guest room which Blair was currently occupying. I walked over to the spot

at the foot of her bed which was still huddled in, and then I crouched beside her.

She glanced at me without saving a thing, and then she slowly averted her gaze. She thankfully wasn’t

crying any longer but she was as silent as a night, and I didn’t like it.

I gently held her chin as I dabbed her face, cleaning off the tearstreaks on her cheeks. Her eyes were

red and her cheeks were flushed, but that didn’t her look less beautiful than she usually does – instead,

they made her appear cute and soft as hell.

I returned the napkin and fetched her a cup of water, which she only took a sip from.

I puffed out a long exhale as I sank back into the spot beside her, but I made sure there was some

space left between us this time, because I wasn’t sure she’d appreciate me crowding her right now.

“I’m sorry for ruining your shirt.” She mumbled without looking st me and I glanced down at the said

shirt, noticing some wet spots on the shirt, which were already starting to dry up.

“You know you don’t have to apologize for that, it’s just a shirt.” I responded while carefully regarding

her from the side of my eyes.

She bit at the side of her mouth and fell silent once again.

The normal Blair I was used to would have tried to make a jab at me about the amount of thousands

the suit she had mistakenly spilled water over and had ‘ruined’ had caused, but this Blair didn’t say a

thing about that. All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

We fell into a comfortable silence after that, but I kept regarding her from the sides of my eyes every

few moments.

She was either staring straight ahead or down at her wringing hands.

I glanced towards the clock hanging off the wall at the far end of the room and grimaced. It was past

one a.m at the moment. I was sure she didn’t get any sleep throughout the time I had been out today.

She’s supposed to have already fallen asleep by now, especially since she didn’t sleep yesterday until

the wee hours of the morning.

I took another glance at her, she didn’t seem like she was to be sleeping any time soon.

Her short hair was barely brushing her shoulders, and as each moment passed, a few wisps of the air

kept moving around like a piece of paper.

“You must probably think I’m the most pathetic person you’ve ever met.”

The words suddenly broke the silence unexpectedly and I glanced at her sharply. She wasn’t staring at

me, and was still focused on her tangling fingers. Her voice was very quiet as she had spoke and I

turned a little till I was staring directly at her.

“What?” I asked in a confused voice. She threw me a quick glance and a shrug of her shoulders next.

“You don’t need to pretend to be honest.” She pointed out and I let out a small scoff and a shake of my

head.

“Blair, you’re not pathetic.” I said slowly and kept staring at her pointedly until she shot me another look,

and once again, I felt my heart clench at how good looking she looked.

She remained silent, and I took that as my cue to go on.

“You’re not pathetic, do you hear me?” I asked but she only shrugged in response.

“I’ve literally been a sobbing, mortifying mess since the night I got here, that’s the definition of a

pathetic person.” She pointed out and I shook my head firmly.

“Blair, just because you’ve been crying doesn’t make you pathetic. Who the hell told you that bullshit?” I

demanded and I watched as she slowly shrugged.

“A lot of people while growing up.” She responded, instantly leaving madly curious of the life she had

lived, and what there was about her that I didn’t know yet.

“Well, forget about all what they said to you. They’re in the wrong. Shedding tears dosent make

someone pathetic. Emotions are very normal, and tears is one of the outlets in which we as humans

are meant to let out those overload of emotions.” I slowly explained to her, even though my father had

said those same words about shedding tears makes someone look pathetic and weak, while I had

been growing up.

Once I was done speaking, I watched as Blair shot me a glance, one which was significantly longer

than the ones she had been directing at me since the moment she had stopped crying.

Our gaze held for what felt like long minutes, and then she closely averted my gaze. I also glanced

away and exhaled deeply.

Her next question caught me off guard.

“Do you ever cry?” She asked and I blinked at her, completely taken aback by the question.

“What?” I voiced out dumbly.

“You said it was okay to cry and wasn’t a sign of weakness, right? So, I asked if you do cry.”

I remained silent as I absorbed the question, and then I slowly shook my head.

“No. No, I don’t.” I finally breathed out a response and she glanced at me once again.

“Why?” She asked and I shrugged.

“I just never get the urge to do that, I guess.” I responded.

“Or, is it because of the fact that you’re a man?”

“Of course not. I’m not a toxic masculinity kind of person. I just never get overwhelmed to the extent of

wanting to shed tears, but that’s just me. It’s okay for anyone to cry whenever they get the urge to.” I

explained, purposely omitting the fact that I don’t shed tears at all because I don’t even know how to

any longer.

“What do you do when you’re overwhelmed? When you need some sort of outlet.”

Most times, I go to the club, get lose and fuck a girl into the night.

“Hm. Most times I punch my punching bag until I tire myself out.” I responded instead, which was also a

partial truth.