Chapter 81: Worth Cherishing

< Shirley >
I was dumbfounded at his words. Something that would make me reconsider my relationship with him—as if there was something that could make me change my mind.
"Shirley," Dylan started in a low tone, making me lock my gaze on him as he cast his head down. "A lot of people may think it is cool to say your boyfriend is in the mafia. But at the end of the day, I'm still a criminal, right? Someone who kills people, someone who doesn't value life."
I couldn't understand where he was going with that. I already knew everything about him, and I still loved him for who he was as a person, not for what he did.
"You think you are bad for me? I am worse for you."
That's when it hit me. I was mopping over myself only, completely ignoring his feelings. How many times was I gonna repeat the same mistakes until I learned, until I grew up?
Dylan had his own insecurities to deal with. He lost many close people in his life and thought he was to blame for all of it.
"I am a filthy criminal, and you're a regular person," he said.
Dylan was wrong. There was more to him than that meets the eye.
Being in the mafia—that wasn't all he was. If it was me from three months ago, I would actually be afraid to be in a relationship with him. But now I know him. Beneath that facade of a ruthless killer, he was a kind and caring person—someone who was a victim of the cruel circumstances.
Dylan continued, "You are guilty because you almost got me killed, right? I know. I have known all along. I was waiting for you to say it, but you never did." I lowered my head in shame. "Shirley, there is going to come a time when I will be guilty for that as well. At that time, would you want me to hold myself responsible?"
I shook my head in denial.
A smile curled upon his face as he rested his forehead against mine, his warm breath falling on my nose. "Therefore, don't be down on yourself. It's okay to make mistakes. It's okay to lose. It's okay to be with me," his voice was so soft; it was like a wave hit me gently, washing away all the negativity inside me.
Tears brimmed at the corner of my eyes as I struggled to open my mouth as my throat felt dry.
Dylan just knew what to say to me at the most crucial moments, and he asked me why I loved him. Who wouldn't? He was worth cherishing.
Even if I was not worthy of standing by his side right now, I would try my best just for the sake of love. As of now, the least I could do to make his chest swell with pride for me was, by winning the tournament.
"Thank you," I managed to rasp out as he smiled gently at me, pulling me closer to him, letting me rest my head on his shoulder.
That night, I cried in his arms until the dawn arrived, letting out every negative thought inside me, showing my ugly side to him, which he accepted with a smile and encouraged me to be a better person in the whole, without any hesitation.
Every morning was a new start, and I was ready to be my positive self once again.
One thing I knew for sure, I was never going to let go of him, come what may. No matter how many mornings arrived, I wanted to start all of them with Dylan.
Even so, there was one lingering fear within me—that was his very identity. He was in the mafia, their leader. His life would always be at risk. I didn't know if I could take that load.
I promised myself to convince him to leave that job someday. We could live a normal, peaceful life without having to worry about who would be coming to assassinate us next time. That was all I wanted.
___
"Wake up, Shirley," there was a whisper in my ear. I rolled over my bed, snuggling closer to my comforter, hiding from the morning rays. A hearty chuckle echoed near me. "Someone was very motivated to win the tournament last night," Dylan mumbled.
My eyes fluttered open as I sat up on the bed. A smile spread across his lips at my enthusiasm.
"It's finally the big day," Dylan said as if it was our wedding today—unfortunately, it wasn't. It was the day of the tournament.
Looking at the clear blue sky through the balcony, I was content. The weather was perfect for a car race.
I stood up on the bed and threw my arms around him, making him twitch his lips bemusedly. I was about to press my lips on his, before he spoke up, "Brush your teeth first."
"Meanie." I pouted, and he chuckled.
"Go, get ready. There is not much time left," Dylan informed me.
I started chewing on my bottom lip when nervousness started to kick in. For the last two days, I trained diligently, covering up all my weaknesses with Dylan's help.
I wondered if I could really win the tournament if I had what it takes. I would hate to defame Dylan.
My trance was broken when Dylan flickered my forehead with his forefinger, scolding, "Will you let go of me now? I need to prepare for breakfast."
I grinned goofily and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips before hopping down from the bed.
"You are disgusting," Dylan hollered behind me, cursing me for my unbrushed teeth, although I noticed how hard he was restraining himself from grinning like a hopeless lover.
Later, we had breakfast together, before getting into his car.
"You are driving me to the arena?" I asked for confirmation, in case he was planning something since there was still some time left.
"Yeah, unless you want me to drop you in a barren alley," Dylan replied, sarcasm lacing his voice. He spun around the keys and pulled the car into the driveway.
I started fidgeting in my seat, an uneasiness tugging in my chest. There was a train of thoughts going through my head—thousands of possibilities. I was feeling ashamed to get cold feet right before the main event.
Not to mention, there was that thing that Dylan wanted me to do for—the main condition of our deal. He was yet to tell me what it was. What could be the reason that Dylan would be willing to invest his so-called precious time in me?
Noticing me shift in my seat uncomfortably, lost in my thoughts, Dylan spoke up, "It's perfectly normal to be nervous. Just remember to take deep breaths when your anxiety gets worse."
"Easy for you to say." I rolled my eyes, and he just shrugged, showing off his arrogance.
Dylan didn't say anything. I glanced at him sideways to find a distant look on his face. His eyes that were filled with sadness ached my heart.
"Dylan?" I called out to him.
"Huh?" Dylan snapped out of his trance, taking a firmer grip on the steering wheel.
"Is something wrong?" I asked, and he just shook his head in denial, brushing it off.
Something was off about him, I had been noticing. I put that aside and revised all the arena rules once again as he advised me to.
Soon, we reached the giant parking area of the arena. As soon as Dylan got out of the car to open the door for me—although I said there was no need and he said he wanted to make me feel special at least for today—the paparazzi surrounded him.
"Mr. Lewiston, it's a surprise to see you here. We weren't informed you were participating this year," one of the reporters stated, and other reporters' voices faded into the background.
"I am not participating," Dylan replied.
"Then, why are you here? Are you going to spectate the tournament?"
"You could say so," he told them.
"Who are you cheering for?"
"There's this rumor going around that you are dating the daughter of Liam Hamilton. Is it true?"
Dylan's shoulder tensed up at the question for a brief moment before he replied confidently, "No, it's not true." Even though I knew he was lying to protect me, it still stung. I couldn't help but feel upset, and I felt horrible for feeling that way.
If only he wasn't in the mafia, maybe... I could only hope.
The paparazzi tried asking more questions but were interrupted by Dylan's new bodyguards since the last mishap where Tom and Jerry died. After the paparazzi were out of shot, I came out.
Dylan let out a huff and muttered, "They are such a bother." I only hummed in response. As if reading my mind, he nudged me, saying, "I promise someday I will introduce you to the paparazzi myself."
My face lit up as I beamed at him, "Really? When?"
Dylan bit his bottom lip, making a thoughtful face, and teased, "Probably when we get married?" A blush seared through my face at his silly words. He laughed at my flustered face while guiding me towards the participant's area.
Married to Dylan?
The idea was fascinating. I wondered how amazing our wedding would be. Then, we could go to Paris on our honeymoon— I shook my head quizzically, shrugging off the distracting yet blissful imaginations. I couldn't afford to get sidetracked at such a crucial moment.
As we stood in front of the participants' room, there was silence between us. I clutched his hand tighter, anxiety creeping into my chest.
"Wish me luck." I forced a smile on my face.
"You don't need luck. I know you will win for me," he told me. I let my shoulders slump down and stood on my tiptoes to place a kiss on his face but was interrupted by his palm on my lips.
"What the—" I groaned, shooting him a death glare for kiss-blocking me.
"You won't get a kiss until you win the tournament," Dylan said.
I grumbled, a pout taking over my lips.
"Are you trying to tempt me?" He furrowed his brows in annoyance, his gaze on my pouty lips. A smile evolved on my face at his remark. "Anyways, as I was saying, I will let you kiss me only if you win."
"What if I don't win?"
"Wait till next year, until you can win."
My eyes widened as I exclaimed, "You are kidding me! That's going to be a nightmare."
He tilted his head bemusedly and said, "Then, if you don't want to live through that nightmare, you better win," his voice became quieter at the end. "Otherwise, my plan will fail."
I wanted to ask him what plan he was talking about but was interrupted by another participant, who wanted to enter the room.
An evil idea popped in my head, so I said in a teasing voice, "But if I had to wait for a whole year to kiss you, then I will probably end up kissing someone else."
Now it was his turn to freak out. "Like hell, you will," he warned, shooting daggers at me.
I chuckled and responded, "You better make up for it if you don't want that."
Dylan let out a sigh. "Consider it done." He tilted his head to the side and flashed me a dazzling smile playfully, making my poor heart skip a beat like always.
"Well, then, see you later." I waved at him, turning around with a heavy sigh.
"Do your best, Shirley." Those were the last words I heard before I entered the participants' room.
My heart started thumping loudly in my ribcage, the anxiety crawling inside me. I took deep breaths as Dylan told me to, and it actually did work.
I had to win. For Dylan. For myself. For the time he invested in me. For proving the ones that didn't trust me wrong. For the plan Dylan has, which I have no idea of.
I was on my own from here with only his well wishes with me. The tournament that brought me and Dylan together—it was about to start.