I don't know how we managed to navigate from rosy talks and constantly chanting 'I miss you' while playing with each other's lips and landing in a fight.

Holding my head between my palms, I stared hard at the floor in Philip's apartment while he trotted around the place, running his hands through the back of his sweaty neck.

"Do you have any clue what you did, Daisy?" He peered at the area near me but it felt as if he was staring into my soul.

Angry Philip - one which I rarely encountered didn't sit well with me. I adored the caring, kindness bestowing Philip. Seeing his livid made me want to run to the opposite end of the world.

"Tell me," he sat on a chair, squaring my face. "You have no clue, isn't it?"

I shook my head. It was difficult to cross off every incidence I spoke of since returning from Philip's family dinner. Why was he angry?

You see, the blabbermouth that I was, it was hard to keep track of topics I could talk about. Harder to recollect what I said, which irked him.

"I don't remember." With eyes enlarged deliberately although I knew he couldn't see, I tried pouting and shrinking my face. At least one of these expressions must have the power to alter my voice to resemble the meek lamb I tried portraying. "I seriously don't remember, Phil."

"Fine," he clutched his hands towards the back of his neck, cracking it, silencing the room. Not that there was anyone else talking, but his regime before a serious talk dried my mouth. Upon leaning closer, his narrowed gaze seemed to search for me, my face. "It's about Linda."

Like fireworks, my brain lit up. The conversation we had about her father encroaching the restaurant at night, my encounter with him and how Linda confirmed his decision to take over the restaurant, ran through my mind.

"Yes, what about it?" I asked, my voice tipped up knowing I didn't do anything wrong. After all, Philip should only have a concern if I'd punched the man. It was only a verbal spat, initiated by him.

"Are you serious right now? Tell me you are kidding, right?"

What was so hard for Philip to believe when I was being serious? Was it my humorous tone? Anyways, I didn't require more pressing on the issue as he cracked barely seconds later.

"Linda's father is a hotshot lawyer. He is known to make people's lives miserable. And you just dissed him in front of his daughter."

"His daughter," I rose to make a point like I was attempting a school debate. "...was the one suffering. She was crying, so I spoke. Also, that vile man called me a puny little chef."

Not that I was some A-class chef that the world knew of. But my integrity and self-esteem was bruised the day he spewed his poisonous words.

"Daisy, my love," Philip gestured his finger at me and patted the armrest on his chair. When I sat near - still fuming - his arm curled around my body, calming the turmoil. "You have to be careful love. You cannot do this to people, pissing them off. There are some shady men out there and I don't want you to be caught in the crossfire between a father and daughter."

"But Linda-"

"You know why Linda is scared of her own father?" Philip cut my words. When I aired a no, he sighed. His anger diminished as he cupped my face, pulling me closer. "Because she knows the kind of man he is. You know why Steve didn't intervene even though they are together?" Philip didn't wait for me to answer. "Because he knows too, whom he is facing."

With a sudden jerk, Philip placed me on the chair beside his, rose and walked around, tracing his earlier steps. Upon being shown the reflection of the reality, my nerves bunched up and tossed around in my body. I was scared and rightfully so. In my attempt to be a crusader, I may have done more damage than I could imagine.

"So that's it? I'm doomed? I should just wear a chastity belt and wait for them to kidnap me?"

Philip's eyes widened at me. He stood his ground, biting into his lower lip. Moments later, the corners of his lip curled up, deep. He was stifling a smile which I wasn't sure given the circumstance, was the right reaction.

"Why would you wear a chastity belt, love?" He questioned, rubbing the side of his jaw. With a tilted head, he looked as if he eyed me. I fumbled with words, my mouth dried up and only screeching words emerged.

"Read it in mafia books." It was barely a whisper. A hoarse whisper. Philip took a long step, closing our distance.

"Sorry, what?" He may or may not have heard it but I didn't dare to look up. I decided to scan his shiny, black oxfords.

"I said I've read it in mafia books, about people who kidnap-"

"Oh my god, is it possible to love you more!"

With laughter rumbling through his chest and his vibrating shoulders matching his rise and fall of his cheek's redness, Philip stooped lower to match my eyes. Though he couldn't see, he had imbibed these gestures to make me feel as if he was looking at me. Philip engulfed my pale fists in his palm, running circles over my knuckles with his thumb.

He always knew how to calm me, drive me to a state where I could understand what I did wrong, and yet know I was loved. It was a gift he possessed. Only with a handhold, he would compose be back to my serene state of being.

"No darling, this is not the seventies and eighties and no mafia men are taking you away," he tipped my face up. "Although we need to reevaluate the kind of books you read."

"Why?" A soft smile danced across my face, listening to his soft, honeyed words.

"Because when you'd be interviewed by famous magazines and shows, we cannot afford you to say, 'Fire my loins' is your favorite book."

Relief surged, replacing the panic which now was a diminished ball at the back of my mind. I had Philip to help me, guide me in ways of working around famous, albeit scary people.

"More like Lolita," I tittered, which led to him hooking his eyebrows. "That book can be stated as my favorite, right?"

Lending me his hand, Philip pulled me closer and tossed me over his shoulder. I felt a warm grip on my round bottom before he smacked me with his left hand.

"Daisy, light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul." And I landed on the bed.

"Someone has read it," I said, poking his chest as he tossed his shirt away.

"John made me," Philip countered, leaning be back and hovering over.

"Blame the innocent," I whispered and the rest was blanked out as his lips crashed over mine, numbing my mind for any number of words but one.

His name. 

~

What do you think was Philip's worry? 

Is Linda's father going to be that big a problem for them?

Let me know in the comments ;)