That was the only name I knew them by. I turned down the boiling soup.
“It’s kind of like a meatball soup with veggies.” That was the best way I could describe it.
“It smells good,” he offered.
“Thanks.” I turned, giving him my back, and grabbed the knife.
Then there was silence. The chair Lucian sat on creaked as he readjusted himself.
“Have you always enjoyed cooking?”
I snorted, shaking my head. After finishing with the chopping, I set the knife to the side and faced him.
“Seriously, Lucian?” I crossed my arms.
“I want to know more about you.” His hazel gaze pierced my soul. He didn’t waver, eyes so focused it made me dizzy. I lickedmy lips. He had the right to know more about me, but that was before now, but he’d never asked too much . . . almost like he actively avoided it.
Now it was clear, he’d never asked me about my past, so I wouldn’t ask him anything in return.
“No, I never really had the chance. MyPapá.” I paused and cleared my throat to get rid of the emotion. “Used to do the cooking.”
I looked away from him to pour the zucchini into the pot where the meat, potatoes, and other veggies were boiling.
“I’m sorry you lost him.”
“You mean you’re sorry that he was murdered?” The sliced vegetable plopped into the pot of boiling soup.
He stayed silent.
A loud bang echoed,ripping me from sleep. My heart thundered in my ears.Was there another riot? I shot upright, blearily blinking. I swept my eyes around the room.
The familiar bedroom I’d been sleeping in at Lucian’s house, no bars.
I exhaled slowly, and the tension in my shoulders abated.
A thud had pulled me from sleep. I shoved the blankets off and hurried to check on Lucian.
As I slipped inside the dark room, the rectangular window stretching over the wardrobe offered a bit of light from the moon.
I shuffled closer, rubbing my eyes and stifling a yawn. Lucian’s arms strained, the veins bulging in his arms. His fingers were curled in the blanket that he was no longer under.
He grunted and tried to stand. I pushed his shoulder down.
My toe hit a cold surface. The glass bottle must have been what had caused that noise.
Lucian’s shoulders stiffened, and he tried to stand again.
“Josephine,” he whispered. For a moment, I figured he’d woken, but he said nothing else, his body jerking against the bed again.
“Stop moving.” I kept my voice low, smoothing my fingers over his arm. It was like a switch; he relaxed, and his hand went limp, no longer clenching the blanket. He groaned and rolled to his side, his hand catching mine.
He let out a soft snore.
I tried to wiggle my hand out of his, but he didn’t soften. Stifling another yawn, I gave another tug.
Exhaustion made my eyelashes extremely heavy. I perched on the edge of his bed.
It was so weird to think of this house in those terms when I’d been calling itmine. I couldn’t hold back my yawn.Moon, I was so tired.
