Dorran Ledgercookedfor me. I mean, does itgetany more perfect than that?
When he’d picked me up a mile away from the estate an hour ago, he hadn’t said much about where we were going. Mave had wanted to come along, of course, but it wasn’t gonna happen, and I’d made sure he understood that quite clearly. He’s still not used to, or okay with, the idea of Dorran and I being together, but it is what it is, and there’s nothing he can do or say that’ll change things.
The last three months have mostly been a breeze for us. With Mave on my side, I’ve been able to spend time with Dorran, and successfully give hours at theLureHQ, managing my social media team.
Speaking of Dorran…
He didn’t tell me where he’d planned our date to be, not until we reached the apartment building his crew lives in. One elevator ride up to the rooftop, and here we are.
“Are you sure?” he asks now, and his throat bobs as he swallows. “We can order takeout, or I can ask Alex to make someth–”
“Stop.” I place my hands over his and run the pads of my thumbs over his knuckles.
“This is lovely, Dorran. Ipromise.”
There’s roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and peas, along with red wine and a tray of very delicate-looking chiffon cake slices, topped with orange meringue, all plated elegantly on a round table.
Like I said:lovely.
Dorran sighs. “Well, if you’re sure.” He gestures at the food. “Let’s get to it.”
We quickly serve ourselves, and as I take my very first bite of the chicken, I can’t help but moan at the taste. The spices put my senses on alert, and the chicken itself all but melts on my tongue.
Dorran chuckles, then takes a drink from his wineglass. “I don’t think I’ve ever moaned while eating roasted chicken,” he says, then puts a forkful of it into his mouth, and his eyes widen almost comically as he chews on it. “Fuck, I’ve outdone myself,” he mumbles.
I grin. “Exactly.”
He gives me a pensive smile. “This is the only thing my mom would make on the days she’d decide to cook for the two of us,” he tells me, then spreads some mashed potatoes over the chicken in his plate. “And hers was…I don’t know how to put it into words.” He laughs to himself. “It’d feel rubbery, smell like smoke and dull chilies, and the taste…” He shakes his head and meets my eyes. “It didn’t even feel like actual food, Cignette. Most of the time, I was glad when she refused to cook for me, because then I could buy those frozen, ready-to-eat packets that tasted a hundred times better than what she made. And I know I shouldn’t say this because food is a blessing – whatever it may be – but I just…sometimes I couldn’t stomach evenlookingat it. I remember washing it down with soda most of the time, and on the days when I wasn’t brave enough to eat it, I’d trash the whole thing and stay hungry instead.”
I place a hand over his wrist. “I’m so sorry, Dorran.”
He shakes his head again. “Nah, it’s good. It’s just that whenever I make this – because it’s the only thing I can cook without burning anything – I can’t help but think of the past; of the slowly ticking moments in the kitchen where I was forced to spend time with my mother who simply didn’t…care. Because that’s all she had to do, Cigs: fuckingcare, show some shred of humanity towards me.” His gaze turns distant for a moment, but when I move my hand from his wrist and twine our fingers together, he looks down at them with an expression on his face that’s so purely guileless, yet so profound.
Dorran is a man shaped by his past. Who he is today is a sculpture that took years to mold and perfect – years of pain, anger, betrayal, and suffering, all put together to form the layers that constitute a human that’s so fucking special. To me, and to the people who care about him.
“I know exactly what you mean,” I tell him, and when he brings his eyes to mine again, I smile at him.
“Ever since my mom started involving me into the society – forcing me to socialize and suck up to the people who barely gave a shit about me – I’ve hated it. And I’m not saying I’m unique in my distaste towards it, or I’m not like the other girls. But fuck, the kind of lifestyle she is obsessed with, is not the kinda lifestyle I want. It’s as simple as that.”
“You should have the right to choose,” Dorran says.
“Precisely. But she didn’t think I needed to have a voice, and so, I started doing what I thought was right: living my damn life the way I wanted to. Mom didn’t like that, of course, and you’ve seen firsthand how she retaliates when she thinks I’ve wronged her.”
Dorran’s jaw tightens, and he squeezes my fingers in silent comfort. “Fucking leave that stupid estate and that life, then.”
I chuckle ruefully. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because, aside from my mom and uncle completely losing their shit over me for disregarding the luxury, fame, and respect that comes with the Adler name, if Idodecide to leave, then I won’t have a claim atLureanymore, and I seriously can’t have that.”
Dorran’s brows crease. “You care about the brand, then,” he states.
I nod. “I think it’s the only thing my mom’s done that I don’t hate.Lureis a palace of possibilities, but because Mom’s in charge, it feels like a prison of sorts. Both to me and the hundreds of employees that work for us.”
“And if Miranda is gone…”
“I get to take over, yes.”
