Laughing, I move backward as she follows, hitting me all the way to the door. She flings it open and shoves me out, still yelling, “If you dare come near me again, I’ll kill you!”
I watch her adorable, furious, red face until she slams the door shut.
chapter 5
Matleon
Today, she has ordered borscht with sour cream. She likes Beef Stroganoff, borscht with sour cream, pelmeni, and blini with caviar from this restaurant. Though I’ve kept the best Russian chef, she is an extremely picky eater.
This was originally an Italian restaurant, but when she moved here a week ago, it transformed overnight into a Russian restaurant and was also renovated. A glass cabin was placed in the far corner for me to sit in, and the number of chairs was reduced. Now, only ten people can dine here at the same time. After she enters, they close it until she leaves.
She comes here at six in the evening, and I arrive exactly five minutes before her. She stays for more than an hour—eating, sitting, doing her work. For that hour, I watch her from this place, so close to her. She always sits in the chair closest to the cabin. The staff are instructed to make sure of that. It’s a single chair seat, placed here solely for her.
She is so close to me that I can see every little detail of her features, every shift in her expression. That’s how I know when she doesn’t like something she’s eating. When she enjoys a dish, she closes her eyes at the first bite, humming without a sound, a tiny smile tugging at her lips, and her next bite is bigger than thefirst. When she dislikes something, she drinks water after the first bite and doesn’t touch the dish again.
She finishes eating, and the waiter clears the table. She takes out her tablet from her bag—she carries it everywhere.
Now she is writing something, occasionally glancing outside the window or at the glass in front of her, behind which I’m standing. From her side, the glass looks like a beautiful screen. Below my eye level, it’s adorned with plants and other interior design elements, making it look elegant and easy to sit in front of.
Her phone rings, and she picks it up.
“Hi, Dex.” My brows shot up. Dex, as in Dexter? When did this transition happen?
“Sure. I’ll send it to you.” She then disconnects the call.
I’m still undecided about letting Dexter live. He’s at that precarious spot where he could die at any moment; all he would need to do is look at her with hearts zooming out of his eyes. And yet, I can’t understand how he’s not looking at her that way. Is he gay? Possible. There seems no other reason for someone not to fall for her when she’s giving this much attention.
I smile. He needs to die, the sooner, the better. What if she gets attached to him, or worse, falls for him? She’ll be hurt when he dies. I rub my chest; I didn’t know burning jealousy could feel this literal.
She puts her tablet back in her bag and rises from her chair. She leaves the restaurant, and I follow her out. She walks along the footpath toward her apartment. I’m exactly ten steps behind her. I don’t usually follow her this closely, but today I want her to notice.
I close the distance, reducing it to six steps. She slows down and then turns.
I wave my hand as I walk closer. “Hey, Iselyn. Long time no see.”
“Why are you stalking me?” she asks in a serious, cold tone. Where does she even find this much coldness, considering she’s a warm person in general?
Well, I’mspecialto her. So special treatment it is.
“I know you must be having some fantasies about me stalking you,” I say with a charming smile, “but they can’t be fulfilled. I’m just doing my healthy evening walk. Burning calories.”
She starts walking again, ignoring me.
I match her pace. “The weather has changed, right? But I don’t think you’re feeling much of it. After all, it’s a lot less cold than Vlad.”
She keeps walking, still ignoring me.
Her phone rings. Treating me like I don’t exist, she picks it up. I catch the name Dexter flashing on the screen.
She responds to something he says. “Which part?”
He talks for more than a minute.
“Okay, I’ll check it,” she replies, and the call ends.
Utterly pissed, I chuckle. “He’s a good guy.”
She doesn’t respond.
