I shift, irritation prickling at my skin despite myself. He’s infuriating—and yet a small part of me can’t help but be intrigued.
Against my better judgment, I ask, “How many?”
He leans back, settling into the leather with a kind of practiced ease, his arm draped casually against the door. He doesn’t even look at me when he answers. “Five. Not including English.”
My jaw actually drops. Five. Five languages. That’s ridiculous. And impressive. But mostly ridiculous.
“Which ones?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He doesn’t answer immediately. For a few seconds, he just stares out the window. Then, finally, he turns to me. Slowly.
“You really want to know?”
I internally scoff. Not if he’s going to respond like that.
He watches me for another beat, probably waiting for me to admit that I’m actually dying to know. I don’t give him the satisfaction.
And yet—after another stretch of silence—he finally says, “French, Russian, German, Hebrew, Latin.”
I blink.
Woah.
He just called me stupid in fifty different languages. Five, to be exact.
I don’t even say anything to that. Nothing to boost his already Everest-sized ego. Instead, I just turn back toward the front.
But when I glance at Kai again—he’s already looking at me.
“Did Naomi push you down the stairs?”
For a second, I freeze. How did he—? But then again, it’s Kai. The guy could probably walk into a crime scene and solve it before the police even arrived.
Still, the fact that he figured it out so fast makes my stomach turn.
“Yeah,” I say slowly, meeting his gaze.
Kai doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even blink. “You’re not staying there.”
I don’t answer.
He notices.
Kai tilts his head slightly, something calculating flashing in his eyes. Then he says, “You care a lot about what other people think of you, don’t you?”
I force my expression into something neutral. “So what?”
Kai doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He just leans back, getting comfortable again, propping his head in his palm that rests against the side of the car. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm. Almost lazy.
“Does that make your life yours, or theirs?”
I hate how my brain immediately latches onto the question.
I hate even more that I don’t have an answer.
***
By the time we pull up to the hospital, I’m more than ready to get this over with. But before I can even attempt to move, Kai turns to me. “Wait there.”
