“So…,” he cleared his throat, cutting through the tension.“What are you in the mood for?I have fish, steak, or chicken.Actually, maybe not chicken.I think we’ve had enough of that particular dish.”
Heat flooded my cheeks at the reminder of the night I’d drugged his chicken marsala.Or, more accurately, the mashed potatoes I servedwiththe chicken marsala.
“In my defense, I thought you were going to kill me.Or sell me to the Bratva.Or both.”
“And now?Do youstillthink I want to kill you?”
“The jury’s still out.”
“I’ll take that as progress.”He smiled faintly.“Fish tacos okay with you?”
“Perfect.”
He moved around the kitchen with quiet efficiency, seasoning tilapia, chopping tomatoes, mashing an avocado, the scent of lime and cilantro filling the air.
It was fascinating to watch him work, his muscles flexing as he chopped and diced.I could watch him for hours and never get bored.
“What?”he asked without glancing up.
“What do you mean?”
“I can feel your eyes on me.”
“I just didn’t expect you to cook is all,” I lied.I wasn’t about to admit I was checking him out.That the sight of him cooking was better than any porn I’d ever seen.
I would take that confession to my grave.
“You’ve seen me cook before.”
“I assumed you’d just reheat something your housekeeper made earlier.”
“I like cooking for you,” he said simply.“Like taking care of you.”His eyes found mine, steady and unguarded.“It’s confusing as hell, because I’ve never been this way.But with you…I don’t know.Iwantto do this sort of thing for you.”
I wanted to believe him.Wanted to believe this could be real.That, despite our beginning, maybe something good could come out of this situation.
But life had taught me better.If something seemed too good to be true, it usually was.
When the tilapia was done, he constructed the tacos and set a plate in front of me.The smell alone made my stomach growl.I eagerly lifted one of the tacos and took a large bite, fighting back the moan begging to be set free.
“Good?”he asked.
I nodded, swallowing.“Really good.Thank you.”
A faint, satisfied smile ghosted across his lips.He didn’t eat right away, just watched me.As if seeing me alive, eating, breathing was a gift he didn’t think he deserved.
I shifted my eyes forward, focusing on the food.But the longer we sat in silence, the more unnerved I became.
The more the thousands of questions I’d been asking myself as I sat in the garden with my mother nagged at me.
“Am I still your captive?”I blurted out after several moments.“Is my mother?”
He snapped his eyes toward me, his expression almost offended.“Of course not.”
“So we can leave?”
He hesitated, and the pause told me everything I needed to know.
“It’s not safe, Ariana.Victor hasn’t been seen since Sunday.If he’s running, he’s dangerous.And let’s not forget he sent the fucking Bratva after you.Until I know there’s no longer a threat to you, you’re safer here.”
