“Most people. If I meant you, you’d know.”
She stares at me as if she’s lining up her next question. I don’t give her the chance.
“It’s late. You should go to bed.”
She blinks. “I’m not tired.”
“I know.”
She keeps staring as if she thinks she’ll get a different reaction out of me. Finally, she dries her hand on a towel. “Why are yo–”
“Goodnight,” I cut in, leaving no room for discussion.
She goes to say something else but thinks better and closes her mouth when I shake my head. “Goodnight.” I repeat, firmer this time.
Her brows crinkle. She blinks, sighing softly. “Night.”
She spins toward the bedroom, glances back to look at me before jerking her head up and straightening her spine. I don’t care if she’s upset.
My gaze tracks her as she heads down the hallway. I should stop. I know I should. I don’t. I can’t stop myself from watching her—this girl who somehow thinks we’re on the same level.
My eyes drift lower to the sway of her hips, the swell of her ass filling out the sweatpants and her braids brushing against her back with each step. I’m enjoying the view, telling myself it’s innocent, not like I’m going to touch her—when I feel it happen. The exact moment my cock wakes up, stirring inside my pants. I tear my gaze away.
Not happening. Not now. Not ever.
CHAPTER 9
NALA
I refuse to think about Roman.
I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling. It doesn’t bother me anymore to do so. Maybe it’s because I’m not staring out of boredom or depression. I’m simply contemplating things. Mainly, I’m thinking about how I shouldn’t be thinking about the man keeping me locked inside this apartment.
I don’t want to, but I can’t stop myself. The worst part is, I don’t see him as my captor or the criminal I know he is.
He’s just…Roman. I’m sure plenty of people hate him for the things he does but I don’t, and I don’t think it’s because I’m not smart or whatever. I think he can be nice when he wants to, even when he doesn’t mean to be. Even when he doesn’t realize he’s being nice.
I shove the blanket off, climbing out of bed. I shower, wash my hair then wrap myself in a towel. I eye my usual sweatpants and hoodie. They’re a thousand times softer than the scratchy pajama pants Madam Belova used to throw at me to wear, but something about them is starting to bother me.
I wish I could wear the things I remember other girls wearing.Jeans, leggings, sweaters, clothes that make me look like a woman and not a child. I don’t want to look like a child around Roman. I also don’t want him sending me off to bed again like one. I don’t care why he did it, I don’t want it to happen again.
For now, I pull on a pair of sweatpants, a thin spaghetti strap shirt and a hoodie, hoping I can convince him to get me a pair of leggings and a different sweater. I give my hair a quick squeeze with the towel then head into the living room. Roman’s already there, sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone. His brows are drawn tight like whatever he’s reading is pissing him off.
"Morning,” he greets me without looking up.
“Morning.” I sit across from him.
He ignores me, muttering something in Russian while his fingers move fast over the screen.
"Could I get some different clothes?" I blurt out the question.
He finally looks up, his gaze sweeping over what I’m wearing, lifting back to my face. “Those don’t fit?”
"They do." I bite my lip. "I don’t want a lot, maybe a pair of leggings and a different shirt.”
“Fine. I’ll get you more clothes."
Relief rushes through me. I let out a breath, adding, “I know it can’t happen right now, but later, in the future… Am I ever going to go into a store myself? Or will I always have to ask you?”
