His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile—just a glint, the kind that could ruin a girl if she wasn’t careful. “Your turn.”
“Networking.”
He tilted his head. “Explain.”
“Ugh. It’s when adults pretend to like each other for professional gain. Lots of fake smiling. Small talk. My personal hell.”
He nodded once, like that explained the downfall of civilization. “Ah. So… strategic deceit.”
“Exactly.”
“What calms you?” he asked.
“Grading with tea.”
“Freedom,” he said simply, straightening the salt cellar by half an inch.
Something in my chest went still.
“What do you want during your holiday that’s actually possible?” he asked after a moment.
I hesitated. “Rest.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “A plan.”
The timer ticked between us, sharp and loud. Neither of us moved.
My hands trembled, so I flipped the toast just to have something to do. “Well,” I said lightly, “this should be an interesting summer.”
He watched me, eyes half-shadowed. “It already is.”
For a beat, neither of us spoke. The kitchen felt too small for two people who barely understood each other but were somehow stitched together by invisible thread. I could feel the tether hum beneath my skin. It was damn inconvenient.
I took a long sip of coffee, needing the distraction. The caffeine didn’t help much. I needed somethingpractical,something that made me feel like I was steering the madness instead of being dragged behind it.
Which is how, fifteen minutes later, I found myself pacing in front of him with a dry-erase marker and a mission.
“All right,” I said, crossing the room. “If we’re going to be stuck together until we figure out how to break the bond, we need boundaries.”
He looked up at me quizzically. “Boundaries?” he repeated, suspicious.
“Exactly.” I grabbed my work bag from the counter and fished out my mini whiteboard—my go-to teaching tool and now my vampire management system.
He watched me curiously. I set the board down and started writing. “Rule number one: You cannot bite me.”
Then, because he’d just woken up from a centuries-long nap, I added a helpful visual: a stick figure with fangs lunging at another stick figure, and a giant red X through it.
“Do. Not.Fucking.Bite. Me,” I said, tapping the drawing with the marker.
Cristian’s gaze moved from the board to my face. Slowly. Deliberately. “You do know I can read, correct? I am not a peasant.”
I glanced down at his naked body, his groin area covered by a measly dish towel I had lying on the counter. “You’re sure about that? Do you not know what pants are?”
He looked down at himself, completely unbothered. “I am enjoying the freedom.”
“Not anymore, you’re not.” I snatched a throw blanket from the couch and tossed it at him. “Cover yourself more. This isn’t a nude beach.”
He caught it easily, letting it fall across his lap and drape over his legs like a toga. “This is absurd.”
