“Good.”
I exhaled, then started writing again. “Rule three: Don’t watch me sleep like some super creepy vampires I’ve read about. Rule four: Don’t be a creep in general. Rule five: Don’t flirt with me.”
His brow arched. “Flirt?”
“You know. Say things that make my brain stop working.”
“I… see.”
“And rule six,” I continued, ignoring him, “Don’t ask me a million questions when I’m watching TV, eating, or reading. Basically, don’t bug me. This summer was supposed to be about me finding myself again. Or liking myself again, maybe. I didn’t sign up for… this.”
He nodded once, too politely. “Understood.”
“Really?”
He inclined his head. “I shall do my best.”
I didn’t believe him.
Then his eyes shifted to something behind me. I turned, following his gaze. My plate of French toast sat untouched on the counter.
He looked back at me. “I understand,” he said, voice even. “Sit. Eat.”
It wasn’t a command, exactly. More like… an instinct he’d voiced out loud. I sat without meaning to. Fork in hand, I took a bite. It was still warm, and tasted sweet and normal, which, under the circumstances, felt miraculous.
After two bites, my brain started to wander. “I should clean up. Or?—”
Cristian moved before I could stand. Just a quiet shift, his hand settling on the edge of the table near mine. He shook his head once. The movement was small, controlled. Then he pointed to the plate.
Eat.
He didn’t speak, but I felt it in his gaze.
Something in his posture made resistance feel impossible. I sank back into the chair. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t have to. He just stood there, half-draped in the blanket, expression unreadable, and watched me eat like he was waiting to see if I’d disappear.
By the time I finished, the silence between us had thickened. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly. Just… full.
He looked almost uncertain. Like he didn’t know whether this counted as peace or surrender.
Maybe both.
Somewhere between the sticky notes, the French toast, and the absurd vampire etiquette seminar, my chest loosened for real. The tether hummed in quiet approval.
“Happy?” I said, pushing my empty plate away. “But you’re doing dishes.”
He inclined his head. “As you wish.”
I had the very inconvenient thought that if hekepttalking like that, I was doomed.
Chapter 6
Cristian
The bed Nadia had assigned me was all wrong.
Too soft. Too forgiving. A contraption made for a man who’d never slept through a siege. I sat on the edge, the mattress sinking beneath my weight, the white walls pressing in on all sides. No stone. No shadows. This was simply a room that smelled like soap and fruit.
I was still unclothed. What else was I supposed to be wearing?
