I sat opposite her, watching as she ate. She didn’t seem afraid now, just cautious, like a cat in a new room.
After a while, she asked, “So, do you actually like any of those paintings?”
“No.”
“Then why have them?”
“They remind me that I can afford them.”
Her brow furrowed. “That’s depressing.
“It’s reality.”
She looked down, tracing the edge of her fork against the plate. “Money isn’t the same as taste.”
I leaned back in the chair. “You have a habit of talking too much for someone who doesn’t know where she is.”
“You want to tell me?”
I studied the smug confidence on her face for a moment, deciding whether she was worth trusting already. “No.”
I reached for my coffee, sipping it slowly, keeping my eyes on her over the rim. She looked away first, cheeks flushing slightly. Her pale skin turned pink even at the slightest blush. There it was, that pull again. It wasn’t an attraction exactly. Not yet. But something magnetic, something irritatingly human.
I stood, nodding to the maid hovering near the doorway. “Take her plate when she’s done.”
Ilana looked up. “I’m not done.”
“You will be.”
The maid vanished quickly, not wanting to be in the middle of whatever this was. When I turned back, Ilana wasstaring at me again, her expression softer this time. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
“Talking wastes time.”
“Maybe you should try it. You might like it.”
“Doubtful.”
She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “You really don’t like happy people, do you?”
“I don’t trust them.”
“Because?”
“They don’t last long in my world.”
Her smile faltered a little, but not completely. “Maybe they last longer than you think.”
The strange thing was, I wanted to believe her.
She stood up from her chair and walked towards the art wall again. Without turning to look at me, she shifted one of the paintings. She didn’t take it down, just moved it slightly to the left. A pointless act of rebellion. She turned to look at me, but I wasn’t annoyed. Instead, I smirked.
At least she was starting to leave fingerprints.
***
For two days, she stayed.
She explored the house as if tracing the outline of a cage, testing it for weaknesses. She asked questions from the staff, wandered through the halls, sometimes humming under her breath. She filled quiet spaces with sound, and I let her. She had only been in my safe house for one week, and my mansion had changed.
