I wanted to throw something at him.
Instead, I set my brush down, grabbed a rag, and pretended to clean my hands even though they were already clean. Anything to stop looking at him. Anything to stop thinking about how much my stomach was twisting and heat was pooling low in my belly. But then he spoke again, the sound of his voice snapping every fragile barrier in half.
“Ilana.”
I looked up, and he held my gaze. There was no teasing in his eyes. Just intensity.
“How long will you continue to ignore me, Ilana?” he asked quietly, making my name sound like a prayer.
“I am not ignoring you,” I lied.
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m trying to—”
My throat tightened.
“I’m trying to stay sane,” I whispered.
Something flickered in his eyes. Something dark, warm, and devastating.
Before he could respond, I blurted out. “Can I ask you something?”
His posture shifted, alert. “Go on.”
“I want to send a message.”
His expression sharpened instantly. “To?”
“My eldest brother,” I said, offering no other details.
His jaw worked. “Why?”
“To let him know I am alive,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Not to tell him where I am and nothing about you either. I just need him to know that I am okay and I have decided to stay somewhere else for a little while so none of them panic.”
“Panic leads to questions.”
“I know.”
“And questions lead to problems.”
“I know,” I repeated, firmer.
He stepped closer again, slow and unforgiving. “And what are you offering me in exchange for this, Ilana?”
“I’m not—”
“Yes,” he said, voice dropping. “You are.”
I swallowed. “I just want one text.”
“And do you know what that might do? It might wake up your brothers, who are clearly asleep about your absence. I still don’t understand why you care about them when they are doing nothing to find you.”
“You don’t know that,” I said defensively, even though I knew he was right.
“Oh, but I do. If they were looking for you, the news would have reached me one way or the other.”
“I still want them to know I’m fine.”
