But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Sighing heavily, I pulled the door closed behind me and headed down the stairs.
Mal must’ve heard my approach as he stood up and turned to watch my progression. His eyes danced over my now concealed cheek before surveying the rest of my body—no doubt looking for more bruises. Oh god. He’d probably come up with a logical assumption of why I had a bruised cheek.
A new sense of shame crawled down my spine.
I avoided his eyes and didn’t even pause. I shouldered my way past him and headed for the beach path.
“Seriously, Saylor? You’re not going to say anything to me?”
“It’s none of your business.” I pulled sunglasses out of my thin shoulder bag and slid them onto my face.
But Mal didn’t get the hint. He fell into step with me on my right. “Disagree. Are you okay? Does… I mean, it looks like it hurt like a son of a bitch. Are you safe? When you go home, I mean?”
Remembering the pile of my belongings in Paige’s spare room, my stomach twisted over how much was still up in the air. Was canceling the wedding and moving out enough for the Bratva to forget me? Because I wasn’t ever going back. Threaten my life once…
I sighed. “One dinner together does not grant you access to everything in my life. And forget dinner tonight. I’m busy.”
He snorted but didn’t reply as we continued to walk down the combed path to the main hut.
And I really tried not to notice how good he smelled or how the breeze made his longish hair fan out. Or how some of his hair got caught in his stubble.
Gah. Why was that so attractive?
Asshole.
All men were assholes. Maybe I should take a vow and join a convent or something. Did they take non-Catholic women? And what was their stance on vibrators?
I snorted at the thought.
My cold shoulder routine continued as we entered the dining area. Since no one was at the little podium, I headed straight for the coffee urns and filled a mug.
“Caffeine freak, huh?” Mal rumbled at my side. “You must love those machines in our rooms.”
“Don’t know how to work it,” I replied before I remembered that I was ignoring him.
Mal smirked. “I can always swing by and show you.”
Despite how much I wanted to use that espresso machine, I went back to ignoring him. And I headed for the table ladened with fruit, pastries, and five different cereal options. I grabbed a plate and filled it with the most luscious looking fruit and a croissant loaded with chocolate.
No diet here anymore. I was going to eat whatIwanted and enjoy this trip.
I carried my burden to an empty table and sat down.
Mal, of course, sat in the chair opposite me. Unlike me, he only had a glass of water and a tea, judging from the teabag still visibly floating inside.
Yeah, I wouldn’t be taking any espresso machine lessons from the guy drinking tea. Hard pass.
I wanted to tell him to sit elsewhere, but that would mean talking to him. I also wanted to ask why he wasn’t eating anything, but see above.
Jone stopped next to our table. “You still eating your egg white omelet with mushrooms and cheese?”
I looked at him in confusion before realizing he was talking to Mal.
“Yes, that sounds amazing. Can I get some sourdough toast with it?”
“Sure thing.” Jone turned to me. “Can I interest you with anything from the kitchen? We’ll cook eggs to order or pancakes or French toast. I can check what today’s quiche is for you.”
