If he knows, I’m dead. Simple as that. He doesn’t strike me as the type to ask questions first. I spit, rinse, and stare at myself in the mirror.
“Get it together, Ayla,” I whisper.
I can’t hide in here forever.
I swipe a pair of sweatpants off the floor and slide them on before unlocking the door and stepping into the hallway. The smell hits me immediately—eggs, butter, something sweet. My stomach growls traitorously.
When was the last time I ate? Yesterday? The day before?
I find him in my kitchen. Two plates sit on my counter—the only two plates I own. Toast. Scrambled eggs. Something that looks suspiciously like pancakes.
He’s sitting in one the mismatched bar stools.
“Where did you get all this?” I ask.
“Your fridge.”
“My fridge is empty.”
“Was.”
I stare at him. “You brought groceries.”
“Sit.”
“You broke into my apartment.”
He glances at me, one eyebrow raised. “Your locks are shit. Anyone could’ve walked in.”
“But you did.”
“Lucky you.”
I cross my arms. “This is insane.”
“Sit.”
“I’m not—”
“Sit, Ayla.”
The way he says my name makes something twist low in my stomach. I sit next to him. His cologne is heavy, lingering.
“Eat.”
I stare at my plate.
I’m not eating this.Trust no one.
Maksim sighs, grabs my fork and stabs at the eggs bringing it to his mouth before stabbing the pancake and eating a piece.
“There. Eat.”
He drops the fork back onto the plate and its clatters. He takes a few quick bites from his plate before standing.
I watch him as I pick up my fork and take a bite of the eggs.
I have to suppress a moan. They’re perfect. When was the last time I had fresh eggs?
