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“Miss?”
“You weren’t wandering the halls of the east wing last night, were you?”
His smile is sad. “No. I wasn’t.” He says it in such a way that implies he knows who was, but instead of elaborating, he turns and walks off.
Well, thanks for shedding light on my fear, old pal.
The kitchen is state-of-the-art, as I expected, but the coffee machine is like a nightmare come to life. After fucking with it for twenty minutes, I give up and sit near the island, pressing my forehead into the cold granite to cool the temper rising in me the longer I go without caffeine.
A hand comes down on my shoulder, and a blood-curdling scream erupts from me as I lift my head to find Kyrin standing beside me.
He doesn’t laugh.
Concern tugs his brows together. “You okay?”
“No. I’m not fucking okay. You know I’m not. This place is… It’s getting to me.” I hate to admit it, but it is.
He pulls me into him, shoving the stool I’d been sitting on beneath the island. I don’t realize that I’m crying until he holds me tight and shushes my sobs.
“You’re alright. I’ve got you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not usually like this.”
“You’re in a new place, and all alone; it’s natural. This place is different at night. I don’t blame you for being scared.”
Blame me?
I pull away from him and narrow my eyes. “I can’t do this. I don’t see why I need to live here. I can come to work every day and live at the Mockingbird Inn. It’s no problem.”
“It was Lucien’s stipulation for your coming.”
“Excuse me?”
“He won’t allow someone to work here unless they live in.”
I laugh. “That’s fucking absurd when he doesn’t live here!”
“I assure you, he does.”
Rubbing my temples, I close my eyes. “Fuck, I need coffee.”
“Sit,” he urges. “I’ll make you some.”
I watch him work the coffee machine like an expert, and soon the scent of dark roasted espresso fills the air, notes of caramel tickling my senses back to life from where they’d been hovering too close to death before.
“Thank you,” I whisper when he hands me a hot latte, wrapping my hands around it before I breathe in the scent deeply.
“You’re welcome.” His voice sounds strained, and when I open my eyes, I find him watching me, pupils blown, as I swallow my coffee. “I’ve never seen anyone enjoy something so thoroughly. Like the other day, at the restaurant.”
“What did I do at the restaurant?”
“Nothing bad, don’t misunderstand me. Just the way you savor things… It’s mesmerizing.”
“I learned early in life to treasure the good things; they’re fleeting.”
His brows knit as if he’s going to ask me to explain my words, but the door swings open and a female chef walks in, looking as if she had as rough a night as I did.
“Sophie, good morning.”
