Page 24

“Am I allowed to refuse alcohol, or is that another request that I absolutely have to do?” Yes, it was snarky of me to say, but here we are.

He paused and studied me for a moment. “You’re allowed,” he said.

I looked back at Marta. “Water is fine. Thank you.”

She poured my water without comment and left the room. I watched her go because watching her was easier than looking at the man across from me.

Cain lifted his wineglass but did not drink. “You’re assuming coercion where there is none.”

I almost laughed, but I kept my composure. “That is an impressive sentence coming from the man keeping me in a penthouse I cannot leave.”

“I meant the wine.”

“How generous. My captivity comes with beverage autonomy.”

That pulled another faint movement at his mouth. Part of me hated that I was amusing to him, but I couldn’t stop the words that were coming out of my mouth.

Thankfully, Marta returned with the first course before he could respond. Some kind of delicate salad arrangement that included thin slices of pear, greens, walnuts, and a dressing that smelled faintly of citrus and honey. It looked delicious and I had no qualms about digging into it.

Cain waited until Marta had set both plates down and disappeared again before he picked up his fork. “You’ve been using the library,” he said.

“I thought I was allowed.”

“You are.”

“Then why does that sound like an accusation?”

“It was an observation.”

“With you, those tend to be both.”

Before waiting for him to reply, I took a bite of the salad. The pear was crisp, sweet, cut so thin it was almost translucent, making it absolutely perfect. Even the walnuts had been toasted correctly. It was very annoying to be fed well by the man ruining my life.

“Touché,” he said and raised his glass to his lips to take a sip.

“Anyway, I’ve been reading,” I said. “That’s generally what people do in libraries.”

“Not always.”

“Do you have a different definition I should know about? Because I’ve already learned that words mean whatever you want them to mean in this place.”

His gaze did not move from me. “You’ve been studying the room.”

I set my fork down carefully. Not too hard. Not too soft. “I study every room I’m in. It’s called situational awareness. You might have heard of it.”

“I have.”

“Then we’re on the same page.”

“We rarely are.”

“That sounds like a relief for both of us.”

For a moment, he only watched me across the candlelight. “You’re very committed to making this difficult,” he said.

“I’d hate to disappoint you by becoming easy.”

The words came out before I could vet them properly. The double meaning landed between us with all the subtlety of a brick flying through a glass window and, for one horrible second, I considered stabbing myself with the salad fork to create a distraction.