Chapter 14 Astra
FOURTEEN
Astra
I’ve been summoned for dinner.
I want to throw up in my mouth.
Torrin may have been the one to extend the so-called invite, but this is Donovan’s doing, I know it.
The whole calling me down like I’m a thing.
An object he owns. It makes my blood boil.
It’s the exact same feeling I had every time my father called me for a meal.
It’s like I don’t have a say in my life, and I have no choice but to oblige them.
Even as I think this, I’m curious to know more about Donovan Falco. Who am I kidding? I want to know all the things about him. I suppose this might be the start of getting closer to him, if there’s even a chance of that happening. If I don’t try, then I’ve already failed.
So, I brush my hair and even put on a little of the new tinted lip gloss I got. I smooth a hand over my new clothes to ensure they aren’t wrinkled and check to make sure I put deodorant on.
I take the stairs one at a time, with no rush in my steps. If I’m going to bend to his will, I’m going to protest in my own way.
I shake my head at the thought because it’s not like he would even know.
Torrin is standing at the bottom of the stairs. All the nerves fly out of my belly as my eyes land on his smirking expression. There’s something about him that sets me at ease. But make no mistake, I know he’s just as deadly as Donovan.
“You look like you’re walking to your execution,” he says, humor dripping from his tone.
“It’s just as stressful,” I toss back with a small laugh.
“I’d like to tell you that really he’s a kitten under that gruff exterior, but—”
“I’m not that gullible,” I cut in with a playful smile.
“Yeah.” He purses his lips for a second. “Well, look at it this way… he can’t kill you.”
“Because he needs me so he won’t die.” I shoot him a look.
“That’s something, right?”
He extends his arm, signaling the end of my stalling. I follow Torrin’s silent direction and head toward the back of the house, glaring over my shoulder when he begins to follow behind me.
Like a moth, I head toward the flame. Or in this case, the room that’s lit up the most toward the back of the house.
As I step through the arched entryway into the huge room, I blink at the scene in front of me.
There are candles on the table. The lights, while on, are turned down low.
The half a dozen sconces along the wall flicker as if filled with imitation candlelight.
When the scent of fresh bread fills my nose, it smells so good I worry I might be drooling.
Oh, and I can see it poking out from underneath a piece of white cloth in a basket on the far end of the table.
The same end where Donovan is seated at the head of the table.
His back is straight. His suit jacket is missing, but his white shirt is there.
The top three buttons are unbuttoned, making me wonder if it’s because he never buttoned them up after I touched him earlier.
He still looks incredibly attractive and deadly, even with his sleeves rolled up a few times and his hair looking slightly mussed like he’s spent the afternoon running his hand through it.
I tell myself to calm down when he angles his head to the side as if inviting me to the seat to the left of him.
I’m shaking as I cross the room, passing a handful of chairs. Why does he have this big table? Does he host parties here? Does he have this many friends? The questions keep whizzing by in my head, but I’ll never get the courage to ask them.
Torrin pulls out the chair as I reach it, and I nod my thanks to him as I lower myself down.
I’m surprised my knocking knees are able to do so gracefully.
Donovan looks up at Torrin with a scowl, leaving me feeling as if I’ve missed something.
Before I can speculate, dishes of steaming food are being brought to the table.
I stare at the green soup with a spiral of cream starting in the middle.
Something this color of green is not likely to be appetizing.
“It’s asparagus and leek soup,” Donovan says, his body leaning slightly in my direction, and I’m not sure what to do with the odd softness of his tone.
“Yum,” I say, but I know my face betrays me.
As I look up, his brows pull together like he can’t understand my reaction. As it hits him, he waves his hand, and then someone shuffles over to take the bowl away from me. Feeling like I’ve been rude, I quickly stop them before they touch the bowl.
I’m not sure what I saw in Donovan’s face, but there’s a little kick in my chest that tells me I should try. And I’m not just talking about the soup. Maybe summoning me to dinner is his way of putting himself out there. It’s only fair if I do my best to meet him halfway.
“I’m sorry. I’ve never had anything like this. I’d like to try it.” Okay, that last part might have been a stretch, but I smile through it.
I pick up the spoon and try my best to get it in my mouth without dribbling half of it down my chin like I don’t know how to use utensils. He’s got my mind spinning, my nerves frazzled, and I’m waiting for what’s around the corner.
The soup is not horrible, but it’s not great either. There’s something about it that reminds me of eating baby food, and there is a very strong flavor that kind of makes me want to gag.
He picks up his own spoon and seems to have significantly less trouble swallowing it down.
Does he like this? For real? He continues to eat it as if he really enjoys it.
I’m just glad his focus is on the bowl in front of him and not on me.
I look around, feeling like there are eyes on me, but find that everyone has stepped out of the room.
We’re alone for the moment. Well, as alone as a crime organization boss like him can get, I suppose. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to think that there aren’t bodyguards waiting in the wings, watching without watching, if you know what I mean.
The next course comes, and my bowl is taken away without a word said on how little is missing. Shrimp in some kind of cream sauce over rice. Maybe this won’t be so bad since I don’t hate shrimp.
We eat in silence. This dinner is so awkward. I’m wondering why he even wants me here.
“Do you like it?” he eventually asks.
“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” I offer. I flash him a smile that’s probably too wide before I stuff more into my mouth as if I need to prove to him that I love it.
“Wh…” He lets out a harsh breath after the sound. His hand runs through his hair as he inhales and opens his mouth to try again. “What do you like to eat?”
“I’m not picky, I swear,” I toss out quickly. “I’m just a moody eater, I guess. I’m also not a huge fan of asparagus. Sorry. My adult taste buds haven’t come in yet.”
It takes him a minute, but eventually, I get a twitch of his lips like he is slightly amused by me.
“I like all the stuff that’s not good for you,” I tell him. “Frozen pizza. Corn dogs. Chicken nuggets.” I pause to think for a moment. “Oh! I do love lasagna. Burgers with ketchup only.”
His face is unreadable.
“You eat like a toddler,” he comments, but where I would expect him to sound disgusted, he sounds intrigued. “Do you eat anything good for you?”
“Only if I’m forced to.” I laugh. “I like cucumbers and carrot sticks,” I tell him.
“Let me guess, only if there’s a lot of ranch involved?”
“Oh,” I gasp dramatically and put my hand to my chest, “it’s like you know me so well.” I flutter my eyes at him as a joke, but then my breath catches in my lungs when I see a dark shift in his eyes.
I might have gone too far, and now I’ve ruined this nice little moment.
I blink, and he’s managed to rein himself back in. His eyes are on his plate as he stabs a shrimp and pops it into his mouth. I can’t take my eyes off of him as his jaw works a little too hard for the tender piece of shellfish, and I scold myself for finding it sexy.
“I was joking, sorry,” I mumble.
“I’m not…” He clears his throat. “I don’t do this sort of thing. Sometimes I eat with Torrin, but that’s very different.”
“Pretend I’m Torrin, then,” I suggest.
He rolls his eyes at me, and it’s so out of character, I’m not sure what to do with it. I end up barking out a very unattractive laugh, which brings the tiniest of smiles to his face. I stare at it, mapping every single thing about it and etching it into my memory.
“I can’t do that,” he says. His gaze pierces through me.
“And why is that?” I ask over a dry throat.
“Because I don’t want to fuck Torrin.”
“Oh,” I say, totally embarrassed at how it comes out way too breathy.
“What would you rather have to eat instead?” he asks once he gets his features under control, but there’s an edge of lust still lingering in his eyes. I don’t miss the way he can’t take them off of me now. I’m thankful for the subject change, but I can’t get his words out of my head.
“I think I’ve already wasted enough food. I don’t mind this.” I tuck back into my dinner, stabbing three shrimp at a time and shoving them into my mouth. It really doesn’t taste bad, and I’m not sure why it’s become a whole thing now.
He clears his throat as he reaches for his glass of water. After taking a long sip, he places it back down and picks up his fork again.
“Then next time, you get to pick the meal,” he says almost as if he’s telling this to his food.
I smile and maybe hate myself a little for it.
Next time.
I shouldn’t be stuck on that one little part, but I am.
He’s all but promising me there will be another one of these.
He’s admitting that he wants to share a meal again.
And while I’m unsure how the future is going to go and how we’re going to get out of this mess, I can’t deny that I’m looking forward to spending time with him.
“Okay,” I say softly, and now I’m the one talking to my food.