LIII
Hazel Winters
I tuck my feet under my bum as I turn the page of my book. It’s had my attention for a few hours now, and I’ve been consistently moving sitting positions as the plot progresses.
It’s nice to be able to escape reality - using a fictional world to fill my mind instead of the depressing thoughts about my father. His next move is something that terrifies me, especially with the more and more threatening text messages he sends.
Just when the climax of the book begins to build, Dawson chooses that moment to come over and bother me. He dives onto the sofa next to me, making me bounce on the cushions from the force he threw his body down with.
“I’m hungry,” he informs me like I’m meant to do something about it. I try to ignore him but he shuffles closer to me. He tries to read the book over my shoulder but I slam it closed with red cheeks as I hit a particularly smutty chapter.
“What do you want?” I ask him, turning to meet his face with an exasperated look. He grins and tries to take the book from me but I hug it close to my chest.
It’s not like we haven’t done half the things described in this book but letting him see that I read about it too seems like a violation. He stands up and clears his throat, dramatically throwing his hand out for me to take it.
“What?” I ask him in irritation. He still hasn’t spoken a word, choosing the non-verbal route to wind me up this time. I stare at his hand for a few seconds before getting up without his help.
Like a tired parent, I follow him into the kitchen where he starts to pull out different ingredients from the cupboards and refrigerator. Once he has an array of food out on the island, he finally speaks.
“Cook with me,” he grins, his expression cheeky and longing. I roll my eyes and scoff but move to stand next to him at the counter.
“What are you making?” I ask him as Theo walks into the kitchen. His muscles strain against his navy suit, leaving no illusion of how toned he is. He ruffles a hand through his dark hair, smirking when he sees me staring at him.
I snap out of it, remembering I’m still mad at them for sending me away. Turning back to Dawson, I realise that he’s been talking to me for the last few minutes and I haven’t been listening. Luckily, it’s easy to work out from what he’s doing that we’re making Lasagne.
“I’m going to the shop. Do you need anything?” Theo asks as he puts his phone away in his blazer pocket?”
“In a suit?” I ask with narrowed eyes. I start to chop the vegetables on the chopping board in front of me, making sure not to cut myself with the sharp knife.
“Always got to be prepared,” he smirks and gestures down to the gun tucked into his waistband. I scoff but say nothing, keeping my attention on the onion I’m dicing. His footsteps retreat and Dawson starts chatting to me again, rambling on about random things.
He teaches me how to make the ragu, before showing me how to layer the pasta sheets. Once we’ve put it in the oven to cook, he pours two glasses of wine and gestures for me to sit down at the kitchen island.
“Talk to me,” he says as he sets a wine glass in front of me. I fake a smile and fiddle with the stem of the glass, not wanting to look at him.
“You’ve been distracted for a few days,” he pushes further and I sigh. I finally pick up the glass and take a long drink of the white wine before answering him.
“My father is still out there,” I say as truthfully as I can. Calling Alexei my father leaves a bitter taste on my tongue, and I try to rid it with more wine.
“He’s not getting to you,” Dawson growls, his hand landing to cover mine on the counter.
“How do you know that?” I ask him, tilting my head. There’s a reason they all came here and I know it’s not just because they want me to forgive them.
“Because all four of us would die before we let him,” he shrugs casually. I look down at our entangled hands and hate how natural it feels. I want to forgive them, but I just can’t.
Not yet.
Dawson senses my hesitation and removes his hand, picking up his wine glass and drinking some. I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the movement oddly sexy.
“What do you know about Sean?” I ask, changing to subject to distract me from Dawson’s seductive motions.
“Not much more than you do. He joined when he was freshly out of school. His father was part of Atlas’ dad’s reign,” he answers thoughtfully before his features harden, “Why? Did he do something? I’ll kill him.”
I laugh at his instant urge to murder someone.
“No, he hasn’t. I just think him and Sabrina might have a thing going on,” I smirk, knowing my best friend.
“That would be funny,” he chuckles, “She’d break him.”
I shrug, side-eying him as I down more wine. Sabrina probably would break him.
But what’s life without being a little broken?
The timer on the oven goes off and I pull the lasagne out. The cheese sauce bubbles at the edges and the whole thing is golden brown. My mouth practically waters at the sight, especially when Dawson serves them up with salad.
After he promises the others will come get food when they’re hungry, we eat together. He makes me laugh as he tells me stories of the others, and I fill him in on what I’ve been doing since being in New York.
Whilst I haven’t forgiven him or the others yet, it’s a good step towards it.