Chapter 16 Hollie #2
Maxim’s nowhere to be seen when I step into the penthouse, so I beeline straight for the bathroom and hide my prenatal vitamins behind several boxes of tampons in the cupboard above the sink. As I close the door, my heart pounds and I stare at my sweaty reflection until my eyes blur.
What am I doing?
I had so many chances today to tell someone the truth or to run away. Why did I come back here? Is my presence really enough to keep my family safe from a monster like Maxim or his father? A man who kills in cold blood surely wouldn’t blink twice about killing an old couple in their home.
Can I really survive under such pressure that one wrong step will destroy my family?
These thoughts plague me as I take a shower to wash off the sweat of the day, but even the amazing hot water and soothing scent of eucalyptus aren’t enough to calm the racing tremor in my heart.
What if Maxim knows I left the cafe? What if he had me followed to the doctor’s office and that doctor has been killed for speaking to me? What if I step out of this bathroom and meet the barrel of his gun because he knows I lied to him?
It’s enough to keep me in the bathroom for what feels like hours until there’s a gentle knock on the door that makes me jump.
“Hollie?” Maxim’s voice drifts through from the other side. “I made chicken and gnocchi. Are you hungry?”
He sounds normal, but it does nothing to calm my panic. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, I could eat.” Gently stepping forward, I press my ear to the door and close my eyes. Slowly, his footsteps retreat from the door and I release a breath trapped under my ribs.
Holy shit.
Placing one hand over my abdomen, I stroke slowly and will my heart to calm down. It’s not good for the baby, right?
After a few calming breaths, I open the door and step out into the hall. My nose is immediately enticed by the creamy, smoky scents drifting down from the kitchen and I follow them as my stomach gurgles softly, alerting me to how hungry I am after a day of running around.
Maxim’s in the kitchen with his back to me.
Barefoot, he shuffles back and forth in time to some soft classical music rising from his phone next to him on the counter.
His soft jogging pants strain around the thick muscles of his thighs and the T-shirt he wears strains at the seams as he dishes up two plates of food.
“Good shower?” he doesn’t look at me, but his voice sends a wave of tension through me.
Is this a trick? Does he know what I did? “Yeah,” I reply softly. “It was good.”
“I hope you’re hungry.” Maxim turns to me with both plates in his hand. “I might have made more than we need.”
“I’m starving.” To his credit, the food looks amazing, chicken and gnocchi in a creamy pink sauce served with some fresh spinach mixed in at the last minute, judging by the life still in the leaves.
Maxim walks past me to the lounge, sets the plates down on the table, and then turns to me, motioning to the couch. “Sit. What do you want to drink?”
This all feels normal. Too normal. I keep expecting something to snap, or Maxim to accuse me of running, but he does no such thing.
He gets me ice water at my request and sits next to me on the couch, but far enough away that his presence isn’t overwhelming.
Then he turns on the TV and picks an animated movie.
“Was it nice seeing your mom today?” he asks.
My heart jumps, but I can’t detect any threat in his questions. He’s shoveling food into his mouth, relaxed against the couch and occasionally huffing out amusement at the movie he’s chosen.
He seems… normal.
Is this all in my head? I’ve scared myself with expectations rather than Maxim’s actions, but that doesn’t make me lower my guard completely. “It was, yeah. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“She, uhm… she’s looking forward to us helping with the house.”
Maxim glances at me with a bead of sauce caught on the corner of his mouth. “I don’t need to be creative, do I? Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly known for my decorating.”
Considering his last penthouse and this one both look like they’ve stepped out from a catalog, I’m not surprised. “It’ll be fine. She likes to be in control, so just do what she asks.”
Maxim nods.
And that’s it.
He doesn’t accuse me of anything. He doesn’t threaten me. He doesn’t even pry into what I talked to Mom about. He just eats and laughs at his movie like he’s an everyday, normal guy.
This might be the most attractive he’s looked since we met.
I tuck into the meal and after several creamy, slightly spicy mouthfuls of dinner where the paprika ignites my tongue and the creamy sauce soothes it, I start to feel better.
Low blood sugar must have amplified the panic running rampant in my mind, and by the time I finish my meal, I feel a little guilty.
Is it wrong for me to expect the worst from Maxim when, so far, he’s done more to protect me than harm me?
I watch him slouch on the couch as tiredness weighs down his eyes, his attention locked on the movie, and the guilt within me grows.
No. It’s not wrong of me.
No matter how he treats me, I can’t forget what he did.
He’s a cold-blooded killer, and at the drop of a hat, I could be next.