Chapter 7 #2
Shaking my head, I tried erasing the thoughts. Now was not the time to wallow in self-pity, nor to spiral about everything else that bothered me. I had a bigger fish to fry, and judging by the growling of my stomach, the biggest one was the fact that I was hungry.
Given that I didn't get to have dinner last night and the last thing I’d eaten was an apple sometime around three in the afternoon, it was no surprise I was getting hangry.
I just fucking hoped this wasn't one of those houses, or well... mansions, that didn't even have eggs or bread. I would kill for an omelette right now, and I swear if Nicolas Moretti only ate things some fancy chef prepared for him, I would commit a crime. No fucking questions asked.
Going through yet another hallway after leaving what looked like a living room, I realized I was going deeper into the house, hoping the kitchen would be somewhere nearby.
"This house is a fucking maze," I muttered to myself, feeling more and more lost, when I saw light spilling from one of the rooms not too far from me.
And heard something breaking. Or crashing.
A loud, "Fuck!", made me jump, rethinking this whole idea of chasing food when I should've stayed in my room. I had water. I had a bed. No one ever died from not eating for one whole day, right?
More grumbling echoed,and whatever devil sat on my left shoulder pushed me forward. Maybe I was finally losing my mind after all these years of holding the reins of my life too tightly.
Even my breathing sounded too fucking loud, or at least it felt that way, but the smell of the food wafting from the lit room erased all rational thought. Instead of retreating, I pushed forward, entering what might as well have been my ending.
I wished I’d gone back to my room.
Because dealing with my thoughts was better than dealing with a shirtless Nicolas, standing at the stove, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants.
What was it about grey sweatpants that could throw us all into a frenzy?
"No, no, not like this. Dammit!" he said to himself—or yelled, really—and I couldn't stop the laughter spilling from my lips.
He spun around, lifting the knife he’d been using, eyes narrowed as if I were an intruder. My arms flew up instinctively, eyes wide, but I couldn't move.
"Fuck, Ajla," he grunted, lowering the knife. "I almost threw this at you."
Was it wrong that I barely registered the threat after hearing my name in that perfect fucking accent? I couldn't count on one hand the number of times people pronounced it correctly, and the fact that this man—this man I was trying not to think about—had done it so perfectly...
I was screwed.
"What are you doing up?" he asked, stepping away from the stove. There was a whole island between us, spotless marble and a fruit basket in the corner, yet it felt like he was standing right in front of me. "I thought you were still asleep?"
"I was," I babbled, closing my eyes. "Well, I was supposed to be, but I couldn't sleep."
He crossed his arms over his chest, and holy baby Jesus.
I felt bad for staring at his bulging biceps and the vein running along his right arm, but I couldn't stop myself. I wasn't even sure I wanted to stop myself.
"You said I could leave my room, right?"
"Yeah," he smirked. "I just thought you'd be leaving it at a normal hour."
"Well," I shrugged, "I was—" And that's when, Ladies and Gentlemen, my stomach decided to betray me. "As you can hear," I said, blushing. "I was hungry."
His eyes lit up, that lower lip disappearing behind his teeth as he smiled at me, cracking yet another layer around my heart.
How was it that this guy could simply look at me, smile at me, and break through the barriers I had erected around my heart?
How was it that I wasn't feeling the panic I usually would be overcome with when I was with him?
I should be panicking. I should be trying to get out of here, run, fucking hide, call the police, but none of those thoughts came.
Hell, I could've waltzed out of the house mere minutes ago, and I had a feeling that no one would've noticed, at least not immediately.
Okay, maybe the guards at the main entrance, but that wasn't the point.
The point was—he calmed me. My anxiety, all my worries, my need to be in control, it all faded away when I stood in front of him. I was a blabbering mess last night, and I had no idea what was worse—the fact that I was too calm during this entire situation, or the fact that I didn't want to leave.
I wanted to stay. I wanted to trust him, not just with my body, but with my heart. And the way he looked at me, maybe he truly wanted it too.
Maybe it was time to stop running from things, and start embracing the chaos that came as an integral part of life?
"Perhaps I could help with that," he said, taking a step toward me, bypassing the island. He was just a few steps away, and it was like we were the two magnets pulling toward each other, unable to stop.
And for the first time in my life, I took what I really wanted, with no thoughts of anyone else.
"Maybe you could," I said as I stepped closer to him, placing my hand on his forearm. "If you think you're up for it."
His face revealed nothing, but his eyes... his eyes blazed with the fire I had seen last night, and as my thumb rubbed over his skin, I knew there was no going back. Not now.
"Oh, I think I'm the perfect person for this job."