Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I walk over to the couch and hold the bag out to her. “Take your food and go.”
She looks up at me. “No, you’re going to eat with me. I ordered enough for both of us.”
My jaw tightens. Definitely a bad idea to let her and Anya spend any time with each other because now she’s starting to boss me around just like my sister does.
“I’m not hungry.” But just as I say it, my stomach betrays me and rumbles loudly. She tries to hide the smug smile and taps the spot next to her.
“Sit. I’ll get some plates and silverware.” Lena stands and heads to the kitchen.
I hear cupboards open and close, and I look back in confusion.
Anyone would think this is her home.
“Your sister told me you most likely haven’t eaten since yesterday,” she shouts from the kitchen.
I don’t say anything, just find myself reluctantly watching the drama unfold on the television. Do people really act like that?
Lena comes back, holding two plates and two forks. I eye her from head to toe in the long, flowy, yellow dress. It reminds me of sunshine. Her gaze drops to the couch.
“Sit, I’m hungry,” she says.
She waits until I sit, then she follows me down and opens the food. It’s Thai food. “Pad Thai is amazing. I went to Thailand once when I turned eighteen. Best food ever,” she tells me as she dishes out some food and then hands me the plate. “Yours.”
She makes a pointed look at my gloves but says nothing as I take it.
I stare at it. “Don’t you like Thai food?” she asks, concerned.
“I don’t dislike it,” I say. I just haven’t had it since… well, I don’t know if I’ve ever tried it. Most of my meals are prepared for me. I don’t care much for taste besides in my whisky. As long as it’s nutritional.
“Oh my god, are you carb counting or something?”
“No,” I say, dipping my eyebrows. “Is that usually what men do who you share pad Thai with?”
She tucks her feet under her ass again, and a wicked smile appears on her lips. “You curious about my type, Aleksandr?”
The way my name falls from her lips does something to me. I like it. A lot. Too much.
“What?” she says around a mouthful of food as she tries to look between me and the TV.
“Did you and my sister furnish your apartment, or did you get distracted by changing mine without my consent?”
She’s half distracted by the television. It’s a scene where two women are now discussing the drama that unfolded in the previous scene.
“They’re unpacking it all now. We prioritized here first,” she admits with a sheepish smile.
I take a bite of the food and am surprised by it’s flavor and that I like it. Lena laughs from beside me at the woman on the TV, and I realize it might be because of her company that it tastes more delicious.
I slowly eat the meal while watching Lena as she watches the TV. She has so many expressions, so much joy and freedom about her. It’s so different to the first time I saw her sing.
On stage, she’s focused and the center of attention, and she sucks everything and everyone around her in with her talent and poise. Here, she’s herself. Just Lena. I think this is the first time I’ve seen the real her, with her defenses down, around me, and that’s a dangerous thing.
She looks at me now and then drops her gaze to my empty plate. “Wow, you ate that fast,” she comments as she goes to take my plate, but I grab hers instead.
She looks confused as I take them. Hell, even I’m confused. “You’re a guest, are you not?”
“I don’t know, am I?”
I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t have guests. I don’t offer to take dishes, because I don’t eat with others. Besides my sister, of course.
I set the plates on the side table and look at the small bandage on her forehead. “Show me your wound.”
“Oh,” she says as she reaches up and fingers it.
“I can have a look,” I say, and brace myself as I get closer to her. I know the voices will start to scream if I touch her. But for some reason, I need to make sure the injury is okay.
It’s only a feather-light touch as I pinch the edge of the Band-Aid.
Filthy. Isolating. Pain.
I push away the ambush of mixed emotions and words that flood me, and focus only on the task at hand. The wound is clean and looks like it’s healing nicely. Good.
I continue pushing down the nauseating swirl of commotion that tries to tear me apart.
“Alek,” she says, and that’s when I realize how close I’m leaning in. Her voice is like a white flag for me in the war raging inside me. I can smell her floral-scented perfume. This close, I notice the finer details of her features, like the smile creases at her eyes. I raise my thumb, tracing them, focusing on only her, as it seems to keep the rowdiness away. It’s still there but only a niggle compared to how loudly it usually screams.