Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Damn. The men around here are jumpy. As if I would ask Adrian about his mother directly, knowing how much talking about her hurts him. Andrea is a little easier to deal with, but she’s often out on jobs with the team, so I don’t see her as often as Kai. Who I think resents his new job. Not sure what he expected? Running my errands with me and lifting boxes might not be as exciting as whatever Adrian had him doing, but the other option was death, so in my mind, I think he should be a tad more grateful. Or maybe just a tad less squirrelly about me asking simple questions.
It takes a few minutes, but Kai finally answers. “He mentioned this soup his mother made him as a child when he was sick… I can’t pronounce the word or even write it down, too many sounds, but when he explained it, he told me it was a traditional Czech garlic soup. Something they make for illness or hangovers.”
I narrow my eyes and stalk toward him. “You’re not just making this up, right? To get me to stop asking questions because I won’t do that to him.”
“No, I’m serious. We talked about it when we were recovering from a party in the pool.”
It doesn’t sound very romantic, though. Wait—I gape at him. “Pool?”
He points at the ceiling. “It’s on the roof.”
Excitement bursts through me. I love to swim. “Can we go up there?”
“Don’t you have a romantic soup to prepare?”
He’s right, but now that I know the pool is there, I won’t forget. “Okay, I’ll talk to the cook and get the stuff I need. You can go glower at something or whatever.”
His mouth turns down hard. “I don’t glower.”
I stare at his lips, which some might consider pretty, and then let my gaze run back to his eyes again. Yeah…right. All the men in this house are professional brooders.
Thankfully, he slips out of the room with no further insight. I fish my phone out of my pocket and text the cook my shopping list. As usual, when I request something, she complains for about five minutes and then does as I ask. If only because she fears I’ll tell Adrian she ignored my directives.
When I tell her she has to clear the kitchen for the night, she’s going to be pissed, but it’ll be worth it once I present my gift to Adrian. I just want him to know what this time of safety, this freedom, has meant to me.
I putter around the library until someone interrupts with lunch. There’s too much to do, but I want to get things ready for dinner. First, I send Adrian a text asking him to meet me for dinner at seven in the kitchen. He agrees but immediately asks why.
I can’t help but smile when I send him back a kissy face emoji and nothing else. But I better get to the kitchen before he tries to find me to get answers.
The kitchen is deserted when I enter, and my grocery requests are lined up neatly on the counter. Cook is efficient, I’ll give her that. She hates me, but I still intend to win her over one of these days.
According to the recipe I found, the soup isn’t much more than a garlicky potato soup. It looks good, and the recipe says it’s the traditional soup for illness. Either way, I suspect Kai is right, and he’ll love it all the same. But just once, I want to feel like I accomplished something. It might be small, but I’ve latched onto the idea, the fantasy of seeing the joy written on his face, and I can’t let it go.
Once the soup is done, I have to admit it smells delicious. I set out the bread, wine, and salad to go with it. It takes me a few minutes to change into a white lace dress I know he loves and make it back to the kitchen before he saunters in.
But when he does, damn. He seems to take up the entire room. His posture is carefree and effortless, but I can spot the power in his wide shoulders, the muscles in his long legs. He’s a cobra ready to strike, and tonight, I’m his prey.
“Thanks for coming,” I say meekly, undone by the dark need in his eyes.
He takes the seat I pulled out for him, and I sit beside him on the other. “What did you do, Angel?”
I ladle some soup into the bowl and serve the bread, wine, and salad next. When I finish, I turn to face him, studying his features for any clue to his response.
“Angel…” he whispers. When he looks up at me, the need has changed to something softer, gentler. “You made this for me?”