His quiet words, spoken low but clear, made her steal a glance at him. She wet her lips, finding the courage to open the door for some honest, real communication. That meant being vulnerable again, but at this point, she didn’t think she had much to lose.
“Seeing her there… with you… it triggered something,” she admitted haltingly.
He took a sip of his water, his plate untouched. She knew he didn’t much like alcohol. She didn’t either, and the glass of water in front of her told her he’d noticed as much.
“What did you feel?” he asked, his hypnotic dual eyes snaring her in its trap. What did she feel? He didn’t experience emotions as she did, and knowing he wanted her account of her feeling things made her heart race.
“I felt—” she stopped, looking at him, her throat working “—angry. So, so angry.”
“Why?” he prodded, leaning slightly toward her.
“Because I thought you’d chosen her,” her voice wavered with her words. “I thought you were keeping me on the side, making a fool out of me, giving me little nothings and giving her everything. I felt angry. I felt hurt. I felt jealous.”
“Why?” he pressed, not letting go.
“Because you’re mine!” She slammed her hands on the table, standing up. “You’re the only person, the only thing in this entire world that is mine!” Her chest heaving, she glared at him. “My killer, my stalker, my lover. The thought of sharing your obsession makes me sick to my stomach. You have power over me. Is that what you wanted to hear? That your claim makes me an idiot because my stupid fucking heart believes you? Is that it?”
She looked down at him as he sat back, a satisfied expression on his face.
“Flamma.”
One word. Just one word and everything felt right in the world for a second. She took a deep breath, calming herself. Taking her seat again, she gulped down the water in her glass, aware of him watching her.
“Your heart isn’t stupid.” His words, again quiet, made her look at him. “Soft, yes. Stupid, no. I think it’s quite smart to believe me when your mind doesn’t.”
She didn’t know what to say to that.
“There’s been no one for six years, Lyla.”
His words made her straighten in her chair, the disbelief evident on her face.
His lips twitched. “Believe me or don’t, fact is fact. I haven’t fucked anyone in six years. I’ve not touched anyone who’s not you in six years. And I’ve never kissed a woman on the mouth in my life. Never saw any point in it.”
Lyla stared at him, dumbfounded. “I don’t understand.”
He simply shrugged. “Any other woman would have been a poor replacement for you, and it didn’t seem worth the effort. Now, tell me, am I lying to you?”
Lyla observed him, his neutral face as he let her weigh her opinion. Her mind told her he could be manipulating her, telling her things she wanted to hear so she’d fall for his traps more easily. But her heart, the stupid beating organ in her chest, it said something else.
“No,” she whispered, shaken by the fact that he’d been with no one.
“Good girl.”
"I've not kissed anyone too, not by choice."
Her confession fell between them and she saw him look at her mouth. "Then, when you choose, it'll be mine."
A sigh left her.
She looked down at her plate of pasta, and slowly took her first bite. It tasted pretty good to her, but she didn’t know if her taste buds were reliable at all. Watching him take his bite, her grip on her fork tightened.
His face showed no reaction, but he chewed slowly, looking down at the plate before bringing his eyes to her. “Did you make this?”
Nerves fluttered in her belly. “Yes. I watched a video and practiced a few times with smaller portions before making this. I…” she hesitated. “I wanted to make a nice meal for us.” Her eyes lowered.
His hand came to her jaw, bringing her face back up. “Make us a meal whenever you want. You’re gifted at this.”
“You like it?” She didn’t know why she needed his approval, why it mattered, it just did.
“Yes.”
A sigh of relief left her as her confidence bloomed. ‘You’re gifted at it.’ She was good at something.
They finished the meal in companionable silence.
Since the moment felt true, honest, open, she risked asking him the one thing that had always blown up in her face. “Is he… is he okay?”