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I almost choke. Coughing, I force myself to swallow the bite. Did she drop an entire tub of salt in the pot or what?
Next to me, Kayla grimaces and squirms a little on the floor.
Holding her gaze, I drink some more whiskey to wash down the taste of salt before I announce, “This is terrible.”
An apologetic look flashes across her face.
“Seriously.” I arch an eyebrow at her. “Are you trying to apologize or poison me?”
Alarm pulses in her eyes, and she opens her mouth to no doubt apologize again and reassure me that she is not trying to poison me.
Then she notices the smile on my mouth.
A huff of amusement rips from her throat instead. With a smile pulling at her own lips, she gives my shoulder a soft shove and then turns so that she is facing forwards again, looking out the window. Her leg moves a little closer to mine.
“I really am, though,” she says, gazing out at the dark night outside. “Sorry, I mean. I really am sorry.”
I set the bowl of overcooked and oversalted pasta down on the floor.
“I didn’t mean that,” she continues. “It was just a shot in the dark. I’ve grown up feeling like I always have so many expectations to live up to, so I used that and hoped that it would hit you as hard as it would’ve hit me. But I didn’t actually mean it.”
She fidgets with the hem of her shirt for a few seconds.
“Actually,” she continues, and then she at last glances towards me. “That’s not the entire reason. I also chose that specific insult because I was jealous.”
Confusion pulls at my brows. “Of what?”
“Of what you have.” She heaves a deep sigh and rakes her fingers through her hair. “Back at your brother’s house, when we were all in the living room, I was angry because of the kidnapping. But I was also angry because I was jealous. I saw how much they love you, how much you all love each other, and I just… I just want a family like that too.”
“Don’t you have?—”
“Anyway,” she interrupts, looking away and clearing her throat in a way that signals that she really doesn’t want to talk about that. “So that was why I said that to you in the living room just now. I was angry and frustrated and jealous. And I’m sorry.”
I keep my gaze on the side of her face until she finally turns back to meet my eyes again. “Apology accepted.”
Relief flickers across her beautiful face.
But I keep speaking. “If you tell me what it is that I have done to make you hate me so much.”
She winces. Drawing her legs up, she braces her elbows on her knees and slides her hands through her hair once more. Then she lifts her head again and glances at me. There is something between a grimace and a smile on her face.
“I don’t hate you,” she says. “I actually like you. Which is what makes me hate you.”
A surprised laugh escapes my throat, and I frown at her. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I like you as a person, but I still don’t want you here.”
“Ouch.”
She laughs, somehow sounding both amused and miserable at the same time. Heaving another sigh, she shakes her head and lets her legs slide back down to the floor. “It’s just… I don’t want a bodyguard. I want freedom.”
Uncomfortable emotions start crawling up my throat, because I realize that I know exactly what she’s talking about.
But she must have misinterpreted the expression on my face, because she hurries to explain again. “So it’s not you that I hate. It’s the situation.” Desperation floods her beautiful blue eyes as she holds my gaze. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to never have the freedom to choose what your life looks like?”
My heart squeezes painfully, and my throat constricts.
Fuck, I never thought about it like that. I never realized what living like this must be like for her. Never having a moment of privacy. Always having someone looking over her shoulder and checking what she does and who she talks to. It must be suffocating her.
