The door to the library is wide open when I step through it. I find her seated at the table in the room, three books opened in front of her as she types away on a laptop. Her face is screwed in concentration as she works. Her hair has been piled into aponytail on top of her head, although tendrils fall loose, framing the edges of her face.
Sensing my stare, she looks up, her eyes narrowing at the sight of me.
“I asked you to leave me alone,” she states.
“Pity,” I murmur, stepping towards the desk.
She eyes the two plates on the tray, filled with pancakes, maple syrup and some eggs, there’s also two cups of orange juice. “I’m not hungry.”
“I don’t care. Eat.”
She makes a small noise of discontent in the back of her throat. I take a seat across from her, waiting for the inevitable argument.
“We can’t eat in here. This is a library,” she grits out. “There are books everywhere.”
“My books. My library,” I remind her, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You’re so annoying, Rafaelle,” she groans.
I run a hand over my jaw, my eyes never leaving hers, “Have I mentioned I like it when you say my name? I’d prefer it if you were screaming it though.”
She doesn’t even bother saying anything in reply, an eyeroll is all I get before she turns her attention back to the laptop.
“Eat,” I state. “If you eat your breakfast like a good girl, I promise I’ll be on my best behavior for the rest of the day. I’ll even help you out with the essays you have to write.”
She doesn’t look very convinced, “Really?”
“Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.”
That’s a lie. I’m meant to be at a warehouse supervising a shipment headed to the docks later tonight. But I can get someone else on it.
“Food first,” I tell her.
She shrugs before grabbing one of the plates. I grab the other one and we proceed to eat our breakfasts in complete silence. I make quick work of the meal in front of me, demolishing it in a couple of minutes. Liliana eats half of hers in same amount of time, proving that she really wasn’t that hungry.
It doesn’t matter though. Humans need food for sustenance, end of story.
After watching her pick at the rest of her food for a couple of minutes, I send a quick text to Ira, asking him to send someone in here to clean it all up. Once that’s done, I turn my attention to the books on the table. They’re on creative writing, a couple of classic novels. I lift my gaze to hers.
“So, what are we working on?”
She groans softly before muttering something under her breath. I can see the slight hesitation and disbelief but eventually, she lifts the copy of The Great Gatsby, handing it over to me.
“My assignment is to write a 1500-word essay analyzing a protagonist from any of the classic novels. Their motivations, things that make them compelling, the symbolism behind some of their actions,” she explains.
“Hm,” I murmur, looking down at the book in my hand. “And you’re choosing Gatsby? Which character?”
“I was thinking Nick Carraway,” she replies.
“That’s pretty good, actually. He’s an interesting character but an unreliable narrator. He’s meant to be unbiased, but it’spretty obvious there’s nothing objective about his point of view. Especially when it comes to Gatsby.”
Liliana’s lips part in surprise.
“What?” I mutter.
“You’ve not only read the book but you’re actually providing helpful insight,” she states. “I’m impressed.”
“This might come as a shock to you, little siren, but I’m actually pretty smart. I majored in Economics at Harvard and I graduated with honors.”
