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“Oh.” I don’t hide my disappointment. “I can ride in the rain.”
“That is out of the question. Pneumonia is a nasty disease to catch.”
“But...”
He shakes his head once, an unbending refusal in his eyes. No matter how much I protest, he won’t be swayed.
“Ugh!” I slam the wardrobe’s door shut, its loud crack reverberating in the room. “Way to take my favourite pleasure!”
He flashes me his diabolical almost-smile. I clench my fists, sucking a deep breath, barely resisting the urge to punch him in the face.
“You can come with me.” He walks out, leaving me no choice but to follow him.
Actually, I have the choice to slam the door after him. But me being me, I walk by his side. “Where to?”
He doesn’t answer— as expected. He continues striding the length of the dimly lit hallway. It’s sombre outside. Coupled with the thunder and Aaron’s vampire-like nature, it’s like I’m thrown into a gothic tale.
Since I’m allowed out of the room when we go horse-riding, the long lifeless hallway is more familiar. The doors are always closed. I peek at where I remember Aaron’s room to be. I should’ve snooped around while I had the chance. Beside the fact that he likes grim decor, owns Jet and King, I know little to nothing about this man. Well, there’s also his obvious noble lineage and the serial killer side hobby.
Dammit. I often forget the killer part. No, not forget. It’s more of a disregard. I chose to neglect the killer side because he murdered an evil man.
Still. Does that give him the liberty to kill? Do I have the right to find him excuses? Or am I finding those excuses for myself? For enjoying his company more than I’m supposed to?
The click of a door pulls me out of my turbulent thoughts. Aaron strolls through a usually closed door. I don’t think twice before following him inside.
The room is vast enough to host a party, but not large compared to the majestic hall downstairs. The imposing wooden table, the black leather chairs and sofa, and the rows and rows of books don’t suggest this hosts parties in the first place. It’s an office. At least three times the size of my dad’s.
Aaron stands by one of the dark wooden shelves. The yellow light of the room casts a soft shadow over his features, humanising him a bit. “Pick some books.”
Is he doing this because I said I was bored?
No, no, no. Don’t go there, Mae. He’s not being kind. He must have a hidden agenda.
“Unless you dislike reading?” He arches an eyebrow. Goddammit. He has to stop doing that. It tingles my chest every single time.
Clearing my throat, I take quick steps to his side. My fingertips run along the endless titles of English, French, and Russian literature. Many of them aren’t translated to English. I check the covers and the careful way they’re wrapped. Holy... These are the first editions.
“You can’t choose?”
I whirl towards Aaron’s calm voice. The gentleman kind of calm. He’s standing not so far from me, half-leaning on a shelf. One of his hands in his pocket, a tiny gleam in his eyes. This is the first time he seems to have let his guard down.
“There are many.” I smile. “Which one is your favourite?”
“I don’t have favourites.”
I run my finger over one of Balzac’s books. “In nothing?”
“In nothing.”
“That’s a lie.” I smirk, finally getting the power. “I can cite many of your favourites.”
He raises both of his eyebrows. “Enlighten me.”
“Humph.” I tuck my hair back in a dramatic gesture. “For one, black is obviously your favourite...” I trail when his almost-smile greets me, amusement tugging on the corners of his eyes.
“Go ahead. My favourite what? Colour? Is an artist supposed to call black a colour?”
The bastard. He almost got me. I gulp. “Your favourite animals are cats. Although it’s a bigger cat, a jaguar is still a cat nonetheless.” I bump my chest out. “How about that?”
