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“A little,” I answer shyly. I haven’t eaten anything since this morning, but that’s okay. I am curvy and though that isn’t a bad thing, I can lose a couple pounds.
“Anything in particular you like? I believe my cook, Silvia, made spaghetti with meatballs this evening. We could go down and get you a plate if you would like.” I surprisingly find myself smiling at him. It has only been hours since I was forcefully taken from my home, the one I grew up in and lived in until the day I left for college. I viewed Alzerro as dark, dangerous man right away, but looking at him now, I feel as if he’s someone different.
“I would actually love that, please.” I quickly stand at the same time he does. Our bodies brush against one another’s, and an electric current flows through us. Call it fate, or whatever the hell you want, but in that zap I feel like I can read him, like he is dark and damaged for a reason. It makes me want to dig my nails into him and crawl into the dark places of his mind and expose what he truly is.
“Let’s go then.” Setting his glass down, he gently grabs my hand and leads me out of the room, stopping to close and lock the door behind us. I am not sure why he feels the need to do that being it is his house, but I am not going to ask.
I can’t help but admire Alzerro’s house as we continue our journey to the kitchen. The house is large and has an elegance to it like I have never seen before. This is the type of thing that can’t be seen anywhere – magazines won’t even do it justice. It is designed and decorated to a specific standard, and I assume that standard is Alzerro King.
The kitchen is huge. Dark wood cabinets line the walls with stainless steel appliances accompanying them. The fridge is the biggest I have ever seen, and the eating area is so large that you could easily feed two families on Thanksgiving in it. Floor to ceiling windows take up the far wall, allowing light to come through at all angles. The floor is white marble, I presume since I haven’t a clue. All I know is that it probably cost more than it is worth for me to be standing on it.
I take a seat at the table, my eyes never leaving the surreal view. It is a shame someone like him has a view like this. Even if he isn’t hurting me or demanding something from me now, I know it will happen sooner or later.
In a matter of minutes, a steaming hot plate sits in front of me. Red spaghetti sauce, meatballs, and noodles are the only things I can see.
“Eat it, it’s amazing. This is my mother’s recipe, actually.” He smiles from ear to ear, but it never reaches his eyes. I can tell that there is something brewing just under his surface. He is a hurricane, capable of taking everyone out with him once he meets the shore.
I pick up my fork, shoving a heaping bite into my mouth. It is warm and extremely delicious. I moan, completely accidentally. When I open my eyes to take another bite, my gaze collides with Alzerro’s. His eyes are dilated, and it looks as if he is about ready to jump over the table and devour me himself.
“This is really good,” I compliment him. He nods at me, dismissing the look he has just given me all together. A coldness settles into me. I don’t really want him to look at me like that, but then again, I kind of do. I feel as if I am missing something without him, without that look.
I finish my food and stand, readying myself to wash my plate and silverware so they can be put away.
“Stop,” he commands. I turn to him, my face growing red. I feel like the kid who got caught stealing cookies out of the cookie jar.
“The housekeepers take care of that.” I scuff at him, not sure if I am going to listen to him. I am not one to allow others to clean up after me.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re already thinking about disobeying me, aren’t you?” It isn’t really a question because I haven’t done anything wrong yet, but how can cleaning up my mess be disobeying him?
“No…” I lie. I refuse to tell him I am not going to listen to him, especially over something as petty as washing my dishes after eating. My mother raised me to clean up after myself.
“Now you’re lying,” he remarks, taking an aggressive step in front of me. His eyes narrow as his hand snakes around my back to directly behind my neck.
His fingers dig into my skin, gripping me just above a painful level. “Never lie to me. Or I’ll kill you.” There are no emotions on his face, and his voice is cool and firm. Fear slithers up my spine and deep into my brain. It is plain to see that even the littlest things can get me killed here.
“I won’t.” I try my hardest to hold my chin up high. I don’t want him to think that he has broken me yet. I will never be broken, though. I have lost far too much in my life to be ashamed of anything.
“Good. If you lie to me again, I will kill you. Things like that can get you killed here. Always be honest. Always.” His eyes grow softer and an understanding settles over me. Honesty is huge with him. Even if it is bad honesty, he always wants to hear it.
“I will—always be honest, I mean,” I stutter. I have been around him less than twenty-four hours, and I am only here as payment for a debt, but I feel a connection to him. A pull is a better way to say it. I feel like I want to be close to him, but at the same time, I want to run away from him with all my might. It is as if he is a ticking time bomb—capable of going off at any moment.
