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It had been so long since I’d touched paper that my fingers itched a bit at the sight.
Stars, my life had been so terrible, and so strange.
When all he had left were empty bags, he dropped them on the floor beside the massive one he’d set down earlier, and then kneeled beside them.
“What are you doing?” I asked. Though I tried to make myself sound angry, I was more curious than anything else.
“Building a bookshelf.”
That was all the information he was going to give, apparently.
“I don’t see any books.” I gestured around the room, which was devoid of reading material.
“The owner of the nearest bookstore is on her way here right now.” He didn’t look back at me, separating the different pieces of what would apparently become the bookshelf. “I told her to bring some of everything. Diora thought you preferred mystery novels, but I can’t imagine you’re dying to read about a murder being solved after a lifetime of hell. So I told her to pick a variety.”
My throat closed.
He hadn’t brought up the topic of my torture casually; nothing between us felt casual, at all. We weren’t friends, or anything near that.
But he wasn’t pretending the past hadn’t happened, or expecting me to be someone else. And he wasn’t afraid to talk about it.
And that mattered to me, even though I wished it didn’t.
“I used to tell her and Vena mysteries. I’d make them up, to distract the girls,” I admitted, my voice quiet. “I never liked them—the mysteries. I preferred romances. Simple, sweet, happy love stories. But that was before.”
Before the loss.
Before the torture.
Before the rape.
I had yet to figure out what I liked since then.
Maybe this bookshelf would give me time, or assist me with that.
“You used to like to read, then?” He continued building the shelf.
It made me feel less pressure, honestly. Espen had a really intense way of looking at me that made me feel like he was seeing into my damned soul.
“I did. I haven’t had the chance in two decades, but I used to read a lot, when I was sick.”
“Tell me about your sickness.” He continued working.
I scowled at him. “Tell me why you think you can order me around.”
He barked out a laugh, and honestly, the noise surprised me. My lips even curved upward a bit.
“I don’t try to give commands. Speaking simply makes it easier for me to focus on both the moon and the present moment.” He pointed upward. “Luckily, the sun is setting right now, so I’ll get a bit of a break soon.”
I hated to admit it, but his answer intrigued me. “Tagging on apleaseat the end wouldn’t kill you.”
“It wouldn’t,” he agreed. “With you, I’ll try.”
With me.
Forme.
Stars, this was not the negative development I needed between us.
