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It’s okay, I don’t have to look at anyone.
I comply and go to sit, mumbling something about wanting fried eggs, bacon, and maple syrup. The reality is that I would also want some French toast, a whole bucket of syrup, maybe some pancakes too, and some hash browns. This pregnancy is starting to mess with my appetite.
I suck in a wince as I attempt to lift myself onto the stool, and before I know it, Ronan is there, hands around my waist, lifting me up and setting me down gently. I didn’t expect it… my gaze flashes to Finnigan involuntarily, and I catch him glaring at me. Ekaterina clears her throat, and he suddenly looks away.
I’m still not sure how I feel about her. She’s done nothing to me. On the contrary, she’s been helping Ronan and I, but I can’t figure her out. She gives off a chilling vibe, guarded, like she takes years to warm up to someone, and trust is a privilege she doesn’t give freely.
She’s in her element amongst these guys, though, comfortable, at ease. I just feel… out of place.
The reason why sits across from me.
A generic conversation begins, but I’m so unfocused, I don’t register a thing about what they’re saying. They could be speaking to me, but my attention is glued to the man currently pottering around the kitchen, cooking me breakfast. I try really hard not to meet Finnigan’s eyes, even as they seem to challenge me. The heat of his gaze is so different to Ronan’s. There’s no comfort in that warmth; it burns me in the worst kind of way.
Not long after, a plate with two fried eggs and many more slices of streaky bacon is set before me, and I drench it in maple syrup before I begin eating. Finnigan keeps watching me, and once in a while, Ekaterina clears her throat again, making the burn on my skin ease. I don’t know how to change this, how to make it better.
Annika.
Hmm?
“Annika?”
I twitch, pulled back into the room, when I realize Ekaterina is trying to get my attention.
“Yes?”
“When you have a minute, would you mind if we have a word?”
Her expression is a shred gentler than usual, but I’m still taken aback by the request. I don’t remember ever speaking with her in private.
“Um, sure. Whenever you want.”
She spots my apprehension and confusion and continues.
“It’s about the ceremony. We just want to make sure we’re doing everything right.”
About the… what?
“Ceremony?”
“Funeral.”
I flinch at Finnigan’s cold voice. That one word knocks at an imaginary door inside of me, which holds the raw emotions I’m trying to keep at bay.
“O—Of course.” I push the plate away, my appetite gone. “Do you want to go now?”
She nods and slides off the barstool, offering me a hand to help me. If this numbness wasn’t so deeply etched inside of me, I would be real sick of being treated like an invalid… but I couldn’t give less fucks about it.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Ekaterina asks, and I turn to find her looking at Finnigan, who’s following us.
“She was mine. I get to be part of this,” he warns.
“I don’t deny that, but you already know what’s happening. Annika should be the one to have the final say in everything and let us know if we’re missing anything.
“It’s okay…” I say gingerly, trying to diffuse the growing tension.
Ekaterina straightens, her stance shifting in this commanding way that reminds me so much of Hanna.
“No. Finnigan, if we need you, we’ll let you know. Annika was—”
