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I picked a loose and soft cotton dress along with leather sandals and met the boys by the bedroom door. With Wex and Vino by my side, I walked into the hall with my dagger strapped, wearing the most casual outfit I’d worn since living in Miami, aside from my workout clothes.
“You made it,” Viktor spoke too loudly, but caught himself quickly. “Sorry,” he apologized and took out a white earbud from his ear.
He sat in the same chair Arlo had before—across from mine, with an opened laptop and a bowl of orange soup to his left. Three other placemats had been set, and a few different salad dressings stood between us.
I sat down, and Viktor closed the laptop.
Silence stretched, and while Viktor didn’t make me feel uncomfortable or at risk, his effortless smiles were easier to decipher the more time I spent around him. Despite him hiding behind his smiles, to the naked eye, they seemed sincere.
It was what he was doing now, studying me carefully with a half-grin, trying to make me comfortable, open—vulnerable.
“You don’t have to treat me like an assignment, you know,” I said.
Viktor smirked and leaned back. “Glad you are feeling better.”
“About that.”
He waited for me to continue.
“I noticed Lucca’s ointment was Russian.”
“Mhmm…” he agreed.
“And since you are here, and not Ilias, you must be the supplier of whatever it is.”
“Correct.”
“Then I owe you a thank you.”
“No you don’t.” He chuckled. “It would’ve expired before any of us used it, so really I oweyoufor not wasting my money in vain.”
I replied with a nod, and we settled back to a comfortable silence.
Viktor picked up a grilled cheese sandwich from the large stack of triangle pieces neatly arranged on the platter. The bread was thick and browned in butter. It seemed such a simple dish, but I knew the bread was homemade. It would pair perfectly with the tomato and basil soup that I spotted within his reach.
It wasn’t a feast or the usual grand dishes we often ate. It was light, simple—rich. It was clear that it had been made with me in mind. Because after missing a few meals, my stomach wouldn’t have tolerated anything heavier.
Viktor took a large bite, and I glanced at the side door that led to the kitchen, debating if I should wait or fix a bowl myself.
“You know—”
My head snapped back to him and while his tone hadn’t changed, his blue eyes tinted by a memory.
“You know how sometimes insignificant memories of our childhood beat the ones you wish you could remember?”
His smile did not reach far. I worried about what he would say next, and the point he was trying to make.
“Like the name of the cream your mother used on her own tear-streaked face, but you hardly recall what she looked like?”
I didn’t utter a word.
“Well, I guess they proved they weren’t so insignificant.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Honestly, I don’t know.” He lifted his shoulder, then gentle steps neared. We weren’t alone anymore. “Maybe it was the thought of being used for the same reasons.”
A bowl of steaming soup and a plate of fresh green salad appeared in front of me. I snapped my gaze away from Viktor and looked up.
