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“Figured I’d have a second too.” She gestures her mug to me as she sets mine on the coffee table. “It is the weekend, after all.” Then she settles back into the couch, drink cradled in her hand. “What’re you watching?” Her brows furrow beneath her curly bangs.
I want to brush her hair aside and trace my finger over the cute wrinkles that form across her forehead when she makes that expression.
“What language is that?”
What…?
My brain catches up, and I turn back to the TV.
Oops.
It’s a Swedish film. In Swedish.
I don’t usually slip up like this, showing someone something about myself by accident. I don’t need her knowing I speak Swedish. Or Italian. Or Spanish.
Pretending I misheard her, I pick up the remote to exit out of the movie, then hand the remote to Cassandra.
“Oh, I didn’t mean…” She tries to give it back to me, but I pick my spoon back up and gesture to my throat.
If I’m stuck faking this cold and eating burned meat soup instead of feasting on her body, I’m going to use the few advantages it gives me.
Sighing, she clicks through the available titles, stopping on a documentary about secret societies.
I can feel her watching me for a sign of how I feel, but when I don’t say anything, she selects it.
Cassandra sets the remote on the coffee table, then props her feet next to it, mirroring my position. “I’ve been meaning to watch this. And if you don’t like it…” She takes a sip of her drink. “Too bad. You had ample opportunity to object.”
I smirk around my next bite of burned soup. Butterfly has a backbone.
CHAPTER21
Cassie
Hans finisheshis bowl of soup. Then his second, eating the rest of what I brought. But when I started to stand up to go wash his bowl, he waved me to keep sitting.
So I did.
And after finishing my second whiskey drink, I let myself sink back into his couch.
The piece of furniture isn’t much to look at, but it’s incredibly comfortable. Not a cheap hand-me-down at all.
I turn my body so my side is against the back of the couch, then lift my feet onto the seat between us.
I’ll just stay until the end of the show. Then I’ll go home and let Hans rest.
As the host of the documentary talks about the victim traveling to Europe, I think about the movie Hans had been watching and wonder what language it was.
And then my lids start to lower.
CHAPTER22
Hans
I gatherthe dishes from the coffee table, decades of training keeping my movements silent.
I set them in the sink, next to the soup pot, then circle through the house, securing the front door and double-checking the rest of the access points.
Finally, when the only light left on is the lamp next to my bed, I return to the living room and bend down to scoop Cassandra’s sleeping form into my arms.
