Realistically, I should have done more looking into what she ate. As I came to think of it, I didn't know all that much about her likes or dislikes. An oversight of mine that would have to be rectified quickly.
“You mean, he won’t bite.” She let out a nervous chuckle as I set the water to boil. I assumed she was laughing at something she wasn’t saying. I supposed I wasn’t privy to the inner workings of her brain yet, but I would be.
Whether she agreed to it or not.
“Not unless I tell him to.” I watch her reaction carefully. Her wide eyes flick to me as if asking if I were serious. Ignoring her silent question, I continued chopping tomatoes. “I wouldn’t suggest running, he quite likes a game of ‘fetch’.”
“Good advice. What are you making?” She eased up onto one of the bar stools and began watching me closely. I guessed that she was watching for anything suspicious, I’d be wary of any food as well if the situation was reversed. At least Achilles’ presence doesn’t seem to be bothering her anymore.
“Pasta. I hope you’re hungry.”
I could see from the corner of my eye the look of indecision so plainly clouding her face. She did that bitey thing with her cheek again. Is that her tell? I wondered. I’d have to keep a closer eye out for it. “Starved. I haven’t eaten in a while,” she finally said.
I waited until the pasta was rolling in the boiling water before turning to face her. The counter stood between us and I somewhat hoped that the good measure of space would put her more at ease. I wondered what she meant by that, if there was a deeper meaning behind her words. My eyes sought out signs of malnutrition but couldn’t find any. She was thin by nature, but I couldn’t see anything that pointed to any long term starvation.
Her father had just been murdered, so I doubted she’d been able to keep anything down for the last few days. Maybe that was what she’d meant. Losing a parent was hard, I understood that.
No matter how much I loathed Anton Exley, a part of me would forever mourn the loss of Anastasia’s father - just for the sake that he was a very important part of her life.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” It doesn’t sound sincere at all but for some reason I needed her to know that there was meaning behind my words, that I cared enough to say the words.
“Keep your pity. For all I know, you were behind his murder.” The razor-sharp ice returned to her eyes. Maybe she wasn’t the one that needed the island between us. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she launched herself at me again, trying to claw my eyes out. “Just because you weren’t physically there, doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”
I was prepared to turn away, to keep my mouth shut and give her a minute. But her words struck a chord. What the hell was she on about? I wasn’t there. I knew that but how did she? My eyebrows pulled together as I worked the words over as if they were a riddle.
“Just because I wasn’t physically there?” I asked, curious at the phrasing. Of course, I wasn’t there, but she couldn’t have known that. Perhaps the police had gotten descriptions…?
I turned my back on her to check on the pasta before starting on the sauce. I looked over my shoulder as she spoke but the fury showing on her face had me conflicted. She was one of those unfortunately adorable angry women. With her high-pitched voice, her jaw clenched and her cheeks tight, she was like an angry chipmunk.
“Are you telling me that my eyes deceived me? Are you admitting that you were there?” she demanded, glaring at me with her fists clenched, knuckles white, on the countertop.
“I had nothing to do with your fathers’ murder, physically or otherwise. Regardless of whether you believe me or not.” I paused, thinking for a moment. “Anastasia, how do you know who was there?”
I could tell by the long sigh that escaped her lips that she had finally given in. I put the frying pan down as I plated up our dinner. “You were there,” I said simply.
I placed her plate in front of her, then gave her a fork. I had contemplated giving her a spoon but that didn’t seem dignified, and I was trying to win her affections…
My suspicions needed no confirmation, but she nodded anyway, not looking up at me. Her shoulders were slumped inwards. I gripped the bench with both hands as I tried to get a handle on my anger. I wouldn’t want it to come across aimed at her. It unnerved me to think of how close I could’ve been to losing her - without even realizing it. “Is there any chance that you were seen?”
“No,” she whispered as she moved her fork around her plate. “I wasn’t seen. I hid.” Her voice broke over the last word and I saw a tear drip from her chin onto her dress. This line of conversation probably wasn’t helping her appetite, but I understood more fully now why she wasn’t bothered about eating in the first place. Seeing someone you loved murdered right in front of your eyes - I couldn’t even pretend to imagine what she was going through.
I’d seen people killed. I’d killed people myself, with my bare hands. But that was my job. Sometimes, at least. But, being powerless as you watched someone you cared about… destroyed. That was a whole different ball game. To think, if it had been one of my brothers…
I felt for her. I genuinely felt for her.
After noticing that she still hadn’t actually taken a bite of her food, I picked up my fork and dug into my own plate. I had hoped that maybe if she saw me eating she might feel more inclined to try hers. And it also proved to her that it was fine to eat. I wouldn't have put it past her to be wary of me poisoning the food.
“Do you know who they are? Had you ever seen them before?” I gently prod. I had to find out if she was in danger.
“Never. One was shorter, in a suit. The other was tall, he had a long thick scar down the side of his face, it ran all the way down his neck. It looked recent.” I took in everything she was willing to give me, in a way it was a sign of her trusting me. From the top of my head, no one came to mind from her description. To find out who it was, I’d need to know everyone that Anton was doing business with. “Ring any bad guy bells?” she asked with a crooked smile.
I almost could’ve cracked a smile back at her, but thought twice. “No. I might have a better idea if I knew who else your father was dealing with.”
Anastasia's shoulders sagged again in disappointment at my answer. I wracked my brain to come up with a better answer, something that would clear the look on her face.
“I could always look into it for you.”
Much to my dismay, that didn’t seem to please her. Her fork clattered onto her plate. Her lips pursed, eyebrows raised, and her full attention on me. She was all business. “At what price?”
I couldn’t hold back my small chuckle this time. She thought I was going to extort sex from her? Well, I was glad that she still feared me but I didn’t want to let on that I wouldn’t do that. Not yet, anyway. “How about we settle on you finishing that bowl of pasta?”
She blinked at me, then looked down at the plate. She picked up the fork and dug it into the mound of tomato-covered fusilli in front of her.
“So, you really had nothing to do with my father’s death?” she asked between full forkfuls of pasta. It pleased me to see her eating with more enthusiasm. Whether she realized it or not, she’d eaten almost all of what was on her plate. I felt compelled to offer more but I didn’t want to rush her.