Chapter 114
“Hm?” I blink, completely missing his words because
yeah he just reached up for a
spice, and his back muscles did a thing. I might need to go outside, inhale the salt in the water or something because this is ridiculous.
Then he turns around, and I whip my gaze to his shoes like they’re the most interesting thing in the room. Maybe he won’t notice how weird I’m acting.
“Emilia.”
“Yeah?” I croak. Thank God for melanin because my cheeks are definitely warm right now.
“I asked if you were oka- Hey,” he says gently, “look at me. Please?”
Something about the way he says it makes me stop pretending. I lift my head.
His eyes are soft but serious, the kind of look that wraps around you like a hug. “You’re
okay, right?”
And just like that, the air changes.
My smile slips. I know what he’s asking without him having to say it. I look away, my voice
barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”
His face turns stern. “Emilia-”
“I know, but it’s okay,” It’s really not. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can feel Stone’s hands on me, taste the smell of his breath like a poison. See my brother’s sad smile that seems to haunt me in all my dreams.
But then I think of the look on Stone’s face when everything eventually comes crashing down on him. How warm Adrian sounded when he said my brother would be proud.
You know what? I think I really am okay.
His jaw flexes and I can more feel than guess the thought that crosses his mind. “No.”
“You can’t just let him ge
“I said no, Liam.” My voice goes sharp. “I don’t appreciate you acting like I’m some helpless
damsel.”
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“I never said that.”
“No, but you implied it.” I fold my arms. “Which is worse.” (
His jaw tightens. “Em, come on-”
“Don’t ‘Em‘ me. You think just because I’ve been quiet about everything, I can’t handle myself? That I need saving?”
“That’s not what I-”
But before we can dive headfirst into round fifty of our ongoing Liam vs Emilia: Who’s More Stubborn saga, the kitchen door creaks open.
“Oh,” Lacey squeaks, her voice an octave higher than usual. She’s holding an already half- empty bottle of wine and looks like she just walked in on a live grenade. “I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place. I can leave if-”
“No, it’s fine,” I cut in, stepping back. My tone softens, a bit embarrassed now that our
argument has an audience. “We were just…talking.”
Liam snorts, under his breath. “If that’s what we’re calling it now.”
I shoot him a glare.
Lacey glances between us, clearly debating whether to run or stay. “Okay, well… I brought some wine. And I’m emotionally fragile, so if you start yelling again, I will cry.”
That gets a small laugh out of me. Liam mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “same,” then runs a hand through his hair and walks over to wash his hands.
Lacey plops the bottle on the counter. “So. Kitchen fight club aside… what are we making?”
Liam doesn’t answer. His attention is fixed on his sauce like it personally offended him. His jaw ticks, his shoulders are tense, and every so often, he glances my way – sharp, unreadable looks I make a point of ignoring.
–
“Liam’s making some kind of sauce,” I say, my voice tighter than I’d like. Lacey doesn’t notice or if she does, she’s too tipsy to care. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s got that dreamy, floaty look that means she’s long past one glass. I lean in close enough to catch a whiff of her perfume, it smells so unique I can’t stop myself from asking: “Did you change your perfume?”
“No, it’s Céline’s. I just borrowed it.” I don’t notice Liam tense up at her words. Then at
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Liam: “Is it Julie’s recipe?” she slurs, propping her head up with one hand while the other works the cork loose. She takes a long pull straight from the bottle like it’s apple juice.
“Yes,” Liam finally says, clipped. He spares her a once–over, then wipes his hands and strides over. Without hesitation, he plucks the bottle from her hand.
“Hey!” she whines, half–heartedly reaching for it. He doesn’t even flinch.
“You shouldn’t be this drunk. It’s barely afternoon,” he says, already walking to the sink.
Lacey sits up, alarmed. “Wait- no, don’t-”
But he does. He pours the wine out in one smooth motion, not even looking at her.
“Wha- fuck you!” she shrieks, hands thrown in the air like he just burned her childhood diary. “That was mine!”
Liam doesn’t respond. The bottle clinks against the sink as he sets it down, done with the
conversation.
Lacey glares at him, then flops back against the stool with a dramatic sigh. “God, you’re
the worst. I hope your sauce burns.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Who’s Julie?”
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