Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 143453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 717(@200wpm)___ 574(@250wpm)___ 478(@300wpm)
Too soon.
She’s not used to pain.
Fuck, she didn’t even know pain before I came along. I have to remind myself that I can’t break her…yet.
Her fashion today doesn’t help, though. She’s wearing a ruffled skirt that stops above her knees and an off-the-shoulder crop top that reveals her belly button. With the way I’m looking down at her, she appears so small that I could ruin her with a flogging.
No, mere biting would do.
Her translucent skin would become red, then purple—like her favorite fucking color.
“Unfortunately, I’m like the first daughter and have to be watched at all times, so this is the only type of date we can have until further notice.” She smiles up at me, the blue-gray of her eyes sparkling under the hint of sun. “Are you going to just stand there all day?”
With a sigh, I lower myself onto the edge of the blanket and grab some utensils. “Do you have to make everything so…purple?”
“Do you have to be grumpy about everything? Besides, purple is superior. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”
I stare at her, and usually, she’d break eye contact or try to talk her way out of the situation, but this time, she simply shakes her head as if I’m the one being unreasonable.
Then she pushes the fish and chips in my direction. “Look, I made your favorite. Totally had to beg Ces to teach me how to cook it over FaceTime, and it wasn’t really that hard. Also, people say I’m a horrible cook, and by people, I mean my family is included. Ava also says I should stick to salad, so I totally understand if you don’t want to eat it.”
Should’ve said that before she gave me that cursed lunch box. I opened the container and took a bite of food and basically swallowed it without chewing. I’m the number one non-picky eater on the planet. As long as it’s food, I’ll devour it, but Annika is a certified food terrorizer.
She should be banned from the kitchen.
I’m surprised my expression doesn’t change as the salty thing rolls down my throat. I take another bite before the first one is gone.
When I grab a bottle of water, I realize she’s watching me with big eyes and parted lips.
“How is it?”
“Not bad.” An overstatement. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever consumed and that’s saying something, considering Mum isn’t that great of a cook either.
But just like my mum, Annika made the effort for me. So that’s a positive, I think.
Her face falls and she toys with the straw in her cup. “Oh.”
Is it normal that I hate that type of expression on her face? It’s even more noticeable when it drastically changes from all bright and fucking glittery to complete dejection.
“It’s good.” I continue eating. “Just a little bit excessive on salt.”
Another understatement.
“Really?” She reaches a hand out but then stops. “Can I try it?”
“No.”
“Stop being so stingy. I just want to see how bad the salt is.”
“Still a no.”
She stabs the fork in her salad and stuffs her face with it, glaring at me from beneath her lashes.
I resist the urge to smile at her absolutely comical expression and open my water. It’s the first time I’ve seen someone with their emotions so out there that it’s become a bit intoxicating.
It’s so entertaining to provoke or rile her up just to see the noticeable change in her face.
We eat in silence for a beat, or more like I eat, then drink water almost at the same time.
Still, I wait for the peaceful phase to end in three, two, and one—
“I thought this would be a date, but apparently, I just set you up with food. Maybe I shouldn’t include anything to eat in the future.”
You shouldn’t cook anything in the future.
But I don’t say that and, instead, move on to the meatballs after I finish the first dish.
Annika’s still holding on to her salad for dear life.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, why do you enjoy food so much? Actually, I don’t know if you really enjoy it or if you just like the act of eating.”
I swallow the mouthful of the equally horrific meatballs and lift my head. “Why are you asking?”
“I want to get to know you better.”
What’s there to know?
Having been acquainted with her personality, I have no doubt she’ll bolt at the first sign of darkness.
She didn’t run from your fucked-up side yesterday. Or the time before that.
I ignore that small voice and mutter, “There’s no need to.”
“Uh, no. That’s not up to you to decide. Although I’m not sure what we are exactly, I am sure we’re something, and the rules say we have to open up to each other. So you might want to tell me or I’ll bug you.”
I raise a brow. “You’ll bug me, huh?”
“To death, mister. You can count on it. I’m nothing short of persistent. In fact, persistent should probably be my middle name.