Page 60 of Sold to My Ex's Brother
I sit up. “What?”
She repeats herself, but it is not the fact of what she is saying that surprises me—but the idea that he wants to see me, after the confrontation we’d had just a couple of days before.
I still don’t know where we stand, just that he has been keeping his distance like his life depends on it. I have heard no mentionof me going to my old place, or the guards escorting me anywhere, as a matter of fact, and I figured that he had just closed himself off the possibility and that I would need to find another method of approach that would actually get through to him.
And yet...
“Uh, I’ll... I’ll be right there,” I tell her, straightening up and glancing around the room as I search out some clothes that might make for a good dinner outfit.
God, I have no idea what I’m supposed to wear, and I feel like my head is going to burst as she backs out of the room and leaves me to get ready. My mind spins as I dress myself, and I’m already practicing how to phrase my demands a little more sweetly as I make my way down the corridor and to the dining room.
The first thing that strikes me is that there are no guards on the door. Strange, I would have thought that he’d have had this place locked out and locked down in any way he could, just to make certain that there would be nobody would interrupt whatever it is he has to say to me.
But, as I plant my hand on the door and push it open, my eyebrows raise at the sight waiting for me on the other side.
The dining room looks like it has been turned into some fine-dining establishment. Candles flicker on the table, and there is a white cloth laid out beneath it; the food could have been plucked straight from a glossy editorial, and it smells even more delicious, fragrant garlic and delicate mushroom wafting through the air.
And there, at the end of the table, he stands, waiting for me. He is wearing a suit that fits him perfectly, drawing attention to hisbroad shoulders and the way they taper down into his narrower waist. He grins when he sees me, and despite the tension that has been floating between us, I can’t help but return it.
“Hey,” he greets me, and I tuck a loose strand of hair back behind my ear, gesturing down to my outfit.
“I would have dressed up, if I had known you were going to go all-out,” I joke. I’m wearing a shirt and a pair of jeans, hardly the kind of thing that seems suitable for something as beautiful as this, but maybe it’s for the best that I didn’t know in advance. Knowing me, I would have found some way to desperately overthink it, and right now, I can’t help but feel a little flutter of hope in my chest.
He pours me a glass of sparkling water and pushes it across the table towards me; I reach to take it from him, and our fingertips connect for a bare moment. I can feel that spark, the same spark there that set me alight on the very first night we met, and I can tell from the look on his face that it is just as real for him as it is for me.
“Anton,” I ask him softly, gesturing around. “What... what’s all this for?”
“I can’t have dinner with the mother of my child without it having to mean something?” he asks, though I can tell from the tone in his voice that he is only kidding. He knows the weight this carries, the first time he has really reached out to me since the day we clashed over him keeping me here.
“Eat, Maya,” he insists gently. “I’ve been cooking all day.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You made all of this?”
“Of course,” he replies, as he takes a sip of his water. He says it as though it is obvious, that I was ridiculous for imagining for a moment that there could have been any other person behind such a feast, but it still comes as a bit of a surprise to know that he is so capable when it comes to the kitchen.
This man contains multitudes, there is no doubt about that, and I’m just beginning to uncover them. I tuck in, and groan as the delicious medley of flavors spreads across my tongue.
“It’s perfect,” I sigh, sipping on my water again, as he watches me from the far end of the table, fork poised over his food. He seems distracted, like there is something else on his mind—something rather more to do with me.
I place my cutlery down once more, dabbing at my lips with a napkin in the hopes of maintaining some decorum.
And, at last, I look at him again, and this time, I’m not going to let him duck my question.
“Anton,” I murmur, leaning forward slightly. “What’s... What is this about?”
He sinks back into his seat for a moment, sensing that he is going to need to come clean with me. “Luna came to me earlier this week.”
“Luna? The girl from the...?”
“One of the girls that Artem had, yes,” he replies, his voice darkening into a grim tone. “She came to me to...to ask for a job.”
I stare at him for a second, confused. “For a job? Like... dancing, or...?”
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “You think I’d want a dancer working for me?”
I lower my gaze again, conceding the point. “Sorry, I just thought...”
“No need to be sorry, I was as confused as you, when she came in,” he replies. “She wanted to work with me to help with the other women who were being freed from the shit that Artem had done to them. Wanted to do what she could to make it better for them. Easier. Said she knew how this world worked, and she would be an asset in the long-term.”
