Page 7 of Deceitful Promises

I almost throw something at him, but there’s nothing on hand. Folding my arms, I lean against the blankets, desperatelywanting to lie down and sleep. I shouldn’t feel comfortable enough around this stranger to eventhinkabout sleeping.

“How long is this flight?”

“Several hours,” he replies. “Rest if you want.”

It’s like he can read my mind, but then I shake my head. “So you can … take advantage?”

He shakes his head in disgust. “I’m not some Bratva trafficking pimp, Ania. I’m not like them.”

“My brothers aren’t pimps.” When he just shrugs, I add, “Stepbro.”

For some reason, this seems to bother him. Maybe it’s because he’s spun a ridiculous tale for me about my mom, and every time I saystepbro, it reminds him of the lie. That would mean there’s some humanity in him, and I can’t afford to assume that.

I need to get ready to fight, but just thinking that seems ridiculous. He’s so much bigger than me and calmer. He looks constantly on the edge, getting ready for something.

Even with that knowledge, sleep still tugs at me. He goes back to whittling, blowing on the emerging shape so that little pieces of wood dance and flake in the air. We’re quiet for some time, but then we hit some turbulence again, and I can’t help it. Usually, I’m a chatterbox when I’m nervous, but I’m trying to contain some of it.

“What are you making?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. A person, I think.”

“But you don’t know what, exactly?” I ask.

“I never do,” he replies in a husky voice that makes him seem poetic and more handsome. No, notmorehandsome. Nothandsome, full stop. “I just let my hand move, and whatever emerges, emerges.”

“So you’re an artistanda kidnapper, bro?”

He frowns, making me wish I could take the comment back. Then I realize that means I need to calm down. I shouldn’t be feelingguiltyabout anything I say to him.

“You seem to enjoy trying to antagonize people,” he says.

“Nah, I don’t enjoytryingto. Just actually doing it, my sweet, loving stepbrother.”

He grits his teeth, focusing on his work. I try my best to glare at him, but keeping up that level of aggression for long is challenging when so many other feelings flurry through me. I’m not sure how much time passes with us in this standoff, me staring at him, him working diligently on his craft. Then, as I watch, the piece of wood transforms into the silhouette of a ballerina, wood shavings all around Aiden’s chunky black boots. There’s something weirdly romantic about it, but then he moves as though to toss it into the trash.

“What are you doing?” I say.

“I never keep them,” he mutters. “Just a way to pass the time.”

“But …”

I try to warn myself to shut the hell up. I don’t want him to think I care, even about some silly goofball carvings. Yet there’s something in me that wants that carving. I don’t even know why. It’s beautiful in a subtle way, and something is appealing about the fact that it came from somebody so savage.

“Do you mind if I …” I can’t even finish the sentence.

He tilts his head at me, looking suspicious. Then he shrugs as though it’s no big deal. He tosses it to me. I try to catch it, but I’m tired and sleepy. I miss it, and the carving bounces off my forehead. It’s a light piece of wood. I barely feel it. Suddenly, Aiden rushes over to me, kneeling at my side.

“Ania?” he says tightly, panic in his voice, softly touching my face in a way that makes me want to be his, underhisprotection. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …”

His touch is warm against my skin, shivers dancing over my cheeks and neck and tingling all over me. He looks mortified as he stares down, as though he thinks he just seriously threatened my life. I almost say, “So kidnapping is okay, but this isn’t?” But I don’t want to hurt his feelings or shatter this moment, which is N-U-T-S.

“I’m fine,” I tell him. “I’m not even bleeding.”

He leans back, nodding, but he still looks disgusted with himself. “Well, you can have it, for what it’s worth.”

Returning to his seat, he takes another small piece of wood from his pocket and starts chipping away at it again.

“You can sleep if you want,” he says after a moment, watching me.

---