Page 131 of Plaything

“Breakfast is in a few hours,” I comforted. “Unless you’d rather go eat now—”

A loud sound coming from her rumbling stomach cut me off, and I widened my eyes. Note to self: always feed Odette.

I hated that she didn’t eat dinner—at a dinner party—but if I had a heart as big as hers and emotions just as fragile, my appetite would be ruined, too.

“Maybe I’ll just go grab something real quick,” she decided, moving to get out of bed.

Eyeing her cautiously, I pondered what scenarios could happen if she went downstairs immediately after our conversation with Vincent. Now that we had an idea of what happened and with little time to process it, she might be bombarded with questions. As well intended as those questions may be, it might come off as an interrogation. “I can grab you something, Doll,” I bargained, hoping she’d take the bait.

No one wanted to interrogate, question, and pry more than I, but there was a way to have this conversation. It wasn’t the proper time. Not for her, who had a fucked day, had sex for the first time, and she was hungry. And not for us who were all inherently protective, learned what happened two minutes ago, and had murder on our minds. We’d also have to mention that we violated her privacy by asking Vincent about tonight.

With a gentle shake of her head and a tired smile, she declined. “I’m pretty sure eating in bed is a crime—crumbs,” she shrugged.

Deciding I couldn’t stop her, I prepared myself for what I hoped wouldn’t be a complete disaster. “What are you hungry for?” I asked, placing my hand on the small of her back as I led her downstairs.

I took note of a very subtle limp as she walked, almost as if she was trying not to limp. I bit back a smirk, eager to watch her crumble tomorrow—or whenever the fuckathon began. I hadn’t had sex that was so... vanilla since I was probably a preteen. If that made her limp, I hoped she was just sore from it being her first time. If not, she’d shatter like glass with us.

“I don’t know,” she dismissed. “Whatever leftovers we have,” she decided.

All eyes were on her as we descended the steps. Those idiots weren’t subtle with their confused expressions, either. To their credit, they probably weren’t worried about saving face. They had questions and needed answers.

She couldn’t see me behind her, so I pretended to eat something and pointed to her. Hopefully, they understood ‘she’s hungry and not down here to talk about tonight’s events or the assumed sexual assault.’

Niko stood quickly, clearly understanding my charade. Food was his love language, and it was his turn to do his thing. “Tired of Aiden already?” He teased.

A small, breathy laugh left her lips as she shook her head. “Not quite; I got hungry,” she admitted. I was sure it was music to his ears.

A fake, shocked face overtook his features as he grabbed her hand and stole her away from me. “You’ve come to the right place, I have the perfect virginity food—”

“Cherries?” She deadpanned.

“Pop-Tarts,” he smirked. “And while you’re eating them, I can play you that Akon and Lonely Island song,” he continued to tease, horrendously beginning to belt out the crude, humorous lyrics.

It was relieving to hear her laugh. I didn’t think I’d hear that tonight. God, I was grateful for Niko and his ability to turn a mood.

I followed behind them, with Wyatt and Dominic behind me. We watched her attempt to cover his mouth and stop his teasing, but her efforts went to waste. She was sat on a stool at the counter. It was only when a toasted pair of Pop-Tarts were set in front of her that Niko finished the song.

“So, what did you have for dinner?” Niko asked, and my hopes that this wouldn’t turn into an interview crumbled. He knew she didn’t eat, and this was his segue to why.

We were all on one side of the counter, and she was on the opposite. I moved to the end of the counter so she’d feel less intimidated when this went south. No one had the intention of ganging up on her, but that was how it could feel to her. Also, this spot gave me a view of everyone—hence why I wasn’t sitting next to her.

Odette’s eyes quickly shifted to her food before looking back at Niko nonchalantly. “They served soup and salad,” she cleverly replied.

Despite her work around verbiage, Niko seemed put off. “Soup and salad...” he repeated with distaste. “What, did the supermarket run out of filet mignon?” He pried. I hadn’t even thought of that when she answered. All the money her father had, the time he must’ve spent planning the event, and a wealthy man’s need to impress... didn’t call for soup and salad.

Using her palm to rub the sleep out of her eyes, she answered, “Nope, everyone else got something different. I’m special and got a salad.” She laughed, but her tone was not humorous.

That motherfucker. Had Charles been doing that her entire life? I couldn’t imagine having to go through that as a teenager. I was sure he created an eating disorder or at least a complex.

I didn’t care that he was her father—she was no longer allowed to see him. As long as we had something to say about it—and none of us planned on letting her go—she would be safe from him for the rest of his miserable short months.

“Can you tell us what happened tonight?” Wyatt asked gently, which shocked me. For as pissed off as we all were, this was very much a Hyde situation, and I applauded him for keeping himself composed. “As horrible as the salad detail is, I don’t think that’s what set you off, Baby,” he reasoned. Even with our knowledge of what Vincent told us, he looked concerned and genuinely curious. His eyes showed sincerity and gentleness, which would have taken me immense effort to express.

Fuck, this was going better than I expected. If it wasn’t for the permanent glare on Dominic’s mug, I’d call it a success—so far.

Her next move was a mystery to me as she stared at Wyatt and nibbled on the corner of the square-shaped treat. Sharing her life, especially the issues in it, was difficult for her. It wasn’t a matter of trust. She trusted us; I was confident of that. Wyatt said it best earlier: She didn’t want anyone to worry or to be a burden. That was why I couldn’t figure out if she would tell us or brush it off.

She was clearly trying to figure out what to say if she decided to say anything to us at all. Her eyes finally moved away from Wyatt, where she locked eyes with the rest of us for a few seconds. Two minutes had passed since anyone spoke, and I doubted she was aware it’d been so long. She was overthinking, something she did often.

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