Page 39 of 10 Days to Surrender

Look at you, you wreck of a man. You can barely dice a fucking onion without your shoulder screaming like a banshee.

Footsteps creak on the stairs. I tense, expecting Ariel’s voice. Expecting another fight.

But it’s Jasmine who drifts into the kitchen, barefoot and wrapped in one of the villa’s threadbare quilts. She eyes the simmering pot, then me.

“Punishing yourself?” she asks with a glance at the bloody rag in my hand.

“Just testing the knife.”

She arches a brow. “And?”

“It works.”

She laughs breezily and takes a seat at one of the counter stools. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

I look at the risotto simmering in a skillet on the stove top. The smell of butter and blooming garlic fills the kitchen with a warmth of its own. “I dabble.”

“Sure you’re not planning on poisoning us?”

“You and Ariel really are related; she asked me the exact same thing.” I laugh and stir the arborio rice. “I didn’t duck bullets with the two of you just to feed you arsenic now that we’re safe.”

“Ahhh,arsenic,that’s what I’m smelling.” She looks at me, a smile playing across her face. Her eyes—same green as her sister’s, but frosted by fifteen years of watching over her shoulder—track every movement.

“My secret ingredient.”

“That, and love, right?” Jasmine chuckles. “Ari said you kidnapped her bright and early this morning.”

“She said that word? ‘Kidnapped’?”

“I may be paraphrasing.” Her gaze flicks to the peach where I left it in the bowl. “You know she’s allergic, right?”

I pause mid-stir. “What?”

“Oh, yeah. Big time. If she’s even within the vicinity of a peach, her lips start swelling up like she got stung by bees. Guess you’re not as omniscient as you think, Mr. Ozerov.”

I’m already lunging for the peach and cursing under my breath, ready to launch it over the mountains, when I glance up and realize that Jasmine is laughing.

I scowl and let my hand go slack as the pieces click. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I wanted to see how you’d react,” she confirms as she doubles over, wheezing and clutching her ribs. “You did not disappoint.”

My scowl remains fixed in place as I turn back to the risotto and resume stirring. “Glad I could amuse you.”

“It’s cute, though. Honestly. You looked at that peach like you wanted to murder it for the sheer audacity.”

I glance over again and see it lying there, orange and innocent, fuzz glowing in the afternoon light.

So what if I did want to murder it? What if it did make a unique flavor of anger rise up in my stomach, to think of this stupid fucking fruit causing Ariel so much as a millisecond of discomfort? Who the hell cares?

Jasmine reaches over to scoop it up and toss it back and forth between her hands. “She loves peaches, actually. Question for you: Is it a hair color thing? ‘Cause she’s really more auburn than peachy. Or is it more like a symbol? Like, she’s a forbidden fruit, Garden of Eden-style?” Her nose wrinkles up. “Just don’t tell me it’s a sex thing. Turns out you never really outgrow the ick factor of imagining your siblings getting after it.”

“It’s just a fruit.” I don’t look up at her.

“Right. Right. Of course it is.”

“Look, if you’re here to rile me up?—”

“Actually, I’m here because we’re long overdue for a chat.” She sets the peach down with a softthud. “Fifteen years, Sasha Ozerov. That’s how long it’s been since you dumped me in Marseille with a fake passport and a ‘don’t look back.’Now, you’re at my door again, mucking things up, as per usual. And I once again cannot decide whether to thank you or hit you over the head with a blunt object.”

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