Page 36 of Paper Thin Love

“I said the pizza.”

“I…I can’t eat pizza.”

His eyes narrow.“Why?”

Lose two pounds, Mila.I hear Mr. Leblanc’s words echo in my mind.“I’m on a strict diet for ballet. High protein.” I poke at the beans and tofu in my salad.

“Pick up that pizza, or I’ll do it for you,” Dash warns.

Where is my fight now?

I do as he says. The grease sinks into my fingers. It smells delicious. God, it’s been years since I ate pizza.

“I shouldn’t,” I whisper hesitantly.

“Open your mouth. Do it.”

I want to. So I do.

I sink my teeth into the hot cheese and moan. Oh, it’s good. Too good. I start to chew and then realize what I’m doing.

“Don’t,” Dash warns.“I don’t know who is making you so thin you could break with one wrong step. I see your muscles, but I also see too many of your bones. Eat, Mila. Enjoy. Life can be short or, if you’re unlucky, painfully long. So eat the pizza and stop making yourself feel guilty over it.”

You see, when he speaks like that, I think he’s trying to be my friend, trying to fix what is broken.

I hesitate, the cheese melting into my tastebuds. How can he see me so well? I want to cry. I want to thank him.

“Swallow,” he says. His glare darkens and sparks with delight as he watches the bite roll down my throat.

The slice hovers in my hand.“I can’t eat like this every day. I have to maintain a dancer’s body.”

I can tell he wants to reply, but his eyes dart over my shoulder, and then the whispers heighten. Chairs squeak against the floor as if rushing to watch the bloodbath about to begin.

I drop my pizza, happy I indulged before I die. Footsteps sound up from the dais, and then two imposing figures pause at their normal chairs. Dante and Cillian have arrived… and so has my death.

Their eyes skim from Dash to me, then back to Dash.

Dante is the first to grab his usual chair, calmly sinking into it like a jewel being placed into a ring mounting. It is such a perfect fit—a throne for a future ruler.

Cillian follows with a creak of the chair under his weight. I catch sight of his meaty hands that will snap my neck in a second.

My heart is trying to escape through my ears. I find my hand drifting under the table, searching for Dash’s. His fingers twitch when I grasp his hand. He doesn’t push mine away; instead, he covers my hand with his warm palm, as if reassuring me.

“King,” Dante purrs. At least his accent is calming.

“De Luca,” Dash replies in a cold, sharp tone.“Collins.” He regards Cillian now.

Cillian grabs his steel knife, slowly places it onto the top of his sirloin, and begins to cut. Red juice seeps out, making me never want to eat meat again.

Will he take his time cutting me up to bits?

Dash reaches out for a French fry and pops it into his mouth. I look at Dante, who slowly grins as he suddenly pushes back his chair, stands, and rounds the table, stopping directly in front of Dash. Cillian stops eating and stands, too.

I, on the other hand, the only sane one here, am about to pass out from hyperventilation. This is it. They are going to kill us right on the table to make a show of us. Everyone is watching, waiting, bracing themselves to run for cover or join the fight.

“It’s about time,” Dante grins, causing Dash to stop eating fries.“You fucked up enough to get your ass here.” Dante’s feral smirk turns…friendly.

Huh?

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