Page 58 of Never Fall for an Angel

“Christian . . .” Bella starts, concern in her voice. “I want us to be a family. Arealfamily.”

“We are a family,” I reply, even if I know what she means. “I’ll always have your back. Even if you don’t see it.”

“I want us to be a family that spends time together.”

I look across the water, watching the steady flicker of the lights in the cottage window.

“We will be. Soon.”

She starts to argue her point, but I cut her off.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

I hang up before she can respond, gritting my teeth while I start the car back up. Lead fills my chest at the thought of another silent night, sitting in front of the fire until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. Watching . . . Waiting . . . while the little blonde upstairs cries in her sleep.

If she knew what I’d do for her, she’d be fucking terrified of me. Maybe I should tell her. End this dumbass idea in my head that I can ever give her what she fucking deserves.

Unfortunately . . . I’m not that selfless.

And I’m fucking obsessed.

MILA

Inever thought the simple sound of a door closing would send a shiver down my spine until this very moment.

I’ve been cooking—a real meal. I wanted to do something nice for Christian since he took care of me. I mean, not that he doesn’t have to, he literally kidnapped me . . . I just know as far as captivity goes, this situation could be worse.

And . . . maybe I also wanted to find a bit of common ground between us.

“You’ve been busy,” he murmurs from behind me, and a shiver of awareness slips up my spine.

My stomach twists uncomfortably.

“I . . . thought you might be hungry.”

Turning around, I find him leaning against the door. His eyes sweep over my bare toes, up my legs covered in his sweats, and to another one of his T-shirts I’m wearing. Something dark flashes across his gaze before that look of indifference slides into place, but I saw it.

Maybe I mean something more to him than he’s willing to let on. For some reason, the thought makes my heart flutter.

Idiot.

“Looks good,” he says, stepping into the kitchen and going to the liquor cabinet on the wall. He gets out a decorated crystal lowball glass and a wine glass before filling both while I turn away to hide the blush on my cheeks. By the time I’m setting our plates on the table, he’s returning with our drinks, and I’m actually grateful for the wine he offers me.

When we sit at the table on opposite sides, a silence falls over the room that’s impossible to ignore.

“Did you . . . get everything you needed?” I ask, taking a bite of chicken even though I can’t taste it over the nerves fluttering in my stomach.

“You could say that,” he murmurs, taking a bite while I watch him. If it’s awful, he doesn’t show it.

We sit in silence for a moment, both of us too engrossed in our own thoughts to pay attention to each other. At least, I am.

“Spit it out, Mila.”

I take a drink of the wine, and I’m not surprised that it’s delicious. Seems like everything he gives me is laced with shit that makes me never want to leave.

Exceptfor that awful beef stew.

“Are . . . are you going to kill me?”

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