Page 75 of Kept in the Dark
She’s engaged to one of these guys? But she seems so… normal. I let my hand fall with the silence that settles around us, and glance behind her at the pans on the fire. “So you’re, like, the cook?” I ask, then I wince because I didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so snooty.
But she just smiles brightly. “Mhm. Are you hungry?”
“I am, but I’m a vegetarian,” I admit with a bit of regret. I’m just as sure that whatever she’s making smells divine as I am that it used to moo. Not that I don’t make concessions when I have to—like on a carnivore’s houseboat with no other options—but now that I have the luxury of choice back, I’m eager to get back to my normal diet.
“What?” she gasps, turning accusatory eyes on the door where Dimitri exited. “He didn’t tell me that when he asked me to make you a sandwich!”
Suddenly, I’m not even a little bit surprised that she’s the one who made it for me. It was too good to have been made by someone who seemed just fine with chalky protein bars and pepper-flavored desiccated cow meat. “He didn’t know…” I trail off, self-conscious about defending him against this woman who clearly knows him so well. “It’s not for religious reasons or anything, just a preference. It started as a texture thing, and then it became a habit.”
“Of course. Have a seat. I’ll make you a plate and we can chat!” She turns back to the stove, carefully lifting the fried shallots out of the oil with a slotted spoon.
When I say nothing, she continues to fill the silence with her disarming, lighthearted rambling. “Sorry if that came off weird and eager, I’m just drowning in a sea of testosterone, here. I can’t wait to talk to someone who isn’t going to scratch his balls or pull out a gun to clean it in the middle of a conversation.”
I snort, shake my head at how strange my life has become, then turn to take in my surroundings as I move towards the seat she indicated. I look around the room, at the small mess on the island counter, thechairs askew around the dining table, and the pans in the sink. It’s clear that despite the grandeur, regular people live here—there’s something comforting about that.
My gaze drifts out to the rolling grass visible through the wall of windows. At least it’s a nice place to be holed up with mafia men after you.
“Do you eat eggs? Dairy?”
“Yeah.” I slide into the seat at the literal-island-sized marble kitchen island so I can watch her cook.
“Hope an omelet is okay. I’ll add some meatless protein to our next grocery order, since I guess you might be staying a while.”
The thought of someone making me food and going out of her way to make concessions to my dietary restrictions makes me uncomfortable. She doesn’t owe me anything. Why would she do that? It feels almost calculated, like her friendliness is supposed to help lower my guard.
Especially when she says, “So you saw Dimitri kill a guy, huh? We should start a club.”
Maybe it’s the acknowledgement of the elephant in the room, but I’m so shocked I can’t speak for several seconds. “He told you that? What else do you know?”
When she replies, her head is in the fridge, so it’s muffled at first. “Um… Mac told me. He said there might be some pretty nasty people after you. Something about a USB?” The door closes with a soft snick, and she emerges with several eggs, some half and half, and a block of cheese in her hands.
“I guess that’s the gist of my story. I don’t really feel like getting into any of the details. It’s too… raw.”
She sets the things in her arms on the counter, then shoots me a conciliatory look as she cracks eggs into a bowl. “I get that.”
“What’s your story? Not to be rude, but you seem like a fairly normal person. How is it that you’re engaged toa…”
Her eyes snap up to meet mine, and the whisk in her hand stills. “Dangerous man?” she supplies, with a smile that falls short of her eyes. “I’ll save you the whole saga, but our stories have similar beginnings—wrong place, wrong time. I was minding my own damn business, and I caught Mac in my apartment with a sniper rifle one night. It all kind of spiraled from there.”
It’s not what I was expecting her to say, and it’s a kick to the stomach. “So, you know how this feels?”
“Yeah, I do.” Her voice is so kind, it actually hurts.
“How did you… I mean, you seem very well-adjusted. How did you—”
“Cope?”
“Yeah.” My eyes prickle, and I sniff once and look down.
I feel like I’ve been treading water with weights on my feet. Being able to talk to someone who understands is a comfort I didn’t dare let myself hope for, and now that I don’t have to just suppress everything, it’s dredging up a lot of unpleasant emotions.
She considers it, lifting the back of her hand to brush her bangs out of her eyes. “Well, I definitely spent a lot of time feeling pretty sorry for myself and being mad at Mac for dragging me into all this.”
Check and check.
“But eventually I realized that being mad at the person who was actually on my side was kind of silly. He didn’tmeanto involve me, and I definitely wouldn’t have gotten through it without him. He helped me find perspective and a strength I didn’t see in myself before.” She stops, then rolls her eyes. “God, that was so fucking precious. Sorry, I’m prone to serious mushiness. I just… love him, ya know? And Wes and Dimitri, too. They’re like my family now.”
She chops vegetables, and I watch her silently for a moment, digesting that. “You seem very close with Dimitri.”
