Page 53 of The Sovereign: Part One
Satisfaction overtook his entire expression, although he tried to mask it.
Soon, the scent of caramelizing shallots and butter wrapped around me.I leaned against the galley island, arms folded, watching Maxim move with such confidence that made it impossible to look away.He belonged there, in my galley, like he had been a part of it all along.
He glanced up, catching me staring, and his mouth curved—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.
“Do I have something on my face?”he asked.
“No, I just enjoy watching you in the galley.”
His expression softened.
I exhaled, shaking my head.“This is ridiculous.”
“You say that, and yet you’re still watching me.”
“Imagine sitting at home, watching every dream you’ve ever had unfold before you, every hope for the future becoming real, every fantasy you held close taking shape in front of your eyes.I don’t know if I’ll ever stop appreciating that I’m finally living what I once only wished for.”
“I don’t ever want this to feel ordinary, for either of us.I hope we keep having these moments where reality struggles to catch up, where we find ourselves wondering if we’re dreaming or awake.”
I sat at the island, perching my elbow on the smooth surface and letting my jaw rest against my fist.“Me, too.”It was a poor attempt, but it was true.
His attention flicked past me to observe the weather, then toward the garden.“Tell me more about your atelier.”
I smiled, searching beyond the transpane.My rustic work shed was charming, weathered and practically antique, as if the district had been built around it.Its presence was a quiet defiance of Hyperion’s polished symmetry.Its exterior was a blend of aged nano-ceramic alloy and ultralite composite panels, softened by the vines that had slowly claimed its edges.Inside, the warm scent of cedar and old paint lingered, and the glow of embedded lighting cast shadows over shelves lined with canvases, pigments, and carefully arranged brushes.
“It’s where everything feels… untethered.When I step inside, I can let the colors blend, my brushstrokes are allowed to be imperfect.It smells like aged wood and turpentine, and there’s always a faint stain of paint on the floor no matter how careful I try to be.”
I let my fingers trail along the countertop as I spoke.“I fell in love with art when I was a child, sketches at first, then pigmented suspensions, and later, synthesis mediums.At some point, it became more than a hobby, it became the way I made sense of everything.It’s peaceful.Just me, the canvas, and the freedom to create without expectation or restraint.”
Maxim reached for a ladle, and I caught the way his eyes lingered on the atelier a beat longer before he returned to the task at hand.
“Would you mind?”he asked, gesturing toward the cutting board.
I straightened.“I thought you’d never ask.”
“You can zest the lemon and chop the tarragon.I’ll handle the rest.”
I moved to the counter, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him.The space between us didn’t seem to exist at all.When I reached for the lemon, his fingers brushed mine.When I turned to grab the tarragon, he kissed my forehead.A moment later, his hand skimmed the small of my back as he reached for a spoon.It was a rhythm, something unfolding between us in touches and glances, as if our bodies had a language of their own.
“You trust me with sharp objects?”I asked, raising a brow.“You won’t mind a nine-fingered accordant?”
Maxim smirked.“My programming includes expertise in trauma response, wound care, and emergency stabilization.”
“So, I’m in good hands then.”
“As long as they’re mine, yes,” he said, without an ounce of sarcasm.
I picked up the knife and sliced the tarragon into delicate ribbons, sneaking a glance at him to make sure I was doing it right.Maxim nodded approvingly, then turned back to the soup.As soon as his attention was elsewhere, I tossed him a shallot.He caught it without looking.
My laughter burst out, unrestrained.“Stop it!I don’t recall a preference for eyes in the back of your head!”
Maxim’s lips twitched, but he just continued to work, saying nothing.I grabbed another and moved to the other side of the island, trying my best to go unnoticed.I tossed one again, this time aiming for a direct hit.He caught that, too.
I cackled.
“You sure you want to pick a fight with me?”he warned, though his voice carried nothing but amusement.
“You’d let me win,” I said, walking toward him.
