Page 39 of The Stalking King

After a shower, I change into a dress, taking it from a box marked clothes.

I walk downstairs to find he’s already plated the food. He stands when I enter, his eyes fixed on me as if I’m wearing the most beautiful dress he’s ever seen. I haven’t washed my hair, but I’ve let it down and brushed it.

“Beautiful,” he says fiercely.

“Good enough for a first date, at least,” I say.

He walks around the table, pulling my chair out for me.

“A first date,” he repeats, sitting. “That’s something I haven’t done in a long, long time.”

“Why?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I tried for a few years. It would be a good thing, I thought, to have someone to share this life with. But it always felt too awkward. Like I was altered by this life. Like I had to try too hard. I didn’t want to inflict that on a woman. My distance. My coldness.”

“You don’t seem cold, Maksim,” I point out.

He smiles. “Yeah, that’s the point.”

A flush colors my cheeks. I cut a piece of lasagna, blow on it, then take a bite. It’s delicious, and I make sure to make the right noises to let him know. His smile widens. It’s such a handsome sight, his happiness so plainly on display. It feels like a victory, gifting this grim man joy.

“What do you do when you’re not working?” he asks. He must see my face, because he quickly says, “Or is that a stupid question?”

“I used to be in a book club,” I tell him. “And I’d go hiking with my friends. But ever since Evan… I’ve been so busy. It’s too easy for people to drift out of each other’s lives. But I love reading.”

“What sort of books?”

I bite another mouthful, savoring the taste. “Medical thrillers, marriage thrillers, psychological thrillers,” I say. “Medical thrillers are my favorite. Well, right now. I’ve been reading the same book for two months, a few pages a night. Sometimes, just one or two.”

“Why do you love thrillers so much?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I just do.” He gives me that I-see-you look. “What?” I laugh.

“I think you like thrillers because you need chaos, Lia. I know the feeling.”

“You read thrillers too?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve read many, many books in my life, but they’re mostly big, boring non-fiction tomes. I was talking about the chaos.”

“I suppose I do thrive on chaos,” I murmur. “I’m not going to know what hit me the next time I take a day off.”

“Which you should do immediately,” he says, concern in his voice.

I think about his offer of money, about my proud refusal. It’s tempting to take him up on it, to let him take care of me.

“Did you make this, by the way?” I swallow another tasty bite.

He smirks, looking cheeky, boyish, far younger than his forty-five years.

“Maksim!”

“It came from a restaurant with two Michelin stars. I wanted the best for you.”

“Well, I’ve got it.”

“I reheated it, if that helps.”

I laugh so hard I almost shoot lasagna across the room. He chuckles, watching me.