Steam is still curling thick in the air when Lucien grabs a towel from the rack. He unfolds it and then, without a word, wraps it snugly around my chest. The towel is settling just right, giving me a small measure of privacy in the steamy bathroom.
The warmth of the towel is nothing compared to the heat simmering beneath my skin from Lucien's touch. The way his fingers linger longer than necessary as he smooths the towel flat across my ribs makes my pulse quicken.
I can feel the faint tremor of nerves mixing with something else...something raw and unpredictable that isn't just from the chill of the steam. "Come on," Lucien says, like a warning wrapped in a promise.
I hesitate for a split second, exhaustion and the ache in my ankle making me stop. However, the firm pressure of Lucien's hand on my lower back urges me to move forward.
There is no gentleness in his touch because he is not holding me like a fragile thing but a possession to be managed, moved with purpose. Lucien makes me walk to the closet. The air is cooler and less humid, but the electricity between us feels thicker than ever.
Lucien is not saying anything; just start pulling out clothes...sweater and jeans. He turns to help me get dressed, his fingers brushing against my skin in ways that make me catch my breath.
He holds out a sweater, his fingers trailing briefly along the curve of my ribs as he helps me slip it over one arm. The contact is casual, but it is sending jolts through me. I feel exposed, yet somehow more seen than I'd been in a shower.
Next, Lucien's hands move to help with the jeans. He pulls the waistband up over my ass, and for a moment, his palms press a little firmer against my skin. The touch is quick, like he is steadying my balance rather than lingering, but the electric shock it sends through my nerves is anything but brief.
He is not looking at me like some possessive or lost-in-desire man. No, his expression is unreadable, like he is completing a task. But every brush of his finger, the sensation across my back, along my ribs, and over the curve of my waist feels like a spark in dry tinder.
My heart is hammering against my ribs; I keep my eyes on the floor and try to steady the rapid flutter of my pulse. When he finishes helping me dress, he steps back and crosses his arms. "So," his voice is rough now. "Dinner?"
I shift my weight onto the good leg. "I can't walk all the way to the dining room." I mutter, "But I am starving."
Lucien nods. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
After about ten minutes, we are having dinner in my room, and Lucien has changed his clothes as well.
I keep staring at Lucien, silently, as my mind is spinning faster than the amber liquid in my glass. Get what you want, Anaya. Don't play dumb. He is sharp, and why wouldn't he be? He is the king of this mansion. Rules the mafia. He sees through hesitation or lies in a second. Be calm. Be confident. Trust is a game. You have to win it.
Lucien finally breaks the silence after sipping his wine. "Don't tell me now you want a phone to pass time in this mansion."
I shake my head instantly. "Nope. I'll never ask for a phone. Don't worry. I may return to you if you give me." I look at him like I am daring him to doubt me.
Lucien narrows his eyes. "Really? And why is that?"
I tell him the truth smoothly. "Because I don't have anyone to get in touch with. You know my life story."
I can tell by the way his mouth twitches that he is processing my answer, trying to figure out if it is real or another layer of me. Or maybe it is the little crack in the armor.
"And what if you want to get in touch with me?" Lucien asks, and he seems curious as well.
I shrug, trying to play cool. "So, I'll walk up to your wing. It doesn't feel like you are hard to find." My tone is casual, but inside, I am calculating my every word.
A rare softness flickers in his eyes. "But I'm not always present in the mansion. Sometimes I don't come back for days."
This is new info. Something I didn't expect. It gives me an edge, a glimpse of hope for my ultimate goal.
I maintain my calm, although a flicker of satisfaction warms my chest. "Then I'll wait for you."
Lucien stares at me. "So, what do you want then? I know you've got this look. You want something."
I look at him, no blink, no falter. "After fighting, I wanna learn shooting. Like Clara and Beatrice."
Lucien drains his glass, then sets it down on the counter with a soft clunk. "Shooting, huh? You are serious."
I nod. His eyes sharpen. "But why?"
I take a deep breath. "Because you gotta be able to fight smart. Fists aren't enough."
I shrug, but inside my heart is pounding not with fear but with the rush of progress. This is it. You're getting the hang of it, Anaya Brooks. Don't lose it now.
Lucien and I finish our dinner and drinks; he wipes his mouth with a napkin and stands up. "I'll see what I can do about it."
I smile, place my weight on my hands, and then stand up. "Good night, Lucien."
I feel a knot in my stomach ease just a little. I have taken another step toward owning my fate. He walks out of the room, and I go to bed after taking my medicine.
When I wake, I have a smile on my face for no reason. I sit up and stretch myself. I am tangled in my sheet when I hear a soft knock at the door. I am sure this is not Lucien because he doesn't believe in the concept of knocking or privacy.
Before I can say Come in, the door cracks open and Viviana steps inside, balancing a silver tray. Steaming coffee, toast, fresh berries, and something that grabs my attention: a croissant.
"Morning, Viviana," I say politely because I know she'll die if she talks to me. But I continue anyway. "You didn't have to bring it here. I was planning to come down."
She looks at me. "Lucien asks me to do it."
She sets the tray down on the table by the window. I raise my brow and nod. "Sounds like Lucien cares about my well-being."
Viviana looks into my eyes. "If he didn't, you wouldn't be here, or you wouldn't be here like this. Also, don't cloud your judgment with any of his gestures."
Before I open my mouth, the door shuts softly behind her, leaving me staring at the breakfast like it holds some kind of answer.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?