10: Safe With... Him?

ALEXA

I awoke to the sound of classical music. I was in bed back in Killian's mansion, I realized. I sat up at the sight of Killian, who was standing in front of the doors leading to the balcony. He was shirtless. Therefore, I could see the intricate tattoos on his sculpted back and the faint scars underneath. He was gazing at the sky, one hand in the pocket of his slacks while he constantly flipped a metal lighter.

"I'm going to ask this once," he said, and I lowered my gaze, startled.

My eyes bulged in their sockets when I saw that I was no longer wearing my dress but Killian's shirt. It was becoming a habit. This wasn't good.

"Who was that man? Roman said he saw a man leaving the restroom," he said, and I gulped, Vincent's threat ringing in my head.

"It was Vincent, wasn't it?" He asked, and I tightened my grip on the sheets, my stomach churning.

"If you know this, why are you still asking?" I mumbled.

"Alexa," the sound of his deep voice sent chills trailing down my spine.

I looked up to meet his piercing gaze, trying to pretend that his presence didn't affect me.

"Tell me what the hell happened in that restroom, Alexa. And don't lie to me," he said, and I blinked.

My gaze drifted to the wall, and a memory slithered into my mind. A memory of Vincent slamming my head against the wall and choking me until I was so certain that I would die.

I didn't realize that Killian had moved to my side until I shoved him when he reached out to touch me. A shadow of anguish clouded his features, and my eyes widened. Was he pained because he hated that I flinched from him? Or was it something else?

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he silently searched my eyes. "Did he hit you?" He asked, and my breath caught in my throat.

I looked away from him, sensing him move away from me. He was pacing now, like a lion trapped in a cage. And suddenly he yelled, punching the wall. "Fuck!"

I should've flinched then, but I didn't.

Why did I feel safer with his rage than I ever had with Vincent's smile?

I squeezed my eyes shut, biting my lower lip as I folded in on myself.

I couldn't understand why he was reacting this way. If he had married me for revenge, why would he care if I'd been someone else's punching bag or not?

My stomach growled then, and I froze, my eyes popping open. Great timing. Good going, Alexa. I could feel Killing watching me now, and I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye.

Instead of saying anything, he quietly walked out of the room and shut the door behind him quietly. I groaned in embarrassment, collapsing back in bed. It was unnerving how many times he'd seen me in such a ridiculous state.

At this rate, he would easily get under my skin and delve into the layers I'd kept hidden.

A little while later, I smelled something delicious. My stomach grumbled louder, and I eased out of bed. Then I left the room.

I padded barefoot into the kitchen, still wearing his shirt, only to freeze at the sight of Killian standing by the stove.

He was cooking.

Actually cooking.

No maid. No private chef. Just him.

Garlic sizzled in a pan as the warm scent of olive oil and chilli flakes wrapped around me, making me hungrier.

"Pasta aglio e olio," he said without turning around. "It's the only thing I know how to make."

I blinked. "You cook?"

He finally glanced over his shoulder. "Not often. But I figured you wouldn't eat if someone else brought it in."

I didn't respond. Not because he was wrong but because he wasn't.

He turned back to the stove and stirred the spaghetti with a flick of his wrist that was far too graceful for a man who spent his life as a two-faced prick.

"I'm not going to poison you, Alexa," he added, plating the pasta onto two black ceramic dishes.

"You don't have to. Vincent's doing a fine job of that already," I muttered, instantly regretting how much I'd just revealed.

His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he placed a plate in front of me at the island and handed me a fork.

I stared at the meal for a second. It was simple but stunning.

I took a bite.

Then another.

And then, without meaning to, I whispered, "It's good."

A corner of his mouth lifted barely. But it was there.

"I make it when I can't sleep."

That caught me off guard.

"You cook when you're... anxious?" I asked, twirling another forkful.

He shrugged, leaning against the counter across from me. "Something about the rhythm. Boiling water. The smell of garlic. It keeps my hands busy."

I stared at him, really looking at him. And I hated how I noticed how stunning he was.

"You're weird," I said softly.

"You're one to talk," he replied. "You flinch from me like I'm going to hurt you, but you still sit down to eat my food."

"I'm not scared of you," I lied.

"I didn't say you were. I said, you flinch."

My appetite faltered for a second.

He lowered his gaze. "You shouldn't have had to go through what he did to you... and I can't undo it—"

"Then why did you marry me?" I blurted out.

Silence stretched between us for a moment.

Finally, he looked up, his gaze unreadable. "You'll know when I'm ready to tell you."

I exhaled shakily and tapped the empty plate with my fork.

"You're full?" he asked.

"I want more."

He studied me for a moment longer. Then he nodded, refilling my plate.

As he handed it over to me, I whispered, "Thank you."

He paused. "For the food?"

"For not asking me to explain why I didn't fight him."

Killian looked away, and I gaped at his side profile for a moment, wondering how he had longer eyelashes than I did. And worse, he didn't need to curl them or use mascara. Jerk.

His gaze snapped to mine. "What?" He asked, a confused expression on his face.

I felt my cheeks heat up as I proceeded to focus on my food. "Aren't you going to eat?" I mumbled, and he resumed eating.

And for the first time in my life, I felt normal. It was such a mundane act that I could've done with anyone. Yet, this was the first time I was experiencing the serenity of eating with someone I felt safe with. I froze then, my heart stuttering.

I felt safe with...him?

Just then, the soft click of the front door's keypad echoed down the hallway.

Killian stilled, his fork lowering to the plate with a barely audible clink.

Every muscle in his body tensed.

I froze too, a chill skating down my spine.

"Killian?!" A feminine voice yelled, and he cursed under his breath, frustration brewing in his eyes.

"Where's my pretty boy?!" She called out, and I nearly gagged. Pretty boy?!

Killian's eyes darted towards the doorway like a man who was preparing for war.

"She wasn't supposed to come here tonight," he muttered under his breath, and my stomach twisted.

Who the hell was she?