Chapter 90
I look down at my hands. Finally, something is going right. “He told me himself the night he assaulted me.”
If possible, Toby’s body freezes up even more.
I turn to look at him, meeting his eyes, the hurt behind them and smile. “I know exactly where to hit Stone. Where it hurts,” I search his eyes for something I can’t explain. “Will you help me?”
EMILIA
The days on the cruise go by quickly.
Or maybe I’m the only one who sees it like that, maybe time isn’t passing quickly, it’s just that I don’t care enough anymore about everything that would have once killed me on the inside.
And this time feels different.
Because this time… I have Liam.
Liam, who isn’t scared to post public statements defending me. Liam, who shares pictures of us on his socials – even if it doesn’t stop the whispers from those articles or that mysterious “source,” he does it anyway, like he’s proud to be seen with me.
And I don’t feel anything for him. Obviously.
Still, somehow, he’s managed to become this… constant. Someone I know will be there when everything else gets loud.
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Someone who shows up, even when I don’t ask.
I’ve tried to ignore it. Tried to pretend I don’t notice the small things.
Like yesterday, when I finally asked him why he always picks the non–seafood meals. I mean, it’s not like he has to. It’s just me with the seafood allergy.
He blinked at me, totally unfazed, and tilted his head — the sun hitting his stupidly blue eyes like a scene from a romance movie — and said, “Isn’t it kind of lonely being the only one at the table who can’t eat what everyone else is having?”
Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Then there’s this morning. We had barely stepped out of the suite when he grabbed my arm, pulled me to his side, went down on one knee and tied my shoelaces without saying a word. Then looked up at me and gave me the worst stink eye
ever.
Ass.
And he’s always taking pictures of me.
—
Not the posed kind the real ones. Mid–laugh. Mid–yawn. When my hair’s a mess and my eyes are puffy. He just smiles and says, “I’ll delete them… if you give me a kiss.”
Like that will ever happen.
Yesterday, we stumbled into the cutest little kitchen tucked away for guests. It looked more like a cozy cottage kitchen than something on a cruise ship. I was too busy marveling at how it
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had everything – spices, chopping boards, even a cast iron skillet while Liam was too busy trying to keep me from accidentally slicing a finger or crashing into a counter.
Eventually, he gave up, muttered something about “a walking safety hazard,” picked me up by the waist (I let out a scream and he laughed. I hate him. I will kill him.) and set me on one of the bar stools. Then he rolled up his sleeves, tied an apron around his waist, and got to work – like some broody culinary god.
–
After minutes of watching and blinking, I ask: “What are you making?”
He doesn’t answer. Just opens the pot, stirs it slowly, then grabs a spoon and lets the steam rise for a second before scooping up a bit of sauce. He grabs a plate, slides the spoon over it, and walks to me.
He tips my chin up with his finger. “Say ah.”
I laugh. “Seriously?”
“Say. Ah.”
“Fine.” I grin. “Ahhh.”
He feeds me the spoon and waits.
The second the sauce hits my tongue, my eyes flutter shut and I can’t help the soft sound that escapes me. It’s rich, savoury, and a little sweet – whatever he made, it’s magic.
When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me with the most smug, satisfied smile.
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Chapter 90
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“Good?” he asks.
I shrug, teasing. “It’s okay.”
“Just okay?”
“Maybe a little bland,” I lie, licking my lips. “Needs more spice.”
He hums and turns back to his pot, stirring with focus.
—
My eyes drift before I can stop them to his back, his broad shoulders, the way his arms flex with every move. His sleeves are rolled up, and the muscles in his forearms shift with the spoon. Even the veins on his hands look hot. Veins. I mean, who looks good stirring sauce?
“Do you like spicy food?” He asks casually, oblivious to my… well, I won’t call it ogling. I’m merely savouring a fine specimen.
Lacey would be proud.
“Yeah.” I say, a little too quickly. My voice is higher than usual. Great.
Honestly, I don’t even care what he’s cooking. Watching him like this does weird, fluttery things to my stomach.
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