“Doing what?”
“Um,” I choke. “Peeing.”
Talk about privacy.
“Still? I heard the toilet flush” He flies through the door—which was already half open to begin with and looks at me.
I’m fully naked, mind.
It was in an emergency to get in here that I forgot about the bedsheet.
Gods, I can’t even begin to imagine what I look like, slumped against the tiles, naked, and with vomit dripping from my mouth.
“Please,” I gasp. “Go away.”
Valerian stares into my eyes. Lines appear between his brow. He almost looks… concerned. “It was definitely a rough night for you last night.”
In more ways than one…
“Come downstairs. There’s fresh orange juice and coffee. That should make you feel better.”
“Thanks.” I pull away from the wall, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Here.” He takes one last look at me. “I’ll fetch you some clothes.”
I finish up in the bathroom when he disappears. Why is he being sonice?
Valerian returns a few minutes later with a cashmere set. He hands the pants and sweater over, his hands brushing softly against mine. “I’ll see you downstairs.” His eyes linger.
I swallow the lump in my throat, whispering: “Thanks.”
He seems so far away from the person he was two nights ago.
It’s not possible for a person to be this different. We all have different sides of ourselves. Sure. But a man capable of strangling victims with his bare hands shouldn’t be able to make me feel like he cares.
It’s all fabricated. That’s the only explanation. I saw the way Valerian walked around the lobby last night, making each person feel like an individual.
In his eyes, they’re all the same.
One of his many strengths is getting people right where he wants them.
He’s good at making you feel special… Really fucking special.
Every woman he’s ever been with has probably felt the same way.
And the only woman who ever meant anything to him, is the one he can’t have. Because she died somehow.
I finish dressing and head into the dining room.
I don’t sit so far away from him this time. He sits at the head of the table. I pull up a chair to his left, digging into breakfast.
The nausea crashes over me again as soon as I get started. Boiled eggs. Watermelon. Even the coffee. Yuck. I can’t fucking stand any of it.
I sit back down with my orange juice, taking small sips, fighting the bile that wants to rise into my throat.
Why am I so repulsed by everything?
“Are you okay?” Those lines appear between Valerian’s eyebrows again as he takes stock of my face. “You look unwell.”