and tilts my face up to meet his eyes. He looks so sad and desperate and hopeful, all at the same time. “Statečná.”
He repeats the word a few more times, and I feel myself blushing. I have no clue what the word means, but he makes it sound like a compliment. I’m not sure I’ve ever held a guy’s complete attention like this, or had anyone look at me the way he is. It’s crazy intense.
I can’t help letting my eyes wander over Reule’s face. I’ve never been a fan of facial hair on guys, but the beard suits him really well. He’s incredibly handsome in a rugged sort of way, and his damned expressive eyes kind of make me feel like jelly. I think I might want to get to know him.
As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I mentally slap myself and quickly stand up. Reule stands up with me, looking totally alarmed, but I don’t let myself make eye contact with him while I gather my wits. Seriously, what am I thinking? I don’t know anything about this guy. Just because he’s kind of cute, has a crazy-hot body, has been incredibly kind and has offered me pretty much the only scrap of safety and comfort I’ve felt since getting into this whole mess, that does not mean I need to start fucking idolizing him. Is it still considered Stockholm Syndrome if he’s not technically my kidnapper or keeping me prisoner?
“Isla?” Reule says my name quietly. When I look up, he’s biting his lip with this adorably vulnerable expression on his face.
I let myself relax. Reule is literally my only ally in this world right now, and my only chance at surviving for the time being. I’m beyond lucky I somehow ended up here with him when things could have gone so much worse for me.
“I’m sorry.” I know he won’t understand, but I say the words anyway and offer him a shy smile. I’m not sure what else to say or do, since we can’t exactly have a conversation. I glance awkwardly around the room before pointing questioningly toward the hallway. I figure this is as good a time as any to ask about using that fancy bathroom.
He looks where I’m pointing and gestures toward the hallway as well, but it’s clear he has no idea what I’m trying to ask or show him. I feel kind of weird leading him through his own house, especially because I’m making it pretty obvious I’ve already had a look around. But he doesn’t seem perturbed as he follows me down the long hallway.
I stop outside the strangely-luxe bathroom that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the rustic-styled house. I raise my eyebrows at him and push the door open, pointing first at myself and then at the large copper tub.
Reule grimaces and slaps his forehead, groaning something under his breath. It’s kind of adorable, and not the reaction I expected at all. When he darts into the bathroom before me and turns on the faucets in the tub, I have to stifle a giggle. Once the water is running, Reule turns around and starts rummaging in a little closet I hadn’t noticed tucked into the corner of the room. He pulls out a large, fluffy towel and sets it on a little ledge behind the tub.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited to take a bath, and I have a huge grin on my face as I step into the bathroom. At least until I look to my right and catch sight of my reflection for the first time since I was kidnapped from Rian’s party.
“Oh, god!” I gasp in horror, throwing my hands up to cover my mouth. I knew I probably looked bad based on how dirty and grimy I’ve been feeling the past week, but I look so much worse than I expected. My skin is literally layered with dirt and sweat, my makeup from the party has smeared all over my fucking face so it looks like I have two black eyes and have been playing in a chimney, and the dried blood caked to my neck, shoulder, hair and chest makes me look like some kind of wild animal. Or worse, like a super fucked up-looking extra from The Walking Dead.
“My hair, oh my fucking god!” Tears form in my eyes and I swear I’m about to have another hysterical breakdown in about two seconds. My hair is so matted