anger, he merely taps his finger on the table twice. “If sick and twisted is what you like to label me, we’ll go with it. But you’re wrong. If there’s anyone who’s lonely between us, it’s you, Lia.”
“I’m not lonely.”
“We’ll have to agree to disagree.”
“What gave you the idea that I’m lonely?”
“Aside from your obvious lack of friends and your uneventful life, you also chose ballet when you knew full well it would make you hated when you climbed to the top. You didn’t fight the process of being envied and gossiped about. If anything, you used it to bury yourself deeper in your lonely bubble where no one can reach you.”
My lips part at his careful and horrifyingly precise analysis of my life. This man will swallow me under if I’m not careful.
“You did,” I counter with more venom than needed.
“I did what?”
“You reached inside my bubble.”
He picks up his utensils and cuts into his food. “That’s because you didn’t have a choice in the matter.”
“What if I want to have a choice?”
“Too late.” He stares at me with those unnerving eyes. “I already claimed you as mine and there’s no going back.”
My fingers tremble at that word. Mine. But it’s not out of fear, it’s something else that I can’t quite pinpoint, so I blurt, “That’s called coercion.”
“Always with the labels, Lia. It’s getting tedious.”
“I told you. I’m giving things their name.”
“It changes nothing except offering you some sense of fragile justice.”
“Justice is not fragile.”
“Oh, but it is. Those who believe in it fail or are slapped in the face by harsh truths.”
“Then what do you believe in?”
“Patterns.”
I’m taken aback by that. After I take a bite of my salad and swallow, I speak, “How does someone believe in patterns?”
“Patterns are a powerful tool that allow me to see the outcome before it happens.”
I scoff. Of course someone like Adrian would like that type of power.
“You don’t agree, Lia?”
“Not particularly. I’m just not surprised you’d be attracted to that sort of thing.”
“You’re starting to get to know me. That’s progress.”
“I don’t know you, Adrian, and I prefer it stays that way.”
“Why? Because you can bury your head in the sand and pretend like none of this is happening? You do realize that’s useless, right? The more you resist, the more pain you bring upon yourself.”
“Let me worry about that. Whatever I feel or don’t feel is none of your business.”
“Watch that tone, Lia.” His voice lowers with an unveiled threat.
“Or what?”
“Or I will take my belt to your ass.”
“You…”
“Go on.” His eyes spark with pure sadism. “By all means, give me a reason to punish you.”
Fire explodes in my chest and I try to swallow it down, to no avail.
Jesus. This man is a true devil.
I stuff my face with the salad to keep from spouting whatever is trying to come out.
“Slower,” he reprimands. “Or you’ll get indigestion.”
“As if you’d care.”
“Of course I would. I’m not that heartless.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I truly am not—under the right circumstances.”
“You mean the ones you lay out?”
“Correct.”
“So it’s your way or the highway?”
“More or less.”
I bite my lower lip, then quickly release it when I find him watching it with undivided attention and a frightening sheen of lust.
“What’s going to happen when you’re done with me?” I ask the question that’s been niggling at the back of my mind.
“I said I won’t be.”
“Surely you’ll get bored. Everyone does.”
“I’m not everyone, and it’d be wise not to compare me to anyone you know.”
As if I would ever find someone like him.
Luca is a bit elusive, like Adrian, but he’s not as intense, and I’ve always considered him a friend, so he doesn’t really count.
I clear my throat. “Point is, this phase will end. Like everything about life.”
“I’ll think about that when it comes to it.”
“Is that what you did to the others? You thought about their fate when the time came.”
“The others?”
“The ones who came before me.”
“I’ve never done this with anyone before you, Lenochka.”
Bolts of both thrill and fear spark through me. For some perverse reason, I like that this is also a first for him, that we’re at least equal in that regard. But knowing I’m his first, that he broke a pattern for me when he appreciates them so much, is also enough to make me imagine the worst.
Shooing that thought away, I ask. “What does that mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“Lenochka?”
“Bright light.”
My lips part, not believing he just called me that. Surely, it must be a play of my imagination. “You think