“Here.”
I blink at the glass of water Uri is offering me. “I don’t want water.”
“Drink it anyway.”
My hand inches forward like it wants to obey him, but I force it back down to my side at the last minute. “You don’t get to just walk in here whenever you please and act like everything’s normal. You don’t get to act as though I’m the crazy one and you’re the Good Samaritan.”
“I’ve never claimed to be a good anything. Nor will I.”
“This place…” I say, gesturing around me. “It’s inhuman to keep someone down here. I know you’re a freak, but most people need light and air and sun and trees and grass… and other people.” He sighs, but I’m not done yet. “How the hell do you expect me to trust that you’re keeping me here for my own safety when it feels so much like a prison? When I can’t contact my friends and family? When you haven’t given me a choice?”
He doesn’t say anything. Is that a strategy or something? Is he angry? Is he just handling me by ignoring me?
“And your big, fancy flat screen TV? It barely has any channels. The streaming sites are all password-protected! The books and toys are meant for children. The video games are beyond me and there’s not even a radio or a speaker—something, anything that will make music! Did the person living here before me go insane? Is that it? Is that why you had to go looking for another victim?”
I’m out of breath when I finish my rant. One look at Uri and I feel unhinged. He’s just so calm standing there in his white t-shirt, his windswept dark hair, his fingernails rapping on the marble countertop.
I hate that despite my anger, my attraction for him still exists. It’s throbbing right below the surface like a warning bell.
But it’ll fade. I’m sure of that. He’ll defend himself, feed me a bunch of lame excuses, I’ll fight back, he’ll fight back, and that’ll be the nail in the coffin.
He opens his mouth to feed me some more condescending bullshit. Stuff like:
“I’m sorry.”
Wait. Hold on. I freeze. I’m pretty sure I heard him wrong, right? I must have. There’s no way that this man is capable of apologizing quite so easily.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. Uri meets my gaze. “I should have made sure you were more comfortable. I should have brought you your things sooner. I got caught up in work and that delayed me. It was my mistake.”
On the one hand, it feels good to hear him say he’s sorry. On the other hand, it’s not really helping kill my attraction for him.
“I didn’t intend to stay away for this long. I also didn’t think you’d struggle so hard with being alone. But I suppose now, it makes sense.”
My insides bristle. “What makes sense?”
“There’s something about losing a sibling that makes you feel uniquely isolated. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to lose your twin.”
Goosebumps erupt all over my arms. I probably should be outraged but somehow, I can’t find it in myself to muster up anymore anger. Maybe it’s the fact that he says those words with so much… understanding? It makes me wonder—is he talking about the parents he lost or is there someone else?
“The two of you were close?”
I swallow. “Very.”
Dammit. One word and still my voice shakes. A sob escapes my lips, but I shut right down. Not the time for that.
Uri just nods. “It must have been difficult to navigate the world once she was no longer in it.”
The lump in my throat is only growing bigger. If he keeps this up, I’m going to be bawling all over the fresh fruit. “I don’t…” I have to stop. I can’t even speak right now. I just shake my head.
“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t want to talk about her. I understand.”
And the thing is, it really feels like he does understand. I end up sitting back down. I end up taking the glass of water he offered me earlier. I end up watching him cook.
When he’s done, he spoons two generous servings of pasta into a bowl and pushes it towards me. “Would you like some company for dinner?” My eyes flit to his as he asks the question. “If you’d rather be alone, I can leave.”
I probably should tell him to go. I shouldn’t want to break bread with my captor. But the idea of being alone again is terrifying.
I’m not ready to deal with the silence just yet.
So all I say is, “Stay.”
17
ALYSSA
“Paris is overrated.”
I roll my eyes. “It is not overrated. Everybody has just gotten so jaded about everything. They can’t just enjoy things for what they are. They have to assign values to things and places and people and it sucks out the fun of just, like, being in the moment. Letting yourself experience a place without the tags people have forced on them.”
Uri snorts as I climb down off my metaphorical soapbox. “I think you’ve had enough wine,” he remarks.
He makes a show of reaching for my glass. I snatch it before he can and hold it out of his reach.
“I’m serious. Paris is the city of love, right? There’s this expectation of romance, magic, mystique. But the first time I went to Paris was after a breakup. I was sad and lonely and I even tried to put off the trip because my boyfriend was supposed to come with me and I didn’t really want to go on my own.”
“Let me guess: you had a midnight in Paris moment and you started to change your perspective.”
I scowl. “Do you always make a habit of interrupting other people’s stories with your cynicism?”
He smiles. “A thousand apologies. Continue.”
“No, you ruined it.”
He chuckles. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
I groan noisily. “You weren’t wrong, per se. I walked the Pont des Arts. I ate croissants and pain au chocolate and stood in line for a cup of hot chocolate that changed my life. I walked through a Parisian park and met this group of old men playing chess under the trees. And what I realized was, it was magical. It was romantic. I didn’t need a boyfriend. I just needed to embrace the experience.”
“How very poetic.”
“It figures you’d be one of the jaded ones.”
“I’m not jaded.” He shrugs. “I just see things for what they are. Paris is a city just like any other city. It smells like piss, simmers with unrest, and hides pickpockets round every corner. Sure, they make a good hot chocolate—but I can make you the same one right here, right now. And you don’t have to stand in line for it.”
“I just have to stay in this basement for God knows how long?”
“Until otherwise noted.” He picks up the bottle of wine and tops up my glass. “At least there’s good booze.”
I lift my wine glass and hide behind it for a second. The last couple of hours have flown by. It’s annoying how easy it is to talk to him. Not that we’ve spoken about anything overly personal, but then again, isn’t everything personal in one way or another?