Page 42 of Please Hate Me

I had no idea what those letters meant, but I wasn’t about to ask. I just assumed she was important—it was Sophia, after all. She was never one to get her hands dirty, and I couldn’t imagine someone as driven as her ever doing drivel work like grabbing coffee or sweeping floors. Sophia had always been destined for greatness. But even the brightest stars were prone to burning out.

“That sounds like a lot of work.” I mumbled, unable to keep from sticking my two cents somewhere it had no business being.

There was an unnatural stillness to Sophia as she folded her hands before crossing one knee over the other.

“It’s not that bad. Plus, being busy is good.”

Her voice frayed slightly at the end of her sentence, and I wondered if that was something she was used to repeating.

“Do you ever do anything for yourself?” I looked down at her well-manicured nails as I asked my question. It was clear Sophia maintained her appearance, but that was hardly what I’d consider downtime.

In this world, being pretty could open doors that would otherwise be closed. Science had proven that if you were attractive, people perceived you as smarter, kinder, and a plethora of other positive traits. That’s why my father was always so harsh on me about my looks. I already defied traditional beauty standards; if I were flat-out ugly, my career wouldn’t exist. I wondered if Sophia’s line of work was similar.

“Pssh,of courseI do things for myself!” She waved me off with a laugh, but didn’t elaborate further.

I cocked my head, and her hand darted to her pocket.

“Would you look at that? I have another… thing I have to do.” She laughed more, but there was a nervous flutter to the sound. “You didn’t eat much breakfast. Why don’t you help yourself to a snack or something?”

Before I could protest, she was vanishing up the steps. A familiar sense of nausea loomed, and I knew she was right. If I ate, I wouldn’t vomit. Outside of pregnancy, that fact would have sounded like a contradiction, but currently, I was beholden to Lavender’s demands for sustenance. With that in mind, I grabbed the bookmark Sophia lent me and slipped it into my novella before standing up to head to the kitchen.

I’d normally be worried about getting lost in a house this massive due to my shitty sense of direction, but most of the bottom floor was rather open, and most of the rooms had archways rather than doors. The living room flowed directly into the kitchen, which made my journey pretty simple. But as soon as I stepped onto the well-polished hardwood, I realized: not only did I have no idea where anything was, I wasn’t sure what I was and wasn’t allowed to have.

A dull tingle started in my fingers, and I tried to remind myself to breathe. This wasn’t even a big deal. If there were something I wasn’t meant to touch, Sophia would probably have told me.

Slowly, I inched toward the fridge before pulling the handle back, allowing the cold air to sweep my face. I held my breath as I looked over the contents. There was a good amount of fruit and vegetables, and everything was in bulk containers. With a family this large, buying things wholesale must’ve been a necessity. I reached in and grabbed a singular string cheese and a can of sparkling water. If the cheese alone wasn’t enough to settle my stomach, the bubbles surely would.

With my bounty in hand, I meandered to the island and pulled myself up onto one of the high-backed stools. I snuck one of my nails under the tab on the water and pulled up, causing some of the drink to escape into the rim of the can. I bent down, holding my hair back as I sucked up the citrus-flavored bubbles. The drink was so cold it almost made me shiver. With my thirst quenched, I opened my cheese, making a game of pulling off the thinnest strands possible.

I had learned recently that if I ate slowly, I didn’t need as much not to feel hungry. I was barely halfway into my snack when feet sounded against the tiles. Foolishly, I assumed Sophia had probably finished her meeting and was back to give me twenty minutes of conversation before her next one....

Until Lucian walked into my line of sight, ignoring my existence, which was probably for the best. I tried to do the same, but I couldn’t force myself to look away as he opened the fridge. From where I was seated, all I could see was his back. I wondered what he was looking for.

“Did you have lunch yet?” he called, head still buried in the fridge.

I looked around the empty kitchen. Maybe Sophia was just out of earshot.

“Earth to Mason.” His voice was louder this time. “Did you have lunch yet?”

I looked down at my half-strung cheese.

“Yeah.”

No sooner than I responded, he was standing in front of me, hand planted on the quartz countertop. With him so close, I noticed a tattoo of vines running along his left hand, snaking down his fingers. It was gorgeous. Did he have more tattoos? How many, I wondered?

My face went hot as I imagined Lucian shirtless, imagining the ink he may or may not have etched into his skin. Right now, hisdecency was preserved by a green button-down that looked to be about a size too large.

I forced myself to make eye contact with him. That seemed like a good way to stop myself from mentally undressing my future brother-in-law.

“What did you have?” Lucian asked.

“Excuse me?”

“For lunch. What did you have for lunch?” An edge took over his words, adding an argumentative tension to our otherwise casual conversation. The anger in his words clouded my mind, making it impossible for me to come up with a coherent lie. All I could focus on was how small the tone in his voice made me feel.

“Cool, you’re eating a sandwich with me,” Lucian declared as he started to root through the fridge.

“What? No!”

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