Page 34 of Rapunzel Is Losing It

Nowadays, both of them had as much of a routine as me.

I slipped on my dressing gown, dropped my phone into the pocket, and washed up. My hair was a tousled mess, but I managed to pin it into a braided bun that wouldn’t require me to take a shower right now. Stripping naked and voluntarilystanding in a tiny cubicle from which I couldn’t see the rest of the room? No, thanks.

By the time I looked somewhat presentable and made it downstairs, Victor stood in the kitchen, filling a cereal bowl with diced fruit. His hair was just getting long enough to stand off at all angles, which was odd for someone who usually kept it meticulously trimmed short. But my attention was actually caught by the tight stretch of his black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, my stomach flipping upside-down in response. That had to be a lot of sexual frustration he was working off, if those bulging muscles were the result. He’d always stayed fit, but this was new. And I didn’t hate it.

I was being awkward. Clenching and unclenching my fists, I forced myself to stop staring.

“Hi,” I said, voice croaky from either sleeping or screaming.

“Morning.” His eyes roamed up and down my body. Unlike me, who had been ogling, he was just doing what he always did: Checking if I was alright. Pleased with the result, he slid the bowl over the counter.

I grimaced at the heap of vitamins in front of me.

Myroutine usually included something with way more sugar and cream. He’d been faster this time.

When I didn’t pick up the fork, he let out a sigh and rummaged through the cabinets, bringing back a box of chocolate chips. He set it on the counter with enough force to let me know exactly what he was thinking about my choices.

“Thank you.” I smiled and emptied half the box over my fruit.

Victor wordlessly took the seat next to me at the counter. He cut pieces off an apple, bringing them to his mouth with the knife still in hand. The backs of both his hands were inked with black roses, but on his left hand, each finger also sported a different kind of dagger. Holding a knife in those fingers shouldhave looked menacing. Not so much when he was slicing into a bright red Pink Lady.

“You’re staring,” he noted without looking at me.

“You eat apples weird,” I said, because it seemed better than admitting I was staring at his fingers.

He hummed and cut a perfect crescent slice off, holding it out for me, wedged between the blade and his thumb.

I took it and watched him go back to slicing random bits off the fruit for himself, his long fingers so precise in how he turned it over in his hands, going round and round. The muscles in his forearms flexed with each cut, and I forgot to chew the apple in my mouth.

If you are ready for something complicated.Del’s words from the other night came flooding back. I’d been busy enough with the preparation for the video campaign not to dwell on them, but something about the way Victor handled that apple… Was I ready for something complicated?

“Is it Whitaker?” Victor asked.

“What?” For once, I was trying to grasp the conversation he was having in his head without me.

“Are you on edge because Silas Whitaker’s coming over?”

“Oh. Maybe.” It wasn’t like the nightmares were always triggered by something happening, but in this case, that would actually make sense. Silas was the videographer I’d contacted for the campaign, and we were around ten hours and 32 minutes away from him standing on my doorstep. Okay, so maybe that was on my mind. “It’ll be fine,” I said, not sure whether I was reassuring him or myself.

“I’ll make it back in time.”

“I know.” I dug around in my bowl until my spoon was loaded with nothing but raspberries and chocolate. “Do you want to tell me what’s on your agenda today?”

“Yes,” his mouth set in a stern line, “but it’s probably better if I don’t.”

Complicateddidn’t even begin to cover it.

“I wish you would,” I breathed, “I keep worrying about what you’re doing when you’re not here. Who you’re with and if you’re being careful.”

“Cordelia.” His hand moved across the counter, but with the knife still held steady, only his pinky stretched for my wrist. It was the smallest touch, meant to comfort me, but it sent an electric spark zapping up my arm instead. “I promise you that I’m safe. Right now, Petya is just yanking my leash.”

“Right now? What about later?” His touch immediately forgotten, the implication of his words raced through my mind, a dozen different scenarios playing out. Shots being fired, either by criminals or the police. The police wouldn’t know that Victor was good. They would shoot him without hesitation if he was caught in some raid.

He didn’t reply, which just confirmed my suspicions.

“I refuse to pick any more coffins. Two is more than enough.”

His eyes narrowed, but he followed my jumping thoughts. “I promise not to die.”

---