Page 25 of Savage Saint
“That looks yummy,” Alessa mutters as Angelo grabs his coffee mug and turns away from us.
“It’s Kasia’s,” he barks, walking away from the kitchen.
“Sometimes I think I should be way more scared of him than I am,” she whispers, watching him leave.
I know the feeling.
“Kasia?” she asks. “Did you get upgraded from Butterfly, then?”
My cheeks blush, at the mention of the nickname Angelo gave me. “It’s my name, actually,” I say, pushing the scrambled eggs around with a fork.
“You remembered your name!” she exclaims excitedly.
“I did,” I can’t help but smile back at her. “Not much else though. I thought I was Polish, actually, not Italian. Although now I’m not so sure.”
She pulls her phone out and taps it a few times. “So, if your name is Kasia... You’re most likely Polish or... Hindu.” She looks up, her eyes bouncing between my pale complexion, blue eyes and the freckles around my nose.
I lift a strand of my red hair between us with an arched eyebrow.
“Probably Polish,” we laugh in unison.
“I don’t suppose you remember your clothing and shoe size?” she asks, her eyes twinkling with mirth.
I rattle off the numbers without thinking, including my bra size. “Memory loss is so surreal.” I shake my head. “Do you think they’re correct?”
“We can check.” She smiles, kicking off her shoes. “Your feet are the same size as mine. Try these on."
Reluctantly, I slip my bare foot into the designer sneaker, wiggling my toes to test the fit. The material is soft, moulding to my foot like it was made for me.
“It fits.” I glance at Alessa, who is watching me with a far too pleased expression on her face.
“Knew it,” she sings, fingers already flying over the screen of her phone.
I narrow my eyes, slipping out of her shoe and handing it back to her. “What are you doing?”
She waves a hand dismissively, not bothering to look up. “Just texting someone who can get you actual clothes instead of letting you drown in Angelo’s loungewear.”
I blink at her, trying to process the casual way she says it, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re... ordering clothes for me?”
“Well, yeah,” she says, still focused on her screen. “You can’t exactly walk around looking like a toddler who raided her dad’s closet.”
Despite myself, I snort, shaking my head. “A toddler with a brand on her hip and no underwear. Classy.”
Alessa’s fingers pause over the screen, her expression softening slightly. There’s something in her gaze, something close to sympathy, and I immediately regret making the joke. I don’t want sympathy. I don’t want pity. I just want answers and to get the hell out of here. Before she can say anything, I shake my head and look away, shutting down any chance for her to turn this into a bonding moment.
She seems to take the hint, because she slips her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and leans against the counter instead, tilting her head to the side as she studies me. “How was last night?”
10
KASIA
Itighten my grip on the edge of the counter, the cool marble grounding me as memories flicker through my mind. The warmth of Angelo’s body pressed against mine. The solid weight of his arm around my waist, his steady breath against my hair, the quiet way he made me feel safe.
Then, the moment he pulled away, like I was nothing.
Alessa’s voice drags me back, her question still hanging in the air.
How was last night?
