Page 33 of Never Thought I'd End Up Here
I stare at the pie, waiting for him to spring the trap. “What’s this for?”
“You looked like you were ready to run away with those pies.” He shrugs. “It would have been cruel to keep you apart.”
“I was not—”
“It’s the same way you were looking at the lettuce seller,” he says. “There was a lot of intense squinting going on. I was expecting you to start twirling your hair and smiling unnaturally again.”
I choose to ignore him as I tear open the red wrapper and take my first bite of the pie in years, the thin chocolate casing cracking under my teeth.
“This issogood,” I say, closing my eyes with a blissful sigh.
Still, I can just imagine the look on Cyrus’s face when he says, “Maybe I should give you two some time alone.”
I take another slow, luxurious bite as if I’m one of those upper-class people partaking in a wine-tasting competition to prove how cultured my taste buds are, inhaling deeply and letting the marshmallow dissolve on my tongue. “You sound jealous.”
“I definitely am.”
“I can tell you’ve been single too long,” I remark, matching his dry tone. “Just so we’re clear, this isn’t enough to get you a pity kiss from me either.”
He goes quiet at that, and I feel a small thrill at having effectively shocked him into silence.
“But Iwillpay you back for the pie,” I add, opening my eyes and dabbing the corner of my lips. “How much did it cost?”
“Three million yuan,” he answers right away.
I stare at him. “Okay, I’ll be honest: I always figured you’d become a scammer, but I didn’t think it would happen quite so soon.”
“You don’t have to pay me back, Leah,” he says, shaking his head. The train rattles through a tunnel, the darkness briefly transforming the window into a mirror, so I can see the reflection of his profile even with his face angled away from me, his gaze heavy and almost sad. “You don’t owe me anything. You never will.”
Thatmust be why he’s started being nice to me—or at least nicer, compared to before.Because while I’ve been discovering new Chinese words on this trip, Cyrus Sui has discovered a new little emotion calledguilt.
Anger rushes down my throat, vicious and stronger than the taste of chocolate. He doesn’t get to do this. He doesn’t get to ruin my life and then attempt to assuage his conscience by offering me a few free snacks and vague sentences. Not after all those times I sobbed myself to sleep after I was expelled, all the dirty looks my classmates shot at me across the room, all the lunches I spent eating alone.
I don’t care how guilty he feels. It’ll never be enough, not without me getting my revenge.
***
It’s almost midnight by the time we stagger into our new hotel in Anhui Province.
“I’m so tired I feel seasick, which doesn’t make sense because we’re on land,” Oliver says with a groan, slouching against the side of the elevator, his head rested against the digital signage offering special discounts on massages. I would pay double the price for a massage right this moment.
“I’m so tired it sounds like someone’s whistling off-tune in my ear,” Sean complains.
“Oh, sorry—that was me,” Lydia says, yawning. “I like to whistle to keep myself awake.”
I’mso tired I don’t have the strength to say anything. My eyes are almost as heavy as the bags weighing down on my shoulders, and my knees keep wobbling, even though I’m standing still. When the elevator arrives on the eleventh floor with a shrillding, I’m ready to doze off in the middle of the corridor.
“Come on,” Daisy says, tugging at my arm. She looks more alert than any of us. But then, I don’t think I’ve ever seen hernotalert before; it’s like she’s constantly braced for something to happen, even if she doesn’t know what. “You can shower first.”
I shake my head. Remember how to open my mouth. “You always offer for me to shower first. You go. It takes thirty minutes just to blow-dry my hair.”
We walk past countless identical doors, the sound of our rolling suitcases muffled by the maze-patterned carpet, until at last we reach our room. Daisy swipes our key card, the tiny light flashing green before letting us in, and I half drag, half kick my luggage through the entrance. I feel a little seasick too—or at least like I’m tipsy, the beige walls swaying around me. I seem to be moving on autopilot as I tug off my boots, grab a new bottle of water from the bedside table, downing half of it in a few gulps, and sink onto the couch by the balcony.
“I’ll be quick,” Daisy promises, pulling out her polka-dot bag of toiletries.
“No rush,” I mumble. The cushions are so blissfully soft, the temperature pleasantly warm enough to forgo any blankets; maybe I could just sleep like this. Forget blow-drying my hair, or brushing my teeth. That can wait until morning—
But my eyes have barely fallen shut when Oliver’s and Cyrus’s voices travel from outside the room.
