Page 177 of Saint Céline
“I thought that was the polite thing to do.”
“You’re rarely polite when no one else is watching.”
“I can be grateful.” I rolled my eyes.
“No,” he said, walking closer. “You can be strategic.”
My hand tightened around the spoon. I kept stirring.
“Maybe both.”
He stopped beside the table, close enough that I could feel him studying the scene I had arranged. The plates. The candle. The glass was waiting near his place. The second glass near mine, untouched and harmless.
I had planned it carefully.
His gaze moved to the wine.
“Did you open this?”
“Yes.”
“You hate red wine. Thad made you suffer through it with every dinner because he owned a vineyard. You don’t have to do that with me.”
“I got used to it,” I say bluntly. Thad never knew that about me, but somehow Vincent paid enough attention to notice.
He laughed softly. The sound moved through me before I could stop it.
I turned away faster than necessary and picked up the serving bowl.
“Sit.”
There was a pause.
Then, behind me, his chair scraped softly against the floor, and he sat down.
I brought the food to the table and placed his serving first. He watched every movement, not openly enough to accuse, but with the calm attention of a man who had never trusted a gift in his life.
We ate in near silence at first. Vincent took one bite, then another. His face gave nothing away, which annoyed me because I had cooked well and wanted the satisfaction of him admitting it before everything changed. It was his last meal after all.
“This is good,” he said eventually.
I looked up. “You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“Rude. I did chores for my mom all the time. We didn’t have housekeepers, unlike you or Katherine.Wewere the housekeepers.”
He leaned back slightly, still watching me. The candlelight softened the severe lines of his face. That felt unfair. Monsters should not look beautiful at dinner. They should not sit across from you in white shirts with rolled sleeves and dark hair still damp from the weather. They should not know how you take your coffee, or buy treats for your cat or stop when your breath catches wrong.
They should not make killing them feel like destroying shelter. I did not want him to die, but my life was more important than whatever love I could feel for this man.
I reached for my glass.
He reached for his.
For one suspended second, my heartbeat stopped.
His fingers closed around the stem.
