Page 49 of Gravehouse

Reaching for the knife, I chop without rhythm.

Her hip bumps mine as she grabs the olive oil. “Tu es impossible.”

I let the French come easy, nudging her back with my elbow. “Non, tu es impossible.”

Switching to English, she grabs carrots. “You were such a pain in the ass growing up.” She side-eyes me. “Every new member that walked through that door, you refused to listen to their introductions. Even if it came from me. You would say‘I don’t believe words, I believe silence, because silence doesn’t care who is listening.’”

I snort and drag the peeler along a potato. “I still believe that.”

“Oh, I know.” Pride warms her face as she drops the carrots into the pot, but her smile slips a little. “Idefinitelyknow that.”

Asher leans against the doorframe at the edge of my vision, watching me.

I suck in a breath.

Before I can speak, he straightens and vanishes, taking his cold stare with him.

Blood gushes behind my ears, drowning out Nonna’s voice.

Her hand covers mine. “Where did you go?”

“Nowhere.” I shake myself out of my own pity. “I’m here, but I have a question.”

Neither of us stops. Just two carefully built machines, designed to lie and kill.

“Did you know?” I flick a stray potato skin off my hand into the pile. I don’t need to elaborate. She knows.

“What do you think?” She wipes her hands on her apron, pausing to look at me.

I tighten my grip on the knife. “I think?—”

The front door crashes open, Jord shoving his glasses up over his head. “We’re hommmeee! Chaos has arrived!”

As always, perfect timing.

Mismatchedplates crowd the table as candles drip wax down their stems.

Luce swirls her wine across from me, laughing, and my chest eases for a moment.

I spent the rest of the day doing anything that kept my hands busy and my eyes off Asher. It was all very mature. An excellent display of my healing journey. Truly.

I told myself I wasn’t avoiding him.

I’ve always been better at lying to myself than to him.

Asher pulls out the chair beside me, replacing all the oxygen in the room as he lowers himself into it without breaking conversation with Jord.

His sleeve drags across my arm when he reaches for his glass, and my pulse forgets every useful thing it’s ever done.

My thighs lock when his wrist passes mine, close enough that his cologne and clean skin cut through the garlic and wine and candle smoke, blood running hot behind my eyes.

I’m fine.

Everything is fine.

I’m absolutelynotmeasuring the distance between his throat and Nonna’s good fork.

Then he chuckles against the side of my neck, those almost-white blue eyes angled toward me for half a second too long.