Chapter 93
Greg noticed too.
Of course he did.
His eyes flicked to her, then to me. Instant suspicion.
I smirked, slow and lazy, and switched to Russian, keeping my tone light, ‘Relax, Greg. We haven’t done anything… yet.
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Camila shot me a glare sharp enough to slice open my cheek.
Cute.
She hated not knowing what I said. She was probably dying to ask. But that pride of hers–she’d never admit it. Never admit she wanted to know more about me, or that I got under her skin, or that she noticed I watched her like she was my own personal religion.
Greg didn’t look amused. He narrowed his eyes at me, and I just gave him the sweetest, most innocent look I could manage.
The “I’m just a harmless puppy look.
If Camila’s mom noticed the shirt, she didn’t say anything. Maybe she thought it was just a hand–me–down or some comfy loaner. Maybe she was too wrapped up in Greg’s stupid charm to care. Whatever. I wasn’t explaining shit to anyone.
We all took our seats. Greg sat like he was watching a bomb with a twitchy timer. Camila sat across from me, eyes avoiding mine, that same little frown on her lips like I was an annoying background noise she couldn’t quite shut off.
And me?
I put on the act.
Perfect. Quiet. Devoted.
I passed her the syrup like a gentleman. Smiled when she handed me the butter. I laughed softly at her mother’s terrible joke about the waffles. I wiped my mouth with a napkin. I even tilted my head a little when Camila spoke, like I was listening intently. Like I was just a good guy trying to get to know her.
While the whole time, I pretended I wasn’t losing my mind.
Acted like I hadn’t spent the night with my face buried in her clothes, like I didn’t watch her sleep every single night, sneaking into her room and memorizing the way her lips parted when she dreamed.
Acted like I hadn’t stained her clothes with my essence. Again. And again.
She reached for the toast and I caught a whiff of her scent–warm skin, that faint vanilla she always carried–and I nearly lost it.
I forced myself to sip orange juice.
Swallowed the need like it was acid.
Greg kept glancing at me from across the table, eyes sharp, lips twitching like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. Not in front of Camila. Not with her mom watching like everything was sunshine and pancakes
I smiled at him too.
Dead in the eyes.
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Chapter 93
And then I turned to Camila and asked softly, ‘Sleep okay?”
She looked at me with that same squinty, suspicious expression she always gave me when I was being “too nice. Like she was trying to sniff out the lie in my voice.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said, shrugging.
“Good,” I murmured.
Because I knew how she slept.
I saw it.
Every night.
I watched her chest rise and fall, her lashes flutter in her sleep. I heard her mumble things I wasn’t meant to hear. Saw the way her fingers curled around her pillow like she was holding someone. Maybe one day she’d hold me like that.
Until then, I’d keep playing my part.
I buttered a piece of toast. Smiled softly. Nodded along with the conversation like a perfect, patient boy.
Like I wasn’t the wolf waiting to devour her.
And by the time she finally see the real me, it would be too late.
She’d already be mine.
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