Chapter Seven
Antoine
As a rule, I’m not a big fan of grocery shopping. It’s a mundane and “needed for survival” kind of task that I find about two rungs above bowel movements.
But going grocery shopping with Kristen? That’s a whole ‘nother circle of hell.
I tried to avoid it. Told her we could get Thai delivered for dinner. Or pizza. But she pointed out that there was nothing to eat in the fridge, which was true. Dominic and Elizabeth apparently tossed all the perishables before leaving for their honeymoon. There isn’t even a slice of cheese left. Then Kristen added that we needed breakfast. That’s also true, and Kristen is serious about eating before her day starts.
I told her I could get everything if she’d make a list, but she wanted to tag along just in case she saw something she needed. Should’ve said no. The papholes are after her, and a couple of them were even clever enough to tail me, although not good enough to keep up. But Kristen looked at me with those pleading puppy eyes, and I gave in with a suppressed sigh.
Given the crap she’s gone through today, I want to humor her as much as possible. For some reason it’s terribly important that she be okay, not just physically but emotionally. I want to incinerate the eyeballs of every person who saw that fucking picture.
It infuriates me some sleazeball took that shot of her, and that shithole site published it. I don’t want anyone to see her like that, ever. And it isn’t just because it’s a gross violation of her privacy.
Kristen picks up some packaged sliced meat, something that looks like water chestnut and eggs. She also grabs a huge loaf of crusty bread a couple Swiss cheeses, Emmental and Gruyère. Some other stuff. I get some bacon and her favorite cereals with nuts and dried fruit and soy milk.
As the cashier scans, she starts pulling out her plastic, but I’m quicker.
“It’s seriously my treat,” she says. “After all, you’re keeping me safe out here, and this is the least I can do.”
“It’s not a good idea for you to leave a credit trail, unless you want a bunch of papholes here the next time you come. And I’m not having a girl pay for my food.” She’s too damn pretty, and I don’t want her providing for me. It should be the other way around, especially since… Well, she’s the sister I never had. I wouldn’t ask my baby sister to pay, would I? No, I wouldn’t.
I need to keep remind myself she’s like the SINH…the sister I never had.
“How very twenty-first century of you,” she says, her voice extra dry.
“Never let it be said I’m not a modern feminist.” I smile as I hand my credit card to the cashier.
I almost whistle when she tells me the amount. Kristen merely looks resigned, and I know the eye-popping total is correct. Whatever she bought is worth almost as much as a diamond.
As we carry our food to the car, Kristen brushes by me. Accidentally or not, it doesn’t matter. Every time she comes close, my whole body prickles as though it’s full of electric charge.
Because I don’t want her to be so close, I tell myself, while my brain points out that my reaction is more like a man on a diet sniffing around a banquet.
I’m not crazy enough to think Kristen still has feelings for me. Stating my preference for a basset hound with a bad Botox job probably killed her youthful infatuation.
The next several days are going to be hell, living under the same roof with Kristen. The only guest bedroom available is the one across from her room, which is not ideal for my sanity. Although I don’t have a sister, I’m certain people don’t put brothers and sisters in rooms facing each other. That’s just…weird. And wrong. But I can survive the arrangement…so long as Ryder’s people work fast to fix the mess.