Chapter 5

Lyra's POV

His tongue was clearly forked, and pierced. And it kept swiping at the bottom of his lip. It was incredibly distracting for an eerie reason.

What was so mysterious about the kind of music he listened to?

"What are you all of a sudden?"

I didn't know the answer to that myself.

"Um, whatever. As long as it's not satanic or I don't know... something that will possess my daughter and I if we accidentally hear it."

He smiled.

"But music is meant to possess one's entire being. That's the whole point of the melody."

He actually smiled.

Not a grin. Not a... wolfish predatory smirk.

But it was gone as soon as it came.

"Hard pass. I'll rather listen to my own kind of music, thank you."

He shrugged.

"Suit yourself, I'll be settling in. My trip here was quite long."

______

We reached the west wing doorway.

“Well,” he said, surveying the space. “Not bad. Bigger than my dorm back on my former campus.”

“You are in college,” I said flatly. Reminding myself of the fact.

“Graduate student,” he corrected. “Art and design, and welp, athlete on scholarship.”

Of course he was.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Basketball.”

He looked offended.

“Track.”

"Really?”

“Really.”

I glanced at his long legs, the easy balance in his stance. He could be a quarterback, boxer or basketball whatever it was, easily

I turned toward the door.

“I am going back to check on Eleanor. You should unpack.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I paused.

“Do not call me that. I'm not that old.”

“Copy that, landlord.”

______

I stood in the kitchen longer than necessary..

I pinched one mint leaf between my fingers, tore it gently, inhaled and placed it back down. The pasta water bubbled softly on the stove. Broccoli steamed in a neat little bowl, already seasoned. I had enough for three people.

I was not obligated to make lunch for my tenant. He paid rent. That was it. End of transaction.

And yet, here I was, standing in my kitchen, contemplating if I should bring out two bowls or three.

I sighed, washed my hands, and dried them with the towel on the countertop.

Fine.

In the spirit of being a decent human being, I would include him in the plan for lunch.

I climbed the stairs to the west wing, mentally rehearsing a neutral sentence.

Lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes.

That was straight to the point and civil enough.

I reached his door, and it wasn't locked. He was walking around with his smartphone placed to his ear.

And it looked flamboyantly costly. Ofcourse, he was a Rourke after all.

"...Father put you up to this, didn't he?"

".... I am settling in fine. Yeah."

I let my hand fall from the handle and eavesdropped without meaning to.

“....No, the transfer went smoother than I thought.”

I couldn't hear the voice on the other end.

“....Yeah. Yeah, that tracks.”

I leaned slightly closer to the door when he flopped back on the bed.

A towel hung low around his waist, knotted loosely, damp at the edges. His hair was wet, darker than before, and droplets of water trickled down his back. I knew he had a fit physique, but now that he had taken off his clothes...

I should not have been looking.

I knew that.

I absolutely, one hundred percent knew that.

And yet my eyes stayed exactly where they were, cataloging details I had no business registering. The slope of his shoulders. The way his back narrowed toward his waist in a tight V-line. Like an arrow pointing to the front of what his towel shielded.

Lyra, stop.

He turned slightly, adjusting the towel, and I looked away a second too late.

Heat crept up my neck. This was mortifying. I was a mother. A responsible adult with morals and trust issues.

Get it together.

“…yeah,” Luca said again. “Hold on. Let us switch to FaceTime. This line is acting up. I have to tell you about something crazy that happened today.”

He flopped back onto the bed, and angled the camera. I was clearly looking at the screen now.

It had the 'connecting' icon on it. I waited patiently to see who was on the other end, out of curiosity.

Until a pair of slate blue eyes and a chin lined with hair filled the screen. The world narrowed to a single, breathless point.

My hand pressed harder against the door than I intended, and I fell, accidentally pushing it open. I stumbled forward with a startled gasp and went down hard, the impact knocking the breath clean out of me as I landed on the floor of Luca’s room.

Luca jerked upright on the bed.

“What the hell—”

On the phone screen, Cassian narrowed his eyes.

“Luca? What was that?”

I flattened myself against the floor instantly, feeling a huge rush of anxiety replacing the blood in my veins.

He slapped his palm over the phone screen, blocking the camera entirely. “Douche, I will call you back.”

Cassian frowned, his voice muffled beneath Luca’s hand. “What do you mean you will call me back? Luca, are you—”

He hung up.

I stayed frozen on the floor for half a second too long.

Luca looked down at me.

"Were you eavesdropping on me?"

“Why were you calling Cassian?” I retorted. “You told me that both of you don't get along but you sounded all chatty chatty with him. ”

I pushed myself back against the wall.

"Were you about to tell him about Eleanor?"

Heavens. I was so stupid.

“I should have known better. I should have listened to my mother. This is exactly what she warned me about, trusting strangers.”

“Lyra,” Luca said, holding up a hand. “Wait. Chill. Just chill for one second.”

“I cannot chill,” I snapped. “You had him on FaceTime. On FaceTime. Do you know what could have happened if he saw me?”

He crossed the room in two strides and grabbed my shoulders.

“Listen to me,” he murmured, eyes locked onto mine. “I did not tell Cassian anything. I wasn't going to.”

His fingers pressed into my arm.

And his towel fell off.