Chapter Seventeen
Alicia's POV
"This is Cassie," I said, gesturing to my friend. "My best friend."
Cassie's eyes bounced between Malachi and me, clearly confused. "And who's this?" she asked, pointing at him with her coffee cup.
Malachi looked at me, one eyebrow raised. That smirk playing on his lips. Like he was waiting to see what I'd say. Testing me.
My throat felt dry. "He's my brother-in-law. Travis's younger brother."
Something flickered in Malachi's eyes. Disappointment? Anger? Whatever it was disappeared as quickly as it came, replaced by that calm, controlled mask he always wore.
"Brother-in-law," he repeated slowly, like the words tasted wrong in his mouth. "Right."
Then, without asking, he pulled out the empty chair at our table and sat down. Maurice remained standing a few feet away, his expression neutral.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Sitting," Malachi said simply. "It's rude to stand when ladies are present."
Cassie looked amused. "I like him already."
I shot her a warning look, but she just grinned at me.
Malachi ordered an espresso, and the conversation became awkward. Cassie tried to fill the silence with small talk, asking Malachi about the family business and how long he'd been back in the city.
He answered politely, but his eyes never left me. Not when he lifted his cup. Not when he set it down. Not when Cassie laughed at something he said.
His gaze was constant. Unrelenting. Like he was trying to read my thoughts.
After about fifteen minutes, Cassie checked her phone and made a dramatic sigh. "I hate to do this, but I have to run. Work calls." She stood and grabbed her bag. "It was so good seeing you, Alicia. And nice meeting you, Malachi."
"The pleasure was mine," he said smoothly.
Cassie hugged me tight and whispered in my ear, "He's gorgeous. We'll talk later."
Then she was gone, leaving me alone with him.
I immediately stood. "I should go too."
"Sit down, Alicia."
"I have groceries in the car. They'll spoil."
"They'll be fine for five more minutes. Sit."
It wasn't a request. It was a command. And for some reason, I obeyed, sinking back into my chair.
"Why are you following me?" I asked, my voice low and angry. "This morning I don't have to see you, and now you show up here?"
"Following you?" He leaned back in his chair, looking far too relaxed. "This is my friend's restaurant. I come here all the time."
"Convenient."
"Very." His lips curved. "Though I have to admit, running into you was the highlight of my day."
My face heated. "Stop."
"Stop what?"
"This. Whatever you're doing. It needs to stop."
"And what exactly am I doing, Alicia?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Because I didn't know how to explain it without admitting that he affected me. That every look, every touch, every word got under my skin.
"Let me drive you home," he said after a moment.
"No. I have my car."
"Then I'll follow you. Make sure you get home safely."
"I don't need a bodyguard."
"Didn't say you did. But you're getting one anyway."
I grabbed my purse and stood again. "You're insufferable."
"And you're beautiful when you're angry," he said, standing with me. "Did you know that?"
I hated how my heart fluttered at his words. Hated how much I wanted him to say more. Hated that I loved and hated everything about him at the same time.
"Goodbye, Malachi," I said firmly.
"See you at home, Alicia."
I walked out of the café, feeling his eyes on me the entire way.
The drive home was filled with me cursing under my breath. Every red light. Every turn. Every mile felt like a personal attack from the universe.
"Insufferable. Arrogant. Controlling. Stupid handsome face," I muttered, gripping the steering wheel. "Following me around like I'm some kind of prey. Who does he think he is?"
But even as I said it, I could feel the smile trying to form on my lips. The warmth in my chest that I didn't want to acknowledge.
When I finally got home, I needed a distraction. Something to clear my head and put distance between me and thoughts of Malachi Blackwood.
Cooking. I'd cook.
I hadn't cooked since Travis fell into his coma. Before that, he'd always criticized everything I made. Too salty. Too bland. Not enough flavor. Too much flavor. Nothing was ever good enough.
But today, I didn't care about his opinions. He wasn't here to complain.
I went to the kitchen and started pulling out ingredients. The maids looked surprised but offered to help. Together, we made roasted chicken with herbs, garlic mashed potatoes, fresh vegetables, and a pasta dish that had always been one of Grandpa's favorites.
The kitchen filled with delicious smells, and for the first time in months, I felt like myself again.
By the time dinner was ready, the dining table was set beautifully. The family gathered, and I carried out the dishes with the maids' help.
Layla looked at the food suspiciously. "You cooked this?"
"Yes," I said.
"Make sure you're not trying to poison us," she said, her voice cold.
Isabella, Mario's wife, leaned forward and inhaled deeply. "It smells wonderful, Alicia. Truly."
Layla turned on her immediately. "Of course you'd say that. You're just like her. Trash that this family picked up out of pity."
The room went silent. Isabella's face fell, and she looked down at her plate. My chest tightened with anger.
Isabella was kind. Quiet. She didn't deserve to be treated like this. Not by Layla. Not by anyone.
She'd been through so much. Mario's abuse. Her son Tyson's banishment. Watching her daughter Sasha turn into a younger version of her cruel father.
And still, she endured. Still, she stayed.
I hated marriage. Hated what it turned people into. My own mother had died young, exhausted by my father's cruelty. He'd only married her for her money, and when she was gone, he turned his venom on me and my younger sister.
I wondered where they were now. If my sister was okay. If she'd managed to escape like I was planning to.
The Blackwood family was no different. Every marriage here was a transaction. A business deal. Power and money exchanged for vows that meant nothing.
But the maids had once told me a story. About Grandpa Blackwood and his late wife. They said it was the only real love match in the family. That they'd adored each other until the day she died.
I wanted to believe that love like that existed. That marriage didn't have to be a prison.
But looking around this table, I couldn't find any evidence of it.