“Why did you call me?”

I force my gaze to slide up to his face. “Huh?”

His lips twitch in what resembles a smile. “The phone call, Lia.”

“Uh…nothing.”

“People don’t make phone calls for nothing.”

I rack my brain for something because I really don’t want to tell him I was on the verge of hyperventilating due to a visceral nightmare I had about him.

“Lia…” It’s a single word, but the warning is clear. Adrian is a damn dictator sometimes, I swear. He doesn’t tolerate having his questions ignored and will keep demanding an answer until I finally give it.

“I was going ask what you’re bringing tonight for dinner,” I blurt.

“I can send you whatever you like, but I probably won’t be able to make it.”

I fight the tug of disappointment that sinks to the bottom of my stomach.

Adrian raises a brow. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

“I don’t care,” I say with so much stubbornness, it leaves even me stunned.

“As you wish.” He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me against his chest. My tender nipples harden against his skin and I suck in a fractured breath through my parted lips.

Will this pull between us ever end? Will there ever be a day where I’ll be in Adrian’s vicinity and not wish to be closer?

“You didn’t have a nightmare last night,” he murmurs.

That’s because I had it this morning.

I frown. “How do you know I have nightmares? Wait…you watch me when I sleep?”

“I do.”

My mouth opens, and when it finds no words to say, it closes again. It shouldn’t be a surprise since he cleans me up every night, but I dislike that he studies me in my ugliest form.

“You know, for someone who claims not to be a stalker, you have obvious stalkerish behavior, Adrian.”

“A stalker would never openly admit to watching you sleep. If anything, they’d keep it a secret for as long as possible.”

I narrow my eyes on him. “You’re still a stalker.”

“If you say so.”

“You really don’t care, do you?”

“No, and neither should you, Lenochka. The world means nothing if you decide it doesn’t.”

“I’m not you, Adrian. I care.”

“Why would you when it’d only hurt you?” His hand glides in circles on the small of my back, eliciting shudders from my skin. “You’re better than that.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” A strange look passes in his eyes. It’s brief and quickly disappears as he says, “Since when did you start to have nightmares?”

“No particular date. Everyone has them.”

“Not like you. They seem more…raw.”

“It’s because they are. Sometimes, it takes me long minutes to differentiate between reality and a nightmare. Sometimes, what I have a nightmare about comes true.” My lips tremble at that, recalling how he was shot by Luca. Is that also something that will happen in the future?

“I presume this started a long time ago?”

I shake myself out of those thoughts. “Since I was a child. How did you know?”

“They seem deep-seated, and childhood events could produce that type of wild subconscious.”

“Are you my shrink now?”

“Not your shrink, no. I’m merely trying to understand that part of you better.”

I don’t know why that warms my heart, why everything in me becomes even more tender at those words. He shouldn’t care, he really shouldn’t, so why does he?

“There’s nothing to understand, not when I don’t understand it myself.”

“Hmm. We’ll see.”

I pause, watching the easy expression on his face. “How about you?”

“Me?”

“Do you know about trauma from childhood events because you went through something yourself?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is that a yes or no?”

“Neither.”

“It’s not fair if you’re the only one who knows things about me, Adrian.”

“I told you. Fairness doesn’t exist. Besides, weren’t you the one who made it clear that you don’t want anything to do with me?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re obviously not leaving me alone, so I can at least get to know you better.”

“So you can escape me?”

“N-no.”

“You’re lying, and that’s one strike for the day.” He narrows his eyes. “But it doesn’t matter, because you won’t be able to.”

The promise of his words hits me in the bones and it takes a few inhales of oxygen to get my bearings. “Then tell me.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Your childhood. Did something happen in it?”

“The real question would be what didn’t happen.”

“Was your stepmom evil?”

A distant nostalgic look fills his eyes. “It was the other way around. My mother was the villain and my stepmom was the real-life Disney princess who didn’t get saved.”

That’s the first time he’s talked so openly about his family. “Why was your mother the villain?”

“Villains don’t need reasons.”

“Yes, they do. You said it yourself that they’re heroes in their own stories and, therefore, they want something.”

“Do you remember everything I said, Lenochka?”

“I have a strong memory.” My cheeks burn. “So?”

“So what?”

“Why was she the villain?”

“Power. It was her first and last goal, and Aunt Annika got in the way, and though it wasn’t by choice, she still paid the price.”

“What price?” My voice is low, haunted like the look in his eyes.

“Her life. She died when I was seven.”

It dawns on me then. Judging by the way he appears nostalgic talking about his stepmother and even calls her Aunt, he must’ve loved her. He must’ve had some sort of a bond with her. I can almost imagine a younger Adrian holding on to his stepmother’s light because his mother and his mobster father didn’t emanate any.