Ruined By My Brother's Best Friend (by Silverwriter) novel Chapter 55

Ruined By My Brother’s Best Friend

Do You Like It?

ARABELLA’S POV

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I blinked, shocked by his blunt observation as heat crept into my cheeks. Eager to make him as uncomfortable as I was, tilted my chin up. “How do you know I’m staring if you’re not staring too?”

His face remained blank, but one corner of his lips tipped up, though there was no amusement behind it. He didn’t answer.

Taking that as a sign that I’d managed to win the conversation, I turned and headed to my bedroom, eager to peel off my clothes and have a hot bath.

I avoided the mirror when I got inside. I didn’t want to see my rain-soaked hair or what was probably smudged makeup after getting caught in the rain. That would only get me in my head, and I didn’t want that.

After undressing and wrapping myself in a towel, I washed my hair, then prepared a hot bath. I stayed in it until the water was almost cold before finally getting out and drying my hair. Back in my bedroom, I changed into black sweatpants and an oversized black hoodie before tying my hair into a bun.

A distressed sigh escaped my lips, my stomach churning with hunger. I was starving… Starving.

I already regretted letting my pride get the better of me and ignoring the food Alvise had bought from the restaurant.

Walking out into the living room, I quietly tiptoed past the guest room.

“What the fuck,” I muttered under my breath as I realized what I was doing in my own apartment.

Straightening up, I walked normally into the kitchen and shuffled through the cabinets, unsure of what to make.

Confused, I puffed out a breath and sat on one of the kitchen stools, burying my face in my palms.

Another reason I completely hated cooking… Choosing what to cook.

I was a good cook, a very good one, if I was being honest. Yes, I believed in myself enough to brag in that aspect, but what made me step into the kitchen less was the constant back and forth that went on in my head over something as simple as choosing what to cook.

Not wanting to waste any more time, I decided to boil some pasta. I still had leftover tomato sauce from two days ago, so I decided to use that while reheating the frozen meatballs.

I was plating the food when I heard Alvise’s approaching footsteps. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and my hand holding the spaghetti spoon faltered as I spooned the pasta onto the plate.

From the corner of my eye, I watched him open the fridge and take out a bottle of water. I turned to look at him. He was wearing the clothes I’d left out, and they seemed to fit him well.

My gaze dropped to the cold bottle in his hand. “Isn’t that too cold?

He unscrewed the cap and drank to his fill before replying, “Not for me.”

I turned back to the plates of pasta and spooned the sauce and meatballs over them. “I read somewhere that it’s really cold in Russia. Maybe that’s why you’re used to it?” I mumbled, trying to start a conversation.

His reply came almost a minute later. “Perhaps.”

By then, I’d already picked up the cutlery, rinsed it, and wrapped it neatly in a napkin.

Turning around with his plate in my hands, I bit my lip. “This is for you.”

Ruined By My Brother’s Best Friend

He glanced at the plate before looking back at me. “It is?”

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32

odded, setting it on the counter. “You eat pasta, right?” I asked smugly before placing the napkin with his cutlery beside the plate.

“Like most humans, yes, I do,” he said.

I snapped my head up to stare at him, a gasp escaping my lips. “Did you just make an attempt at… a joke?”

He crossed one ankle over the other. “An attempt?” He shook his head. “It wasn’t an attempt.” Then he pushed himself away from the refrigerator and sat on one of the stools, drawing the plate of food closer.

I blinked, then turned back to grab my own plate before sitting directly opposite him.

I was anxious. My hands trembled around the cutlery, and after my first attempt at holding the fork properly, Lgave up and settled for simply watching him.

It was one thing to think I was a good cook. It was another to have a man as meticulously close to perfection as Alvise taste my food.

I didn’t know what I’d do if he gagged. I’d probably throw myself into the sea.

He ate quietly, not even a single sound escaping as he chewed. I almost hoped he’d do something, anything, that reminded me he was human and therefore capable of being imperfect.

He didn’t. The tense silence stretched on, the only sound in the kitchen being the soft clink of his cutlery against the plate.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably, my heart threatening to race as his face remained stoic, giving away no sign of whether he liked the food or hated it.

“You

hate it, don’t you?” I blurted, my shoulders slumping.

He glanced up without lifting his head, giving me a clear view of his thick lashes. Instead of answering, his gaze shifted to my untouched plate, and that was what made him straighten.

His eyes narrowed, prompting a chuckle to escape me at the seriousness on his face.

I clutched my stomach, threw my head back, and laughed, only stopping when my eyes began to water. “You…” I said, trying to catch my breath. “You don’t think I’ve poisoned you, do you?”

He said nothing, but a muscle in his jaw ticked.

My smile slowly faded. “Alvise… I didn’t poison you,” I said, frowning at how ridiculous that even sounded. “I wouldn’t… You know that, right?”

He seemed unbothered by my rambling as he looked back at the plate in front of him. “Prove it.”

A sharp ache tugged at my chest, disbelief stirring within me. My voice trembled as I spoke. “You… you think I’d actually want to hurt you?”

He stroked his chin and tapped a finger against the counter, his gaze unwavering. “Prove it.”

13 wea, Sep y M

Ruined By My Brother’s Best Friend

Difficult Questions

I waited patiently, hoping Alvise would call his own bluff and admit he was joking.

He didn’t.

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