Page 88 of Vega

I opened the refrigerator and began gathering ingredients.

“You really like cooking,” he said.

“I do.”

I placed the ingredients on the counter near the sink. I planned to make creamy Cajun chicken over parmesan grits with roasted asparagus.

I put some oil into a skillet on the stove and turned the fire on medium to heat it.

As I started to season the chicken, I told him, “When I was in the home, food was just something they gave us because legally they had to. Nobody cared whether it tasted good. Half the time it was cold or overcooked.”

Vega stayed quiet, listening.

“When I left, I couldn’t afford good food. College meal plans helped, but once those dining halls closed, I had a microwave, a mini refrigerator, a hot plate, and whatever I could stretch until payday.”

I added the chicken to the pan, and the kitchen filled with the sound of sizzling.

“I started watching cooking videos and figuring out what I could make in the dorm. Once I got a good job, I started buying ingredients I used to think were too expensive, like real parmesan, fresh herbs, and better cuts of meat.” I smiled to myself. “Cooking became one of the ways I took care of myself.”

When I glanced up, Vega was still watching me. He listened as if he wanted to engrave each word into his memory. Suddenly, I became aware of how I looked. I wore loose lounge pants and an oversized shirt. My hair was pulled back without much effort. I hadn’t curled my bundles, worn makeup, or even put on lip gloss since he took me.

I didn’t feel it necessary to get pretty for my captor.

Still, under his stare, I felt exposed.

I turned back to the stove. “Were you jealous earlier?”

“Huh?” He deeply chuckled. “Jealous?”

“You seemed irritated when Prodigy was flirting with me.”

“I don’t get jealous.”

I snorted playfully. “Of course not.”

I heard the stool shift.

A second later, Vega stood behind me. He was close enough that the warmth of his body settled against my back before he touched me. His cologne wrapped around me, mixed with the clean scent of soap and something warmer that belonged only to him. Every nerve in my body became aware of the space he occupied. I could feel him without looking. The width of his chest. The quiet strength in the way he stood. The faint brush of his breath near my hair when he leaned closer.

My fingers tightened around the spoon. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, the stove too hot, and my clothes too thin.

He hadn’t placed a hand on me, yet my body reacted like he had. He stepped into my space until the heat from his body competed with the stove. “Prodigy doesn’t need to enjoy your smile.”

I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my composure in his shadow. I looked up at him, amazed at the sight. He was breathtaking. “My smile doesn’t belong to you.” I tried to be witty, but my words came out soft and flirty. “I’m not your property. Even though you stole me and keep me locked away like art you snatched from a museum.”

Vega’s eyes moved down my body excruciatingly slowly before returning to my face. “That’s exactly what you are.”

My mouth went dry.

“A piece of art.” He returned to the stool before I forgot the chicken and burned his expensive kitchen down.

I faced the stove so he wouldn’t see the warmth spreading across my cheeks.

“You and your brothers are close,” I said, needing safer ground. I turned the chicken, then lowered the heat. “In the system, close relationships never felt permanent. You could finally start trusting somebody, then wake up and learn they had been moved to another home. Even the other kids learned not to get too attached because everybody was always leaving.” I stirred the sauce slowly, keeping my eyes on the pan. “There wasn’t anybody who had known me since I was little. Nobody who remembered my first day of school, the things I was afraid of, or what I looked like before. I never had people I could argue with and still know they would be there the next morning.” I finally looked at him. “So, watching all of you feels strange. Not bad. Just… like seeing a language everybody else learned at home, and realizing nobody ever taught it to me.”

Vega’s expression softened. “You ever want a family of your own?”

The question made my movements slow down. “I think so.”