“But since you’re making two steaks, I’ll have the one you don’t want,” I say. Hunger has the most incredible ability to overcome pride and better sense, especially when there’s potentially free food to be had. And even if Tolyan plans to charge me for it later, the smell in the kitchen is too much of a torture. I’m not strong enough to withstand it.
He lets out a small sound that’s somewhere between scoff and laugh. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”
“They can’t both be for you,” I say.
“My dogs love steak. They’re hungry and grateful, unlike some people.”
Oh. I didn’t think about that. I glance at the three Dobermans vibrating with anticipation, then back at Tolyan. Well, this is embarrassing and awkward…
Then I note a corner of his lips quirking upward. Guess this is his smal
l half revenge, half teasing for my earlier comment. “Okay. I’m hungry and grateful.”
Silently he pulls out two asymmetrical bowls and scoops out piping-hot mashed potatoes from a small appliance I’ve never seen before.
“Put the salad on the table,” he says.
I retie the knot with the sheet to make sure it stays in place, then take the bowl and put it on the table, which is big enough for six. I come back to the kitchen. “Want me to get the utensils, too?”
“The drawer to your left.”
I pull it out. Lying neatly inside are forks, spoons, bread knives and steak knives.
For a brief moment, I want to take one and hide it on me somewhere, just in case. But he’s trusting me with the knives, so I shouldn’t betray that trust if I want him to like me enough to want to help.
I set the table. Tolyan takes off his apron and carries two plates with steak and mashed potatoes. He places one in front of me. The steak is enormous.
“If you can’t finish it all, you can give some to them.” He tilts his chin at the Dobermans sitting between us.
They look at me, eyes full of hope.
Sorry, doggies. I think you’re adorable, but I’m starving.
“Shouldn’t they get some dinner?” I ask.
“Don’t let them fool you. They’ve been fed already,” he says.
Really? From the way they’re staring, you’d think they hadn’t had a bite in ages.
“Anything else to drink?” he asks.
“I’m okay with the water.” Don’t need to experience another liquid fireball of “hydration.”
He pours himself another glass of vodka and sits down.
The steak’s rare. I prefer medium rare, but it’s cooked to perfection, the outside seared and crusted, and I’m not going to complain. I cut into the tender meat and sigh quietly at how flavorful and juicy it is. I haven’t eaten this well in ages. The sandwich last night was great, but it can’t compare to this. And the mashed potatoes are buttery and smooth, almost creamy on my tongue.
If this is going to be my last meal, it’s a damn good one.
Tolyan’s eating quietly, slicing his meat with professional precision. The Dobermans whine slightly, but they don’t move to beg for food.
After I finish about half the steak, he finally opens his mouth. “About what you said…”
I lift my head and give him a look that’s probably just as hopeful as the dogs’.
“If your stepbrother is hurting you sexually, surely you can report him to the police and put him in jail.”
“I haven’t seen him since he got caught and our parents kicked him out. But he does things to let me know he’s watching me. Besides, I don’t think he wants to, you know, hurt me that way. At this point, that wouldn’t be enough.”