Alison Storm

Chapter 24

Alison

"Do you want something to drink?" I ask Rhys as we sneak back into the house. I haven't exactly checked the time, but it must be somewhat between nine p.m. and four in the morning.

We fell asleep at some point, but I have to be honest, the bed on the yacht isn't the most comfortable one. I prefer the one in my bedroom, and it sure as hell showed by the amount of times I woke up.

The entire house is dark, except for the kitchen LEDs my parents must've kept on because they knew I wasn't inside yet.

"I'm good," he answers, and still follows me into the kitchen.

I open the refrigerator, taking out a bottle of water, then look at the ridiculous amount of vegetables we have. Turning to look at Rhys, I ask, "Do you know how to chop vegetables?"

He looks back at me with furrowed eyebrows, a confused expression that I'm not sure I like very much. "Doesn't everyone?"

I shake my head. "I barely know how to cut a cucumber. I don't like the peel of it, and I'm too stupid to work the peeler thingy."

"Did no one teach you?"

Turning away from Rhys, I face the refrigerator again, grabbing vegetable after vegetable before dropping them all in the kitchen counter. "My dad did." I walk over to where we keep the bigger knives and other kitchen tools like the peeler and such, opening the drawer. "But I always cut myself using this thing, so my father banned me from using it."

Rhys chuckles, coming up behind me. "Banned you?"

"Yes." I show him the peeler, tapping my thumb right underneath the inscription. Because it's a little dark in here despite the LEDs, I tell him what it says. "Drop it, Allie."

"Your father got a vegetable peeler inscribed?"

"Yup." I shrug like it's nothing unusual. It's not, for me. "That's what happens when you have a little too much money to know what to do with."

Rhys wraps his arms around my neck, looking down at my hands over my shoulder, watching me use that stupid peeler...or trying to use it.

"You know, I used to have socks with my name on it," I tell him. "When I was around fourteen, maybe? Vienna always went and stole my socks and I hated it. She said hers weren't good enough for her dance classes, so she took mine instead. I always got them back with holes in them. I told my parents, but Vivi insisted they were hers. So, naturally, my dad got us custom socks with our names on them so we couldn't mix them up anymore."

"They we're the same socks you always had, cheeseball. Neither of you checked the inside of the socks though," my fathers voice suddenly appears from the stairwell. "Not until your mother told you of it."

Rhys takes a step back, bringing some distance between us.

"Now, put that peeler down. I don't have the nerves to listen to you whining about another invisible scar on your fingers for the millionths time."

I don't drop it though, I hold my arm around for my father to take that thing away from me and peel my vegetables. He takes it, scooting me away from the kitchen counter.

"What are you doing awake at five in the morning anyway, cheeseball?" He asks, peeling away. I watch him, mesmerised by the lack of cuts he gives himself.

"Oh, we slept on the yacht, but the beds not comfy. So now we're back here," I tell him. "And it got a little cold."

My father looks at me, then Rhys and back at me again. "Not too surprising if neither of you thought to take actual clothes out there." Then he looks back at Rhys, his eyes lingering a little too long on the pink ducky swimming trunks. "That Connor's?"