Before Gigi, I didn't remember the last time I watched a single movie, let alone one every single night.
She was right, though.
I had always been the kind to control the remote. And she'd sat valiantly through several lengthy action and war dramas that she clearly didn't enjoy.
"It better not be some fucking rom-com, kid," I warned her, tossing the remote in her direction.
"Don't insult me," she said, clicking through the options. "Okay this one. This was my favorite when I was in... when I first saw it," she said, and I didn't miss the slip, but couldn't figure out what—if anything—it meant.
"Arrival," I read before she clicked play. "What's it about?"
"First encounters with aliens."
"Seriously?" I asked, smirking. "You're a nerd, huh?"
"I just think that movies should be an escape. Watching sad war movies based on real events is depressing. I'd rather watch a bunch of people try to figure out how to speak to aliens."
"Or watch people fight with lightsabers? Or go on a quest for a special ring?"
"Careful," she said, pointing her chopsticks at me. "You might have taken all the knives away, but I'm pretty sure one of these bad boys can go straight through the eye and into the brain." The way she said it made me think she'd given the action some thought, before ultimately deciding she wasn't capable of that.
I shouldn't have found the idea of a—at the very least—chopstick lobotomy charming. But there was no denying the smile that tugged at my lips.
I liked her spirit.
It would have been easy, I imagined, to fall into the hopelessness of this situation. As the days passed and her father didn't seem to be worried about her or looking for her—turning up every rock in the city to find her.
But aside from the occasional rants, she had just settled in.
Almost like she didn't expect her father to look for her at all. Or to pay up even if he did know where she was and why she was taken.
That thought kept me awake at night, staring up at my ceiling, realizing that even my asshole father would have noticed me missing, and immediately moved heaven and earth to find me. If for no other reason, than his pride.
It said a lot about Leon that he wasn't missing his little girl.
It said more about her that she knew exactly what to expect from her father. And didn't even seem worked up about it.
I hated to think what my father would do—or order me to do—if Leon didn't end up giving a fuck about his daughter. Well, I knew I'd be tasked with killing Leon. But what would happen to Giana, this woman who had been kidnapped, so she couldn't exactly be set free?
"Hey, no," she snapped a couple moments later, shooting forward in her seat to smack my hand as I reached for a piece of sweet & sour chicken. "You're a sauce hog," she informed me.
"There's a whole pint of sauce," I reminded her.
"And you will somehow manage to use a third of that on one piece of chicken."
"You believe this shit?" I asked, looking at Christopher at the door. "I'm being rationed in my own fucking home."
"Don't talk to him. I'm this close to getting him on my side," Gigi claimed, squeezing her chopsticks close together.
Chris and I shared a look, both of us knowing it was family over everything. Always has been, always will be. But it was cute that she thought there was any way around that.
While she was distracted, I reached for the chicken, going to dip it, and dropping the whole fucking thing in the sauce.
When I glanced up, she was sending me the most I told you so look I'd ever seen in my life.
It was fucked up, but it was nice to have someone around. Sure, there were women in and out of my life. Always more out than in, usually not even coming into my space. The fewer people you invited into your personal space when you did the kind of shit I did for a living, the better. Your chances of trusting the wrong person, walking away, and having them plant a bug while you were in the bathroom were nil if you always went to their place to fuck. So, I hadn't really known what it was like to share a space with a person since I lived at home.
It was surprisingly nice not to be alone when you came home. And ate dinner. And watched TV.
And I was finding I was delegating work more and more to spend time in my apartment. I tried to justify it as "needing to keep an eye on Gigi," even if I knew damn well that was bullshit.
A couple hours later, I was forced to admit she had solid movie choices, that I was a sauce hog, and that the dessert I ordered was, apparently, "shit."