The Golden Lily (Bloodlines, #2)(116)

He opened the door when I knocked, a paintbrush in hand. "Oh," he said. "Unexpected."

"Am I interrupting anything?"

"Just homework." He stepped aside to let me in. "Don't worry. It's not the crisis for me that it would be for you."

I entered the living room and was happy to see it filled with canvases and easels once again. "You've got your art studio back."

"Yup." He set the brush down and wiped his hands on a rag. "Now that this place is no longer research central, I can return it to its normal artistic state." He leaned against the back of the plaid sofa and watched me as I strolled from canvas to canvas. One of them gave me pause. "What's this? It looks like a lily."

"It is," he said. "No offense, but this lily is kind of more badass than yours. If the Alchemists want to buy the rights to this and start using it, I'm willing to negotiate."

"Noted," I said. I was still smiling from Brayden's breakup, and this only added to my good mood. Although, admittedly, the painting kind of lost me a little - as the abstract nature of his art often did. The lily, despite being more stylized and "badass" than the prim one on my cheek, was still clearly identifiable. It was even done in gold paint. Splashes of free-form scarlet paint surrounded it, and around the red was an almost crystalline pattern in ice blue. It was striking, but if there was some deeper meaning, it was beyond me.

"You're in an awfully good mood," he observed. "Was there a sale at Khakis-R-Us?" I gave up on my artistic interpretation and turned to him. "Nope. Brayden broke up with me."

Adrian's smirk faded. "Oh. Shit. I'm sorry. Are you... I mean, do you need a drink? Do you need to, uh, cry or anything?"

I laughed. "No. Weirdly, I'm fine. It really doesn't bother me at all. But it should, right?

Maybe there's something wrong with me."

Adrian's green eyes weighed me. "I don't think so. Not every breakup is a tragedy. Still...

you might be due for some kind of comfort."

He straightened and walked over to the kitchen. Puzzled, I watched as he pulled something from the freezer and rifled through his silverware drawer. He returned to the living room and presented me with a pint of pomegranate gelato and a spoon.

"What's this for?" I asked, accepting the offering out of shock alone.

"For you, obviously. You wanted pomegranate, right?"

I thought back to the night at the Italian restaurant. "Well, yeah... but you didn't need to do this..."

"Well, you wanted it," he said reasonably. "That, and a deal's a deal."

"What deal?"

"Remember when you said you'd drink a regular can of pop if I didn't smoke for a day?

Well, I calculated the calories, and that's the same as a serving of this. If you can believe there are four servings in that tiny thing."

I nearly dropped the gelato. "You... you went a day without smoking?"

"Almost a week, actually," he said. "So you can eat the whole thing if you want."

"Why on earth would you do that?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Hey, you laid out the challenge. Besides, smoking's an unhealthy habit, right?"

"Right..." I was still stunned.

"Eat up. It's going to melt."

I handed the gelato back. "I can't. Not with you watching. It's too weird. Can I eat it later?"

"Sure," he said, returning it to the freezer. "If you'll really eat it. I know how you are." I crossed my arms as he stood opposite me. "Oh?"

He fixed me with a disconcertingly hard look. "Maybe everyone else thinks your aversion to food is cute - but not me. I've watched you watch Jill. Here's some tough love: you will never, ever have her body. Ever. It's impossible. She's Moroi. You're human. That's biology. You have a great one, one that most humans would kill for - and you'd look even better if you put on a little weight. Five pounds would be a good start. Hide the ribs. Get a bigger bra size."

"Adrian!" I was aghast. "You... are you out of your mind? You have no right to tell me that!

None at all."

He scoffed. "I have every right, Sage. I'm your friend, and no one else is going to do it. Besides, I'm the king of unhealthy habits. Do you think I don't know one when I see it? I don't know where this came from - your family, too many Moroi, or just your own OCD nature - but I'm telling you, you don't have to do it."

"So this is some kind of intervention."

"This is the truth," he said simply. "From someone who cares and wants your body to be as healthy and amazing as your mind."

"I'm not listening to this," I said, turning away. A mix of emotions churned in me. Anger.

Outrage. And weirdly, a little relief. "I'm going. I never should have come by." His hand on my shoulder stopped me. "Wait... listen to me." Reluctantly, I turned. His expression was still stern, but his voice had softened. "I'm not trying to be mean. You're the last person I want to hurt... but I don't want you hurting yourself either. You can ignore everything I just said, but I had to get it out, okay? I won't mention it again. You're the one in control of your life."