I try a forkful of omelet but can barely taste it. Basic training!
“Stop biting your lip. It’s very distracting, and I happen to know you’re not wearing anything under my shirt which makes it even more distracting,” he growls.
I dunk my teabag in the small pot that Christian has provided. My mind is in a whirl.
“What sort of basic training did you have in mind?” I ask, my voice slightly too high, betraying my wish to sound as natural, disinterested, and calm as I can with my hormones wreaking havoc through my body.
“Well, as you’re sore, I thought we could stick to oral skills.”
I choke on my tea, and I stare at him, eyes wide and gaping. He pats me gently on the back and passes me some orange juice. I cannot tell what he’s thinking.
“That’s if you want to stay,” he adds. I glance up at him, trying to recover my equilibrium. His expression is unreadable. It’s so frustrating.
“I’d like to stay for today. If that’s okay. I have to work tomorrow.”
“What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?”
“Nine.”
“I’ll get you to work by nine tomorrow.”
I frown.
“I’ll need to go home tonight – I need clean clothes.”
“We can get you some here.”
I don’t have spare cash to spend on clothes.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I need to be home this evening.”
His mouth is a hard line.
“Okay, this evening,” he acquiesces. “Now eat your breakfast.”
My thoughts and my stomach are in turmoil. My appetite has vanished. I stare at my half-eaten breakfast. I’m just not hungry.
“Eat, Anastasia. You didn’t eat last night.”
“I’m really not hungry,” I whisper.
His eyes narrow.
“I would really like you to finish your breakfast.”
“What is it with you and food?” I blurt. His brow knits.
“I told you, I have issues with wasted food. Eat,” he snaps. His eyes are dark, pained.
I must remember not to put so much on my plate if he’s going to be weird about food. His expression softens as I carefully make my way through my breakfast. I note that he cleans his plate. He waits for me to finish, and then he clears my plate.
“You cooked, I’ll clear.”
“That’s very democratic.”
“Yes.” He frowns. “Not my usual style. After I’ve done this, we’ll take a bath.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Hi.” I wander over to the glass doors of the balcony, away from him.
“Ana, why didn’t you text last night?” She’s angry.
“I’m sorry, I was overtaken by events.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Did you?” She’s fishing for information. I roll my eyes at the expectation in her voice.
“Kate, I don’t want to talk over the phone.” Christian glances up at me.
“You did… I can tell.”
How can she tell? She’s bluffing, and I can’t talk about this. I’ve signed a damned agreement.
“Kate, please.”
“What was it like? Are you okay?”