Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44256 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
“Are-are you doing this on purpose?”
Aithar tries to give me an innocent look, but he’s a terrible liar. “I would never.”
“You shit! You are! Absolutely!” I jump to my feet.
“And it’s going to be fine,” he reassures me. He tosses the cutlery down onto the now-dirty counter and comes to my side, putting his hands on my shoulders again and gently steering me back into my seat. “Now sit and let me take care of you.”
“But—”
“Sit.”
I thump to my seat, and he smiles at me and presses a kiss atop my head. Then he returns to the kitchen, where he continues to make a horrific mess. By the time he’s done, he produces one very nice-looking omelet…and the counters and the floors are a disaster. I swear he dirtied every dish, too.
“I made you a human dish,” he tells me proudly. “This is one Ruth-Ann taught me. Tell me if you like it?”
I glance over at the filthy kitchen.
“It can wait. The world will not end if there is a mess on the counter. Eat.”
Reluctantly, I take a forkful of omelet and taste it. Delicious. “It’s good. Thank you.”
Aithar beams as if I’ve given him the biggest compliment ever. “Keep eating.”
“You’ll clean up while I do?” I ask hopefully, taking another forkful.
He shakes his head, remaining seated across from me. “No. We can clean it up later.”
My eye twitches. “It bothers me.”
“I know. But it’s not urgent and it’s harming nothing, so it can wait.” He folds his hands and gives me an easy look. “Do you think it will rain today? It feels as if it will, but the weather reports do not call for any precipitation.”
He’s seriously going to ask me about the rain? He’s going to make small talk right now? When I’m practically vibrating with tension? But I guess he is…and there’s nothing for me to do but eat and try to relax. I take another reluctant mouthful, and it really is delicious. He’s cooked the eggs perfectly, so they’re not runny but not rubbery either. I keep eating while he chatters on about the weather and what the others are up to. Ruth-Ann apparently has beef with a local baker, and Salvotor has abandoned them to run someone’s farm while they’re traveling. Dopekh is not taking this well and he’s moping hard, so the others are trying to cheer him up. He tells me a story of playing cards and everyone else was cheating to let Dopekh win every hand. By the time I’m done eating, I’m laughing at his tales and in a better mood. I’ve even forgotten the mess on the counter.
Until I look over, that is.
I set my fork down and give him a bright smile. “So…now we’re going to clean up?”
“No.” He gets to his feet and holds his hand out to me. “You’re going to tell me how to make butter and I’m going to work on your behalf.”
Automatically I put my hand in his, because I love his touch. I love the feel of his large, warm hand grasping mine. Then I realize what he’s saying and try to pull free. “Hang on—”
“No,” he says gently, and doesn’t let me go. “This is about you letting someone else have control, remember?”
“But the kitchen is a disaster!”
“It is. And I will clean it later. Right now, it does not matter. Dirty dishes can remain out and nothing will happen.”
I give him a mutinous look. “This isn’t making me feel better about the situation.”
“I imagine it is not, no. A lot of what we do today will bother you. Except for the orgasms.” He tugs me to my feet and leads me away from the table, ignoring that I’m dragging my feet. “But tomorrow you will wake up and think about today, and perhaps it will bring you a new perspective on things.”
“Or I’ll just wake up to a bunch of dirty dishes,” I grumble.
“Or that,” he agrees cheerfully. “I will help you clean, though.”
I’m sure he will. I’m also sure he will probably clean the dishes wrong, because I have a certain way of doing things. He’ll clean them out of order, and won’t put them back the way I like, and…boy, I’m really proving his point.
I hate that about myself.
Managing a smile, I try not to think about dishes or anything else. I ignore the fact that we’re leaving the dining room table dirty, and the kitchen dirty, and I haven’t made my bed, and there’s sawdust on the living room floor and on my nightgown. I need to let things go, like he says. “Let me get dressed if you want to head out to the barn.”
“No need. The weather is warm enough, and you look charming.”
I glance down. “I’m in my sleep clothes and bonnet.”
“Charming,” he repeats. “Come, let us go to the barn.”