He doesn’t bother responding.
—
Ordinarily, Maria would bring a used food tray the back way into the kitchen, but today she hauls it right through my dining room so she can shoot me a narrowed, disapproving look as she passes. Everyone in this house is obsessed with attempting to guilt me over the Mia situation. I’m not sure if I should be more impressed, amused, or alarmed at the loyalty she has somehow inspired within my household.
We have vastly different methods of commanding loyalty, I’ll say that.
I can’t help noticing, as Maria walks past, the tray is still full. “Did she not eat her lunch?”
“She hasn’t been eating anything at all,” Maria states, her face somehow blank and quietly resentful at the same time.
“Well, that’s no good,” I murmur, grabbing the napkin from my lap and tossing it on the table as I push my chair back.
Faint surprise flashes across Maria’s features as she takes a step back to make room for me. I take the tray from her and head upstairs myself.
I’m in the master hall, heading toward my bedroom with Adrian’s confused stare bouncing from me to the serving tray I’m carrying before I realize how ridiculous this must look. I don’t serve people.
Still, the damned girl has to eat.
Adrian turns the knob and pushes the door open wordlessly. I head inside and kick it shut behind me.
Mia is still in bed. She’s not asleep; she’s just lying there with my comforter pulled up around her neck. Her gaze drifts to me when I come in, but she makes no attempt to move.
“Why aren’t you eating?” I demand.
“Why do you care?” she returns, faintly glaring at me. “You’re just going to kill me anyway. Maybe I wanna look really good at my funeral.”
My lips curve up with mild amusement and I carry the tray over to the bed. “You won’t get a funeral. There, problem solved. Eat your lunch.”
She watches me put the tray down beside her and take a seat on the edge of the bed, but she doesn’t move to touch it. “I already told Maria I’m not hungry.”
“I’m not Maria.” I raise my eyebrows, cocking my head toward the tray. “Eat, or I force it down your throat.”
Fuck, shouldn’t have said it that way. Now I’m thinking about forcing other things down her throat and my cock is reminding me it’s been hours since I last fucked her. So many hours.
Despite her withering glare, Mia sits up in the bed. She keeps the bedspread pulled carefully around her torso and reluctantly reaches for the tray. “Fine.”
“I want the whole tray cleared,” I inform her.
Irritation gleams in her soft blue eyes, but she doesn’t argue; instead, she takes a bite.
I just sit there, watching her. I don’t really think about it or consider that it’s weird until she finally says something.
“Are you really going to sit there and watch me eat?”
I shrug like that’s a reasonable thing to do. “If I left, you could toss the food in the garbage. Maria said you haven’t been eating. I want to make sure there’s something in your stomach.”
More dread than the comment deserves settles on her, but she doesn’t say anything, just continues eating.
“After lunch, you can take a nice, warm shower,” I tell her. “I had Maria bring in your shampoo and conditioner.”
“Nope.” She pauses to take a sip of her orange juice. “I figure if I’m not clean, maybe you won’t want to rape me.”
“Did that strategy work with not eating?” I ask, simply. “Maybe you want me to watch you shower, too?”
At that, she pales. All the rebelliousness goes out of her though, and I’d bet my house she’s freshly showered and smelling strongly of coconut when I return to this room tonight.
Mia watches me suspiciously. “Why are you smiling?”
Well, damn, didn’t realize I was. I don’t have a reason to give her, so I don’t answer at all.
Probably because I’m sitting here watching her eat like a creepy bastard, she continues to eye me uncertainly as she eats her lunch.
“From now on when Maria brings you breakfast in the morning, you eat it. If you’re not hungry for lunch, fine, but you need to eat something to keep your energy up. I’m not always home to check lunch and I eat dinner at the table like a civilized human being, but I will always be home to check your breakfast tray. If Maria brings it back full again, I will punish you.”
Her pretty face flushes, but she doesn’t argue. I can practically hear her thoughts, wondering what that entails, but she’s not bold (or possibly brave) enough to ask.
“You can come back to nightly dinners now if you want to,” I add. “Just let Adrian know and I’ll have a dress brought in for you. He’ll escort you downstairs to avoid any unpleasant run-ins.”