Closing my eyes momentarily, I took a breath. I was being ridiculous. I barely knew the woman. The only thing I needed was for her to get out of this disgusting bed so I could burn it.
Gritting my teeth, I yanked the blankets off of her. "Come on, Veda. You're getting up. You're getting a fucking shower. And you're eating the fucking food that's drying out in the oven while I waste my time dealing with you. Food I made with my own fucking hands." She tried to pull the blankets back up over herself, but I wouldn't allow it. "I'll shower you myself if you don't get out of this goddamn bed." Still, she didn't move.
Okay. Fine.
Sliding my arms beneath her, I lifted her and carried her toward the bathroom. She was light as a child in my arms. And that pissed me off even more. "What the fuck are you doing to yourself?" She'd lost enough weight that I could hold her in one arm as I turned on the shower. But it wasn't until I sat her under the spray fully clothed that she woke from her stupor.
Throwing her hands up in front of her face to block the spray of water, she coughed and sputtered. "What the fuck, Luca?"
"You stink," I told her. "And I'm not eating my dinner with you like this."
"Nobody asked you to," she said with a little more life in her voice. Yet she just sat there under the spray, not even trying to get up. Like she didn’t have the energy to fight me with anything other than her words.
Taking off my T-shirt and jeans, I folded them neatly and got into the shower. When I laid my hands on her, I was relieved to see some of the fire return to her eyes. She fought me as I stripped her down, but she was weak from lying in bed and not eating. And when I saw her ribs and hipbones poking out of her skin, I growled low in my throat, barely containing my outburst of temper, furious at her for not taking care of herself. Grabbing the shampoo, I lathered up her long hair, rinsed it, and washed it a second time. Then I did the same with her body, scrubbing every inch, then forcing her under the spray of water to rinse.
Veda cursed me the entire time, her thin arms trying to push me away. But by the time I turned off the water, she was clean, and I was soaked. Grabbing a towel from the heated rack, I rubbed her briskly until her blood flowed and her skin was a healthy pink, and then bundled her up in it before I wrapped a second one around my waist. "Come on," I told her, grabbing my clothes.
She tried to crawl back into bed, but I headed her off and marched her down the hall to my room, where I held onto her wrist as I found her some clean, dry clothes.
"I don't want to wear your stuff!" she spit at me.
"Would you rather sit at my table naked?" I asked her calmly. "Because I don't mind. You're way too thin, but at least you still have your tits."
Her lip curled, and she pulled back her arm.
I caught it before her palm could make contact with my face. "Do NOT hit me again."
Her nostrils flared as she glared up at me. We stood, locked in a standoff, until she yanked her arm from my grasp and grabbed the clothes I held out for her. Stomping into the bathroom, she slammed the door. I heard the lock click.
I allowed her the moment of rebellion as I got myself dressed. When she came out, modestly covered in one of my shirts and some lounge pants that hung from her thin hips despite the drawstring, I walked over to her and took one of her hands in mine, forcing her to unclench her fist. Holding her hand between my two palms to warm it, I took a moment to rein in my temper. Fighting with her would not get me what I wanted—her compliance. "As I was saying, I made us dinner. And I would appreciate it if you kept me company. I thought we could talk." It was a command, not an invitation, but she seemed to take it as one anyway.
Her deadened eyes traveled over my face. Once. Twice. Before she finally said, "Fine."
Releasing her hand, I indicated for her to lead the way down to the dining room. I followed her closely, ready to catch her if her strength gave out.
"Sit, Veda. Please," I added when we arrived at the table. After a pause, she took a seat. I got the food from the oven and dished it out onto two plates, then I poured her some wine and sat down across from her. "I have a new offer for you," I told her.
"The only thing I want from you is for you to let me go."
"You know I can't do that."
"You can," she emphasized. "You just won't."
"Fair enough," I told her. "I will not let you go. But perhaps we can come to an agreement that will work for both of us."
"Like, what kind of agreement?" she asked after a pause.
"Eat something, and I'll tell you."
With a heavy sigh and a great show of reluctance, she picked up her fork and knife and cut off a small piece of chicken and put it in her mouth, chewing it slowly, then swallowing as though she were trying to choke down a tennis ball. I chose to ignore her rude manners, and just be happy she was eating something. I took a bite of my own chicken just to make sure it hadn't dried out too much in the oven, but no, it was fine. Better than fine, as a matter of fact. Closing my eyes, I savored the taste. I hadn't made my mother's chicken piccata in a long time. God rest her soul.
"You said you would tell me if I ate something. I ate something."
I glanced up at her over the short expanse of the table. She was sitting with her hands in her lap, her food untouched in front of her except for the one small bite I'd forced her to take. "I'll tell you what, for every bite you take, I'll tell you something new, or let you ask a question, if you prefer. But if your plate isn't clean when we are done, this new deal I’m about to offer you is off the table."
"I'm really just not hungry, Luca."
There was no fight in her tone this time, but at least there was still a little light in her eyes. "This isn't up for negotiation," I told her.