But he also knows what he?
??s done is super dickish, which is why he won’t dare breathe a word about it. So let him stew in private shame if he’s capable. I don’t care.
If I let go of my past baggage, what I need to do becomes clear. Simple, even.
It’s about time I get started.
Chapter Seven
Annabelle
By the time I wake up, it’s after eight. I groan. I can’t believe I let myself sleep so late. First coherent thought is: Nonny. She needs to get off to scho—
The scent of hot coffee cuts through my morning fog. Elliot is sitting on the bed with a heavy ceramic cup, smelling fresh and soapy himself. He’s in a pale gray cotton shirt and denim shorts. His hair is damp from a shower, probably after his exercise. He runs on some mornings.
“For me?” I ask, eyeing the steaming mug hopefully.
“Yes.”
It is impossible to be annoyed with a man for not waking me up earlier when he comes bearing java. “Thank you.”
“Are you feeling better?”
I take a sip. “Getting there.” I take another sip. “You should’ve woken me up. Nonny—”
“Why? You were sleeping, and I can handle Nonny. She only wanted some cereal anyway.”
“Did she look more rested?”
He nods. “A little bit.”
“Has she shown any signs of stress? Maybe she’s not getting along with her classmates?” I know she likes Elliot. Maybe she’s shared something with him that she hasn’t with me.
“No. She seems to be adjusting well to the new school. My assistant followed up and he said she was doing fine.”
The mug hovers in mid-air. “You checked up on her?”
“Of course.”
I flush, embarrassed. “That should’ve been my job.”
“You were busy. Besides it was nothing. I delegated.”
I sigh. “I wonder what’s going on then. She doesn’t sleep well when she’s stressed. Do you think she’s still upset about passing out at the dinner? I know she really wanted to meet Ryder.”
An inscrutable expression crosses his face. “Why don’t you finish your coffee and we can talk?”
“‘Talk’?”
“Yeah, But it’ll be better if you have some caffeine in you beforehand.”
Now I’m really worried.
“I’ll fix something for breakfast. Toast? Eggs?”
“Toast,” I say, not thinking at all about food.
He leaves, closing the door behind him. I gulp down the coffee as fast as I can while going through my morning ritual, including a quick shower. After throwing on a white tank-top and a denim skirt, I go to the dining room, my bare feet quiet on the hardwood floor. My hair is still damp on my shoulders.