“Anxious for our wedding night?” Stone’s deep, soft baritone creeps up my spine. I jump and turn, bumping my head on his chin.
He rubs it and takes a step back. I resist the need to rub my head, not wanting him to think I hurt myself out of fright. Though I won’t be upset if I gave him a serious case of lockjaw.
“If I’m going to be trapped here for the next two years, I should know my surroundings.”
“If there’s anything you need, let the help know. They’ll get it for you.”
“I need my mother.”
“In time.”
“I need a better estimate.”
After his signature long, drawn out pause, he sighs. “Lunch is ready.” He retreats down the hallway, clearly expecting me to follow. Which I do.
He stops in the archway of the dining room, and like a gentleman, holds out his arm for me to go first. The table is beautifully set with China and crystal. Two covered plates of food are placed across from each other. The eight-foot width means I won’t have to be too close to him, but still. It’s too...formal.
Maria stands in the far corner, her hands folded in front of her waiting for the next command from her boss, no doubt. I give her a smile. “Hi, Maria. I’m going to eat at the counter. Which plate is mine?”
She opens her mouth in shock and looks to Stone. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t indicate what to do. I push forward and pick up the silver dome of the plate closest to me. Grilled chicken, pasta with a garlic butter sauce, and a side of fruit.
No green veggies. Has to be Stone’s. I round the table and pick up my plate without peeking under the dome. Maria comes rushing over.
“I can carry that for you, Miss Smith.”
“No bother. I’ve got it. You can tend to Stone...Mr. Parlatore’s orders.” With that, I shrug my shoulder at him and hold my head high as I march into the kitchen, setting my plate down at the massive counter.
I pick up the lid and grin at my lunch. It’s the same as Stone’s, only smaller in portion, with a heaping helping of broccoli on the side. No sooner have I unfolded the napkin on my lap when Stone barges into the kitchen.
“What the hell was that about?”
“What?” I spear my broccoli with my fork and shove it into my mouth, purposefully forgetting all the manners I’d been brought up with.
He looms over me and speaks in a soft, harsh voice. “You disobeyed me in front of the help.”
“I did no such thing.” I stab a floret with aggression and chew loudly. “I simply said I wanted to eat in the kitchen. I didn’t know I was disobeying.” I air quote the last word.
“You...” He stammers, which is new, and drops his gaze to my plate. “What the hell are you eating?”
“Broccoli. Greens are an important part of your diet.”
“Trees are meant to be planted in the ground, not in our stomachs.”
“Wow. I expected someone as fit as you to be a little more aware of your nutrition.” As soon as the words escape my lips, I feel my cheeks redden.
I don’t need to look up at him to see the rise in his eyebrow.
“I eat what I want,” he says, making the double entendre quite clear. “And work off the calories with extra...physical activity.”
I wish I brought the crystal flute of whatever had been in it with me. Needing to wash down the broccoli lodged in my throat, I scoot the stool back and jump to my feet. I open cabinet after cabinet.
“Where the hell do you keep glasses?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can you not know? This is your house.” I scan the kitchen again searching for the fridge. There must be bottled beverages in it. “And where’s the damn fridge?”
Stone sighs, the most audible one yet, and opens a cabinet door. Ah. A fake cabinet to hide the monstrosity of a fridge. “Do you have any Diet Coke?” All I see are eggs, milk, yogurt, fruit, and meat. Not a vegetable in sight.