“This is weird,” I say after swallowing my first bite. He looks from the plate in front of me to my mouth.
“Did I put too much cayenne in there?”
I shake my head, a small laugh erupting from my throat.
“Not the omelet. The omelet is perfect, thank you. It's weird sitting at this table, the both of us eating, as if this is a completely normal situation.” He hums in agreement but doesn't say anything else. We spend the remainder of the meal in silence. No words come from my lips but my head is a mess of questions I know I’ll probably never ask.
I can't recall a single time in my life when I have spent so much time in the presence of another without speaking. Words always seemed necessary, but the silence between us doesn't seem awkward. I don't feel obligated to smile and engage in small talk just to fill the void of silence. He definitely doesn't seem like he wants to speak.
He finishes eating before me but waits until I'm done before he stands. Without thinking, I stand as well, holding my hand out for his plate. He looks surprised, speechless, as he hands it over. I carry them both to the sink, awkwardly turning on the water. Washing dishes isn’t familiar to me, but I do my best, adding soap to the sponge and scrubbing the food away, before rinsing them and placing them on the draining board.
I feel an odd sense of accomplishment as I rinse my hands before turning off the water. I take a step back with a smile on my face, knowing he's still in the room because I can feel his presence as he watches me work. But when I look over at him, he's not smiling. That same air of annoyance I felt when I first walked into the kitchen swarms around me once again.
“What?” I ask, looking from his scrunched-up face, back to the dishes.
“They aren't clean,” he says.
I want to ask him if he's OCD, but I know that won’t go over well. My instinct is to apologize even though I'm not the least bit sorry. I hate being corrected. It means I've made a mistake. Instead of letting anI’m sorryslip out of my mouth, I take another step back and cross my arms over my chest.
I know what agitates him more than anything and I choose this moment to use it as a weapon. “I figure I did pretty well, considering I've never washed dishes before.”
He stares at me as if I am an alien transplant from a different planet.
“What?” I shrug. “The house staff always took care of that for me.”
His eyes narrow even further and I know that I hit the right button. “I've never swept or mopped either. I've never used a vacuum cleaner.”
He shakes his head in annoyance as he steps up to the sink and turns the water back on. Instead of hanging around, listening to him grumble and call me a spoiled brat under his breath, I leave the room. There are only three doors on the narrow hallway, one is the bedroom, one is the bathroom, but it's the last door on the right that I choose.
Chapter 23
Liam
“She's only doing it to annoy you,” I mutter, as I scrub the plate again. Who only washes the front side of a plate? All sides need to be washed and it doesn't make me an asshole for wanting my dishes clean. “Never swept or mopped or vacuumed,” I mumble. “Prissy little bitch.”
As annoyed as I am, I'm also a little impressed at the way she handled herself. She didn't apologize or offer to do it right. And I honestly think that it was different behavior than she would have displayed the first day she was here. She's not as quick to please. She's taken more pauses as she works through the way she should respond to me.
It's only a matter of time before she explodes. It's only a matter of time before she shows me who she really is. But it's also only a matter of time before they come to take her away from me. It's that sense of urgency that has me quickly drying my hands and leaving the room in search of her.
I find her in my small home gym. Her back to the door as she looks down at the small open door on the far side of the room.
“Is that for storage?” she asks.
I have to laugh. “It's a hidden room.”
“It looks more like a closet, for a hobbit,” she says, angling her face in my direction as I step in beside her, making sure we don't touch.
“Not everyone lives in fifteen thousand square foot homes, Raya.”
“Clearly,” she says and that annoyance that I tried to fight down in the kitchen threatens to come back.
When I look at her, she's got a small smile playing on her lips, and it lights her pretty blue eyes up. I realize she's joking or at least attempting to make a joke. “Doesn't seem like much of a hidden room if you leave the door open,” she says.
“The room only needs to be hidden if I need to hide. It's a waste of time to have to open it in case I need to get in there quickly.” I have to look away. I don't know why I'm explaining this to her. It's bad enough that I abducted her. Giving her the ability to witness all my insecurities is showing weakness. I push it closed before turning back to look at her, wanting to see if she's just as impressed as I was when I first purchased the home, with how it seamlessly fits into the wall, making it impossible to tell that it's even there.
“Seems like a really thin panel,” she observes.
“It is. I don't think it would prevent someone from being heard.” I have to laugh. “The goal is to be quiet. If I'm in there, I won't make a noise.”