"Doing what exactly?"
"All of this. The containers of products. The questions about keys and closet space. The planning to move in. What are you actually doing?"
She looks at me with those big, innocent eyes that I'm starting to realize might not be innocent at all. "I'm preparing for our marriage. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do as your future wife?"
"This isn't preparing. This is invading my personal space."
"Invading?" She looks genuinely hurt. "I'm just trying to be practical. We're getting married in a month. Shouldn't we start merging our lives now? Getting used to living together?"
"Merging is different from taking over everything."
"I'm not taking over! I'm just making sure I have what I need here when I need it." She stands gracefully, bringing her empty plate to the sink. "That was delicious, by the way. Thank you for cooking. You really are talented."
She starts washing her plate without asking, just takes over at my sink.
"You don't have to do that," I say, following her to the kitchen.
"I don't mind! I should help clean up. That's what partners do." She's looking around my kitchen, opening drawers. "Where do you keep your dish soap? Never mind, found it."
She washes her plate, then reaches for mine without asking.
I stand and bring my plate to her, our hands brushing when I hand it over. She doesn't react at all. No pause. No acknowledgment of the contact.
Like yesterday's kiss never happened. Like there's nothing between us.
I step closer, deliberately invading her space. Close enough that she should notice.
"Liana." My voice is low.
"Hmm?" She's scrubbing my plate.
"Look at me."
She glances up briefly. "Yes? Do you need something?"
I'm standing very close now, my body nearly touching hers. This proximity should mean something to her.
"You're standing very close," she observes matter-of-factly. "Am I in your way? Do you need something from this cabinet behind me?"
She's doing this on purpose. She has to be. This deliberate obliviousness can't be real.
"No. I don't need anything from the cabinet."
"Oh. Okay then." She goes back to washing, completely unfazed by my proximity.
I don't move. I'm still close, testing her, trying to get some reaction.
"Santo, you're kind of in my space," she says without looking up. "Can you hand me that dish towel?"
I hand her the towel.
She dries the plates, then moves to put them away. She opens the wrong cabinet.
"That's not where those go."
"Where do they go then?" she asks.
I reach around her to open the correct cabinet, my arm brushing hers, my chest nearly touching her back. I'm surrounding her, giving her every opportunity to acknowledge the physical tension between us.
