I open my mouth to say something but, unable to find words, close it again.
The elevator door opens in front of his penthouse. It scans his face and opens automatically.
“Your things, along with your new phone, will reach here in an hour. In the meantime, you could take a shower. I’ll prepare something to eat for you,” he says, walking around the kitchen counter.
“You don’t have to cook for me. I will cook my own food.” I stand in front of him on the other side of the counter. “I will talk with my papa. And if he insists on me staying here, then it’s better that we make some rules.”
He raises one brow slightly. “Go on.”
“You and I are not friends, so we are not cooking for each other. And there is no meddling in each other’s life.”
He crosses his arms and watches me with a serious face, then smiles as if amused by some of his own thoughts. “Alright. As you wish.”
I nod and point toward the room downstairs. When Wen and Avi were here, it was occupied by Wen; now it’s free to use. Since Matleon’s bedroom is upstairs, I would very much like to stay in this room.
“I’ll stay in this room.”
He nods. I turn and walk toward it.
It’s not a very big room, just a cozy space with a bed and a couch. Upstairs are three rooms: one is Matleon’s, one is Zo’s, and another is a free room like this one. There is no balcony in this room; the free room upstairs has one, but I can’t stay right in front of Matleon just for the sake of having a balcony.
I enter the bathroom, remove my clothes, fill the tub with hot water, and settle in it. Everything that happened tonightroams through my mind. I want to check on Dex, but without any phone, it can’t be done. I should have kept my phone in my trouser pocket instead of leaving it on the table. Next time, I’ll make sure my phone is a high priority.
I stay in the tub for more than half an hour, if my estimation is right. I come out wearing a bathrobe. I enter the closet, Wen must have left some of her clothes here. I hope so, because I’m hungry and I don’t want to go out in just this bathrobe, which is already showing a good amount of my breasts. I’m already blessed in this part of my body, and this robe isn’t helping much.
The closet is as clean as if no one has ever entered this room. My stomach lets out an angry growl. I wrap the robe more tightly, but it’s still putting on quite a show.
“Come on, Iselyn, women out there roam with only nipple patches, and here you are worrying about just showing a little of your midsection.”
This thought comes mainly because I’ve never worn anything with a deep neckline. A deep V-neck blouse could put on far more show than this. I decide to ignore it and walk out of the closet, then out of the room. I pause for a second when I spot Matleon in the kitchen but then resume walking.
He lifts his head from the pan, and his eyes go straight to my cleavage. He keeps staring—I think this is called ogling—while tossing vegetables in the pan.
Matleon is an uncivilized man.End of story.
I ignore him and head to the fridge. I open it, retrieving a box of bread, then scan for a jar of jam or something similar. I’m in the mood for a simple meal, and this will do. My gaze lands on a jar of basil pesto. I lift it out and stride toward the toaster, positioned near the stove where Matleon is working.
I put the bread in the toaster, my eyes drifting to his pan. The delicious smell of stir-fried veggies fills my nose, I gulpdown the saliva pooling in my mouth—once, twice, thrice. Then Matleon chuckles. I look away from his food and focus on my bread.
And then he puts noodles in his pan. The aroma changes instantly, even more tempting. Avi had told me once that she and Matleon are Chinese cuisine lovers, they could eat Chinese food from morning to night. That’s the only thing they have in common, apart from their mutual dislike for each other, mainly because of their shared love interest, Zo. It was her words; she always calls MatleonZo’s husband.
I toast my breads, place them on a plate with a dip of basil pesto, and sit down at the table. My plate looks so malnourished compared to Matleon’s, who is sitting two chairs away at the head of the table.
I take a bite and chew it like I’m gnawing on grass, all the while eyeing his noodles.
What would have gone wrong if I had accepted his offer to cook for me? I’m already in a huge debt to him for saving me twice, a little debt for eating food he cooked wouldn’t have mattered. But my ego demands its boost, so I stick to my stubborn stance. Now suffer.
I take another frustrated bite, my face twisting at the bland taste. Italians would probably kill me for calling basil pesto bland.
“I cooked extra. If you want, you could give it a try, or I’ll have to throw it away anyway,” Matleon drawls.
I don’t wait another second and grab the bowl of extra noodles. “You should not throw food,” I say, rolling too many noodles around my fork and stuffing them into my mouth. The flavors and juiciness explode on my tongue, and my eyes close as I chew slowly. It’s so delicious that I almost moan out of satisfaction.
When I open my eyes, I notice Matleon watching me from the corner of my vision. I compose myself and start eating with the elegance Nana has been teaching me since I was two years old.
He’s still watching me, not eating. I take a quick glance at his plate, which still has noodles. Now he’s making me uncomfortable. I take another bite, shorter this time. He resumes eating as well, loosening the tension just slightly. The tension can never truly vanish as long as Matleon is in the room.
Just as I finish, the penthouse door opens. A man in his thirties enters with three robots, carrying what I assume are my things.
