A door across the room opened.
Malik entered.
And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.
He wore a flawless black jacket draping to his thighs, paired with black trousers and a fitted black shirt. A deep emerald-green paisley ascot rested at his throat, adding a touch of opulence to his already commanding presence.
I realized I was gawking at him.
I shut my mouth.
“Good morning,” he said smoothly, like a gracious host welcoming esteemed guests. “Please, sit and enjoy yourselves. I wasn’t sure of your dining preferences, so I had Cook prepare various dishes.”
He swept a hand toward the extravagant spread.
“Besides breakfast fare, we have veal olives, raised pies, ragouts, fricassees, fruit pies, and plum puddings. There’s hard cider for the adults and fresh apple juice for Miss Rosie.”
He smiled at Rosie.
She beamed back.
“Eat,” he urged. “Build your strength. Once you’ve eaten, I’ll answer all your questions.”
Emily and I exchanged a glance.
Then, cautiously, we took our seats as Malik exited through the same door he had entered.
I waved Rosie over. “Sit with me.”
She climbed onto my lap, her small body warm against mine.
I plucked a few green grapes from a fruit plate and held them before her lips.
She scrunched her nose, shaking her head. “No!” She pushed them away.
Suppressing a smile, I reached for a plate of sliced cheese, broke off a chunk, dipped it in honey, and held it to her.
Rosie’s lips pressed tight. She wrinkled her nose, pushing my hand away.
“No! Don’t want it!”
Emily chuckled, plucking a piece of bread for herself.
“Want some meat, sweetie?” I asked, carving a slice of succulent roast beef and placing it onto my plate.
Rosie picked up the meat and flung it across the room.
“Rosie!” I scolded, lifting her from my lap and setting her firmly on the floor. “Where are your manners?”
I sighed, crossing the room to retrieve the discarded slice of beef. The bloody flesh lay unceremoniously on the floor. Grimacing, I picked it up and set it at the edge of my bread plate, making a mental note not to eat it.
Emily, ever the peacemaker, offered gently, “Maybe I could take a turn with her?”
“No!” I shot back, perhaps too quickly. “I can do this on my own. I want to feed her.”
Truthfully, I had no experience raising a child. But for some reason, I felt the need to prove that I could master the simple task of feeding a fussy little girl.
A voice, smooth as silk, interrupted.
