“You have an excellent palate.” He chuckled.
“Of course I do.” I perked up, posture straightening.
He grabbed another fruit, and I opened my mouth before being prompted.
Another piece, a smooth slice with a bitter sweetness and a peculiar textured skin.
“Easy, apricot.”
“No”—he chuckled—“a peach.”
My eyes snapped open, looking up at him as he stood in front of me.
“What is the point of this game?”
“You said you like your French apricots because of the taste, because they’re special.”
“So?”
“I don’t believe that to be true,” he said, dragging the knife through the fruit again before it was hindered by his thumb, then holding up the knife with the slice on it.
“Why would I lie about a silly thing like that?”
“I don’t think you do it on purpose. Or maybe you do, I wouldn’t know.” He shrugged, holding the knife down to my lips.
I leaned forward, taking the slice from the blade.
“I think it’s a sentimental preference.”
“How do you mean?”
“You said it yourself, it tastes like home.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I tilted my head, chewing the fruit.
“I wanted to see how willing you were to leave it, to make a new home from something.”
“I have already left my home country,” I scoffed.
“So have I,” he hummed, “yet you are now married, in the same house, with the same routine, just with fewer friends than ever.” His words were like a jab to my gut.
“So?” I crossed my arms and looked away.
“Maybe instead of having the same apricot every day”—his hands rested on the chair arms on either side of me, the knife still in his left—“you should try some new fruit?”
“Nothing is wrong with my routine.”
“Petronille.”
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, heat rising in my cheeks. Those pretty hazel eyes were gleaming, a light inside of them full of mystique and certainly bad ideas.
“Did you wear this for me? How nice of you. Ease of access and all ...” He sank to his knees, his hands moving from the armrests to mylegs, then pushing forward to my thighs. He leaned in, close enough that I could feel his breathing through my stockings as the robe lifted. His eyes peered up at me through his lashes. “Will you let me introduce you to something new?”
I gulped, shifting in my seat. “You’re not funny.”
“Did I tell a joke?”
“How would I know?”
