“I made some hot cocoa,” he says. “And the others left us some groceries. I hope you like chocolate chip cookies?”
“Who doesn’t?” I chuckle.
As I sit down, he puts the steaming cup in front of me and offers me the package of cookies. I take a couple, holding back the urge to ask why he didn’t put them on a plate.
Maybe the plates aren’t unpacked yet. It might have nothing to do with him being an uncultured savage.
Dan takes a sip of his cocoa and bites into a cookie. I pick up my cup and take a small sip. The bitter, thick liquid hits my tongue, and I have to struggle not to spit it out all over the table. With great difficulty, I swallow the goopy muck, incredibly grateful that I only took a tiny sip.
“What is this?” I gasp, trying not to sound too hostile.
Are you trying to poison me?
“It’s cocoa,” he says proudly. “I like to put lots in. Really chocolatey that way.”
“How much sugar did you use?”
“Sugar?” he asks, looking bewildered. “I didn’t know you’re supposed to put sugar in it. I never have.”
I close my eyes for a second, trying to compose myself.
“Milk?”
Dan shakes his head, still looking completely confused.
“I just use hot water.”
I push my cup away from me a little, watching as Dan takes a big sip from his cup.
Oh. My. God.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I reply. “I’ll make my own cocoa from now on.”
“I want to help,” he says eagerly. “Just teach me what to do. I don’t want this to be the kind of marriage where you do everything.”
“That’s sweet of you,” I answer. “But I’m not sure it’s something you’ll easily pick up. I think it’ll be easier to just do it myself.”
“Okay,” he mutters, looking down at his cup. I can tell he genuinely doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with his lumpy brew.
I take a couple more cookies, and Dan does, too. His eyes dart around the room a little, and I realize he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. I hold back, not wanting to break the silence myself.
“So, did you check out the bedroom?” he finally asks.
I freeze up, my heart pounding frantically in my chest. It feels weird to have all my muscles locked, but my heart drumming like a rabbit’s at the same time.
“Yes,” I choke out. “There’s only one bed.”
“Oh,” he says. “I suppose that makes sense.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and my heart speeds up even more, making my hands shake.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, my voice very soft and strained.
“Well, we’re husband and wife. We’re expected to sleep in the same bed. Making an impression on our pack is very important right now, and we should get used to being close to each other as soon as possible.”
I stare at him for a full minute, the nerves inside me slowly tightening up until I feel more rage than fear.
