There it is, the true reason behind it all. She thinksI have enough on my plate.
“Let me be the judge of that,” I reply cooly.
“No, I won’t,” she shoots back. “We’re a couple, we’re in this together. That’s why I wanted to get a job, to be useful.”
“Shut the fuck up about that job already!”
She takes a step back eyes wide, before narrowing her eyes.
"You’re mean, and it is not because of the hotel,” she says, voice like ice. It’s colder than I remember from our first meetings, it’s the Moreau voice.
"Then what is it about?" I ask.
"You’re mean because I met my mother and my family saw me having to split the bill.”
The words hit like a slap.
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are. You couldn't take me to lunch with my mother. You can't get me to Saalbach. So now you're lashing out because you feel like you failed, and you're making it my fault for even wanting to be there."
I open my mouth. Close it.
She’s not wrong. I wasn’t here to help her with the mother, I couldn’t fix Saalbach, and now I’m trying to win the argument instead of the race.
And I don't know how to fix it.
She shakes her head, turns back to the sink. "Just... forget it. I'll stay home. You focus on your race."
I sit there, hands flat on the table, jaw tight, watching her wash the same clean cup for the fourth time.
Behind me, the fridge hums. The radiator clanks.
I can't fix the hotel. I can't take back what I just said. I can't make her mother's lunch less embarrassing or the LinkedIn tab disappear from her screen.
But there's one language we both speak. One thing that's always worked between us.
I stand. Walk over to the sink. Slide my hands around her waist from behind.
She stiffens. Doesn't turn around.
"Élise."
"I'm not in the mood."
"Come on." I press my mouth to her neck, right where I know she likes it. "Don't be like that."
She sets the cup down. Hard. "Like what?"
"Cold."
"I'm not cold. I'm angry."
"Then let me fix it."
She turns in my arms, looks up at me. Her eyes are sharp, guarded. "You can't fix this with sex, Nico."
"Maybe I'm not trying to fix anything." I lean in, brush my lips against hers. "Maybe I just want you."
