He opened my door, and I slid in, avoiding his eyes. The drive home was silent, my anger simmering just below the surface. When we passed the exit, I turned toward him.
“Where are we going?” I asked
"We're not going home yet," Mikhail said.
"What?"
"You haven't eaten enough today. Or hydrated. We're getting dinner first."
"I'm not hungry."
"Yes, you are." He continued driving. "And even if you weren't, you need to eat."
"Mikhail—"
"Don't argue. You're going to dinner, and you're going to enjoy it."
I wanted to tell him to take me home and leave me alone. But the truth was, I was starving. And the thought of another meal with him, another experience, was more appealing than I wanted to admit. Plus, I was curious where he was taking me.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to a small Italian place tucked into a quiet street. The smell of garlic and fresh bread hit me the moment we walked in, and my stomach growled.
Mikhail heard it and smiled. "Told you."
I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the host who was seating us. We were seated at a cozy table in the corner. The waiter brought bread and olive oil, and I tore into it like I hadn't eaten in days.
"Better?" Mikhail asked, watching me with amusement.
"Shut up."
He laughed.
I ordered chicken marsala. He ordered lasagna and enough sides to feed a small army. And once again, the food was incredible. He fed me samples of his food so I could try it. Everything was so good that I forgot about staying angry at him. I wanted to hold onto my frustration. But it was hard when he was doing things like this. Taking me out, feeding me, making sure I was okay. Even more so when he shared his food with me.
"Why do you do this?" I asked between bites.
"Do what?"
"This. Take me to nice places. Make sure I eat. Act like you care."
His expression softened. "Because I do care. And because you deserve to be taken care of."
"I can take care of myself."
"I know you can. But you shouldn't have to do it alone."
Damn him and his perfect answers. I shook my head and tried to find a reason to be upset, but I couldn’t. We finished dinner, and by the time we got back to the mansion, my anger had cooled to a low simmer. Not gone, but manageable.
"Thank you," I said as we walked inside. "For dinner."
"You're welcome." He paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Get some rest. You've had a long day."
I nodded and headed up to my room. But that night, the nightmares came back. Different this time. Worse. I was running through darkness, chased by something I couldn't see. Every time I thought I'd escaped, hands grabbed me, pulled me back, and they wouldn’t let me go. I woke gasping, tears streaming down my face.
My door opened, and Mikhail was there again. Like he'd been waiting.
"Come here," he said softly.
I didn't argue. I let him pull me into his arms, let him hold me while I cried, let him anchor me to reality.
