He thrusts the bowl my way. “Eat. You need it more.”
For a second, I think he knows I am pregnant. It’s absurd, so I brush the thought away.
“I won’t eat either, then.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
He’s about to place the bowl on the nightstand when I sigh, “You’re behaving like a child.”
“Ditto.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose to gather my composure. He threatens my patience to the point calmness eludes me.Don’t lose it. That’s his thing to provoke me until I snap, lose my damn mind and somehow land on his cock, wrapped up in him. At least he can’t get me pregnant again.
I laugh at my silly joke, and we share the bowl of soup, then I bring a second one we pass between us until we finish that too and I place the empty bowl on his nightstand.
He looks around, tapping a finger on his chest. “I’m bored.”
Of course, he is. He’s an active person.
“I’ve already fed you. Did you expect dinner and a show?”
His eyes spark at the prospect, causing mine to roll. “It takes everything in me to keep you alive. Don’t strain that small grace I still have.”
When he gives me puppy dog eyes, it’s so damn cute it makes me give in. “Cards?”
He nods, and I go to his game room to retrieve a deck of cards. After I return, I shuffle them, giving five each.
We play Macau, my favorite game, and with no false modesty, I have been unbeaten since childhood.
At the fond memory, a smile grazes my lips until I remember I played it with my father. He taught me this game, and I toss a card down, no longer caring about winning or losing. “My father is rolling in his grave because I’m keeping his murderer alive.”
“If he weren’t, I would gladly kill him again.”
My jaw drops. I don’t know what is worse: that I might forgive him if he showed some remorse, or his violent reaction, hatred coating every feature. It shocks me to the bone, stunning me into silence.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, muscles coiling in a tense posture. “Don’t make me apologize for doing that. I can’t. I won’t.”
I arch an incredulous brow, expelling a heavy breath. “But you expect me to forgive you?”
I have two cards left, and he is down to three.
“It’s two different circumstances. Believe me.”
“Believe you?”
“It takes every-fucking-thing in me not to open my mouth and slander your precious daddy who could do no wrong. But I can’t,” he grits out.
“And why is that? Because you killed him.”
“And I’d do it again.”
“Fuck you.”
“You already did.” He snaps and throws his cards. I glance at them and reveal mine as well. I would have won, but that’s irrelevant. Ugh.
“I need some time on my own. Can you at least give me that?” I ask, sounding on edge. I need to calm myself down.
