He walked past me. That fresh after-rain scent left behind a cloud I breathed in. There was no hint of alcohol.
I got up and hurried to the oven. “I don’t know if you want food, but here.” I took out the plate with a hot pad and added fresh hashbrowns. Then I brought it out to the second place setting on the table.
Wordless, Malin followed me and sat. He picked up his fork and began shoveling the food into his mouth. I realized I had no idea the last time he’d eaten. He had never come home for dinner. As he chewed, his eyes widened. He stopped chewing and finally looked up at me, cheeks full.
I took slow even breaths. I could do this. “I hope it’s good.”
He blinked twice, then swallowed and said slowly, “It’s good.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, great.”
I pressed my lips tight to keep the smile from breaking out on my face. We continued to eat in silence, the only sound our metal forks hitting the ceramic plates like a ringing of off-key bells.
Malin cleared his plate before I’d eaten half of mine, then reached for more toast and fruit.
I could barely concentrate. Was he angry? Disappointed? Disgusted? He liked my cooking but was that anything for me tobe proud of? I began to feel my paranoia again, and somewhat defensive. I decided to speak.
“When you told me to pick a room that night as my own, I saw the room with all the glass. I wasn’t snooping, not technically since I’d been in it before.”
He looked up with half closed eyes, his dark lashes making him look as if he was squinting.
“I wasn’t going to touch a thing. Honest. That sphere, though, it was so—so amazing. I wanted to see it held up to the lights. You—you startled me.”
He kept his sight on me as he took another bite of sliced apple. I heard the crunch of it. I watched his Adam’s apple rock up and down as he swallowed.
“You’re sorry?” His voice rasped.
I nodded.
“It was my fault.”
I sat back in my chair. “What?” My fork fell from my hand.
“It was my fault. I was drunk.” He picked up his napkin and pressed it to his mouth. “I had a terrible day. Don’t worry about the sphere. I can replace it.” The words were simple, almost light.
For a second I couldn’t think, then relief warmly flooded my body. Followed quite unexpectedly by annoyance. I’d slept badly. I’d worried all morning. For this?
“I thought—I thought?—”
“That I’d be mad?” He shoved more fruit in his mouth. “I have much better things to be angry about. After breakfast, I’m getting a service to take me back to my car. I couldn’t drive it home last night. You can come with me if you like.”
And there it was, as if nothing bad had happened. He addressed the day and was including me. I wasn’t going to be shunned. I wasn’t a total klutz. He blamed himself.
I liked the idea of a drive after being inside all day yesterday. “Okay.”
It was too simple. Our words. The energy. As if we’d been living together for weeks, not days. I didn’t trust it, but it allowed me a glimpse into a possible future. One where I didn’t have to walk around on eggshells to avoid punishment, fight my paranoia, or be constantly afraid I’d be rented for breeding.
A twinge of excitement caught me. Followed by a warmth I could only define as something I’d been missing for years. A belonging. Safety. And even better, a comfort I had never known as an outcast.
On the way home, Malin revved up the speed when we got out of town. Sitting next to him in the Lamborghini was beginning to feel normal. I leaned back, my fingers gripping the sides of my seat.
“Too fast? I’ll slow down. I don’t want another ticket anyway.”
“No.” I couldn’t hold back my smile. “I like it.”
For the first time he smiled back at me. Then pressed his foot down and we took off.
21
Malin
