Page 57 of Roman

“No.” Her eyes remained downcast, and she traced a design on my chest with her finger. “I, ah, liked everything you did earlier.”

I chuckled. “Are you sore?”

She paused. “No.”

I tilted up her chin. “You are a terrible liar. Your tells are so obvious, it’s like a blinking road sign. Don’t lie to me. If you’re shy, tell me, and I’ll explain something. If you want something and don’t know how to ask, show me.” I grinned widely. “Like when you pulled my hair and pushed my face into your sweet⁠—”

She covered my mouth. “Okay, I got it.”

I laughed, kissing her palm, then pulled her hand away. “We’ll eat, and you can have a bath if you want.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“People have baths in the middle of the night too. It’ll help you feel better in the morning. You can sleep in too.”

“What about you?”

I leaned my forehead to hers, confessing. “I rarely sleep well, Effie. But beside you, a few hours rejuvenates me. I sleep better than I can recall doing for years.”

“Why?” she asked, sliding her hand to my neck, stroking the skin.

“I have no idea. The same way you calm me when you’re close. It’s just you.”

A knock startled us. We’d been so deep in conversation, so attuned to the other person, neither of us heard the elevator. I stood, putting her on her feet. “Go to the bedroom. I’ll bring in the food.”

She didn’t argue.

We sat cross-legged on the bed, the tray between us. Effie was voracious. She attacked her sandwich as if she’d never seen food before. The mayo and tomato juice hit her chin, and she wiped it away with a carefree smile, continuing to eat.

I bit into my sandwich, enjoying the fresh ingredients and taste. I chewed slowly, simply enjoying watching her eat. She sipped her cola, wrinkling her nose at the bubbles. The French fries were liberally salted and dragged through the ketchup she’d squirted on the plate.

“If I had known that you eat this way after sex, I would have fucked you sooner,” I said dryly. “I’ve been struggling to get a few mouthfuls into you every day.”

She paused, some of the light fading from her eyes. “Is that what we did? Is that all it was?”

I slid my fingers under her chin, shaking my head. “No.”

The light returned. “I am hungry,” she mused. “Usually, I would just have some crackers and go back to bed.”

“You can have anything you want, any time you want.” I bit and chewed, swallowing. “Do you often get up in the night?”

She furrowed her brow. “If I was worried about something, I would. When my mom was sick, I stayed up with her in the night. She said the dark was the hardest to handle. So I would sit with her. We’d talk or listen to music. Sometimes I would read to her.”

I finished my sandwich. “And where was your sister while this was happening?”

“Off being Marianne. She would drop in, pull some crying stunt, or tell Mom and me all her problems, then leave. She’d tell people how she’d been nursing Mom, which was a joke. But I let her do whatever she wanted as long as she stayed away. Somehow even though it was Mom dying, Marianne made it all about herself. It was exhausting.”

“Selfish narcissists do that. They excel at it.”

“She wasn’t always bad. I remember growing up, she was actually nice. A good big sister. I was somewhat prone to accidents, and she saved me more than once. I fell in the pool, and she rescued me. She pushed me out of the way once when a limb broke off a tree.” She looked sad as she spoke. “Sometimes it felt like something was out to get me, but it seemed to stop as I got older. My dad called me unlucky, but I think I grew out of it.”

“Or you became more adept at avoiding whatever was causing it,” I replied, suspicious.

She nodded and finished her sandwich.

“You miss your mother.”

“Very much.”