Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
“Aye, captain.” I salute, and I swear she suppresses a smile.
I wonder if I can convert Sam to the bright side and steal her away from her tyrant boss. Being exposed to that gloomy energy, stone-faced orders, and dark soul on a daily basis will suck the life out of her.
We just need a little bit of fun in this house. Though, apparently, my random watch parties with the staff and dancing sprees with Ari are already too much fun for my grump of a husband.
He’ll come around. The entire house will.
Sam says we’ll change the menu to cook something I love, so if I screw it up, I’ll be the only one who has to eat it.
Rude.
We opt for lentil soup. Simple enough, I guess.
I lay out the ingredients as she instructs and start by adding more water than required to a pot.
“You said he’s iffy about food,” I start in a nonchalant voice. “Why is that?”
“He eats just fine.”
“But not at restaurants, and now that I think about it, I’ve never seen him consume anything but drinks at parties, public gatherings, weddings, funerals, et cetera.”
“He rarely attends weddings. Just funerals.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. He’s a great enemy of fun. We are all well aware.”
“Maybe not entirely.” She glares at my hand. “Stir faster, or you’ll burn the pot.”
I up my pace. “What’s the reason behind his food snobbishness?”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”
“As if he’d tell me.”
“You’d be surprised. He’s drastically different from the Eli you knew six years ago.”
I swallow. Of course Sam knows about my embarrassing confession and the heartbreaking rejection.
Bet he laughed about my misery when he told her the story.
“I very much doubt that,” I mutter.
“Then you’d be very much wrong.” She sorts through the tower-high spice shelf and retrieves a few jars. “And, deep down, you know that.”
“Well, I admit he’s a bit different.” Old Eli would never offer me encouragement, bring me flowers, take me on a date, or, God forbid, carry me, but I can’t help thinking this change is due to an ulterior motive.
“A bit?” Sam flashes me an incredulous look.
“Yeah, a bit. He still ignores my existence most of the time.”
“If you want his company, ask for it.”
“I did, and he laughed at me.”
“Did you ask nicely?”
“If by nicely, you mean I offered an ultimatum, then sure, I said it with a blindingly nice smile.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“He’s the one who keeps insisting that we’re a married couple, but, apparently, he only extracted controlling behavior from the institution. No idea who he takes after, considering his dad treats his mum like a queen. You sure he wasn’t switched at birth?”
“What I am sure about is that this push-and-pull game needs less pulling before it turns tiresome.”
“What…do you mean?”
She fixates me with a look, but she offers no other words except for instructions to cook.
I end up burning the soup, only slightly, and am put on Sam’s shit list for endangering her special pot.
What I enjoy the most, however, is making a chocolate strawberry cake and it turns out pretty decent, though not as spongy as it should be.
Half a day and a gigantic mess in the kitchen later, and Sam is so done with my antics. She chases me out after I break a crystal glass. In my defense, it looked ugly.
Anyway, after I take a shower, I change into a similar dress with a more daring neckline, then slip on my soft-pink slippers with fluffy pom-poms.
By the time I’m downstairs again, it’s around six.
I spy outside from the reception area, but no car comes.
So I go up to the music room, practice my Bach for over two hours, then go down again.
This time, I’m more annoyed than disappointed.
“You should have some dinner,” Sam says, pointing at the dishes on the table, among which lie my soup and two slices of my cake.
“I have no appetite.”
I fling the cupboard open, snatch my bucket of candy floss, and slip to the library to read about fictional romance and distant worlds.
Thinking better of it, I grab Eli’s stupid political, historical, and finance books and stack them on the plush Persian carpet in a few chaotic rows. I can imagine the twitch in his eyes if he sees them in such a disorganized manner.
Perfect.
I lie on my stomach and proceed to eat my candy floss as I flip the pages of a giant book about the Hundred Years' War.
I’m not even reading. Or interested.
The entire point is to mess up the books.
I take a picture of my sticky fingers, the bucket of candy floss, and the mountain of his books, then send it to him.
Me
Interesting stuff.
I can’t hide my smile when his reply comes immediately.
Tin Man
Did you mark the pages with candy floss, Ava?
And here I thought your deduction talents were getting rusty.