Limp, my neck gives up my head to his broad shoulder, and I welcome the Stockholm. If it’s always like this, I’m content to give in to the mental illness. Fully. I’d sacrifice just about anything to keep this warmth.
Lukas sighs, and I tense as panic sneaks up on me again. Every cell in me demands I find a solution to fix the reason behind despondent action, but there’s nothing I can do.
He says, “It seems there’s been a misunderstanding, Clara.”
“There has?” I whisper.
His lips graze my forehead, and his low affirming hum vibrates in my body. “You’re not here to make meals for my family. You’re here to pay attention to me.”
I…do not understand.
“You’re my emotional-support attention. I’ve been kind enough to share you with my family while you’ve adjusted to living here, but where in your list of rules did it say anything about making lunches on time, or even making them at all?”
I forgot about my list of rules, on account of the fact that they are completely unhelpful, insane, and also stupid.
“I’m an attention-obsessed borderline narcissist, cupcake. All you have to do each day to earn my approval is talk to me. At least once. MyMorning, Kingis more than enough. It renews my soul.”
Surely not. Yet, why would he lie about being something terrible?
There must be a reason he would.
I’m going to dwell on all the potential reasons for the entire rest of today and well into the night.
“Are you hungry?” he murmurs into my hair. “I’d gladly hold you like this forever, but I don’t want your soup to get too cold.”
My stomach hurts. Burying my face against him, I shake my head.
“You want to stay right here, don’t you? Right here in my arms.” Breath fans through my hair. “Feed me all this good attention. I’ve been desperate, really, but I haven’t wanted to frighten you as you got used to your new life… I’m so sorry I didn’t explain the expectations better. My poor cupcake. Thinking you had to make such big meals every day.” His voice darkens. “How cruel of me…”
The lower his voice gets, the more I worry that he’s angry. But so long as he’s not hurting me, it’s fine, isn’t it?
“I said I’d take care of you,” he murmurs, tone immovable as his arms solidify around me. “Next time something like this happens, come to me. If I’m not upset, there’s nothing to be upset about. Am I understood?”
Fragile, I say, “Yes.”
“Yes,what, sweetheart?”
“Yes, King.”
He snuggles. “Try it again…with amy.”
“Yes…my King?”
Breath moves him, like he’s soaking what I’ve just said in, lapping it up, dwelling on the words. Then. He murmurs, “Yours…I’m yours, okay? There’s nothing to worry about and nothing to fear.” A dry chuckle escapes him, and he frees me from his embrace. Pulling his fingers through his hair once I’m teetering without his stability, he says, “Sorry. There’s that incurable attention seeking again. You really are more than welcome to hit me at any point. Always. I spout nonsense constantly.” Half grinning, half wincing, he points at his head. “It’s cause I’m so messed up up here. I crave stuff I shouldn’t.”
“Stuff?” I ask.
“Everything.” He dries my face with his thumb, then stills. Delicately, he leans forward and kisses the corner of my eye. “Just…everything.”
Cravingeverythingcan’t be healthy. For anyone. Yet I find myself drifting back into his gravity anyway.
He sets a finger against my throat to stop me, thumb following the movement when I swallow. “Careful. I might steal your first kiss if you look at me like that. And I will only hate myself a little bit for it, nowhere near enough.”
My face warms.
“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” he asks, so…gently. Like he cares.
Cautious, I say, “You’re really not mad at me?”
