Page 157 of Disgrace

John snapped back like she had struck out at him.

So, maybe she could have presented that statement a little bit easier than she had. Still, it needed to be said, and John needed to hear it for once.

“You hover, and you nitpick at every little thing I do,” she told him. “You even get frustrated when I want to have a shower instead of a bath because I might be on my feet for too long. I couldn’t even dance at your cousin’s wedding—I wanted to dance with you. In case you forgot, I also have a job. Or I did, before you know, my brothers were killed. But now I own those businesses—they’re mine, and I have to take care of them. I need to get out, and do shit, John. Work. Walk. See the goddamn sun.”

He stared at her, unmoved and quiet.

Siena continued on, saying, “It’s a laundry basket with a half of a load full of clothes. It weights six pounds at most. I can carry it from the downstairs, to the upstairs, and put it away without a problem. I am fine.”

“Fine,” John murmured.

“That’s what I said.”

“And I am your problem.”

Siena pressed her lips together before saying, “I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it, John. I just meant … I know what happened was traumatic for you, and it scared you. You’re not going to say that, though, because it’s you. But I know. I do.”

John glanced away, and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t want you to push yourself too hard, that’s all.”

“It’s been six weeks. I am cleared. I can resume normal activity. You know this.”

“But what if—”

“No.”

“Siena, you have to—”

“No.”

“You can’t—”

“Nope.”

John let out a frustrated grunt, saying, “Let me finish a sentence, donna.”

“Unless that sentence is something about getting me on my knees, I really don’t want to hear it. Because you know what, that’s another thing. You won’t even fuck me for fear I might get out of breath. That’s kind of the point of sex, John.”

“I know what sex does!”

“That is not the thing I want to hear,” Siena said in a singsong fashion.

John gave her a look.

Another unspoken warning.

Siena wasn’t having it.

“Killing me here,” John muttered under his breath.

Siena grinned wickedly. “What if I helped you along, then? Do you think that would snap you out of this nonsense?”

“It’s not nonsense. It’s—”

John’s words cut off when Siena pulled the straps of the dress she was wearing down over her shoulders. Without the straps to hold the flimsy fabric up, it simply fell down her body, and landed in a heap at her feet.

She wore nothing underneath.

No bra.