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His fingers are so delicate as they touch the black and blue on my skin. “I should rip his head off.”
The calm in his voice is terrifying, and I grab him by the hair, wrenching his head up. The creature looking at me from behind Zayn’s eyes wants the bloodshed.
“You’re not going to do that,” I order. “Thomas is going to prison. I’d rather he spend the rest of his life behind bars than you doing so.”
Zayn doesn’t say anything, and I tighten my grip.
He doesn’t wince.
“Promise me you won’t do anything. You’re not your father.”
That gets his attention, and he reaches out and disentangles my hands from his hair, and bringing them forward, he presses a kiss to both my palms, his eyes still on mine. “You have my word; I won’t.”
I sigh. “Let’s go see about that bath. I want to be pampered.”
He doesn’t grin at my words like he should have, and that worries me.
It is my third day home.
Mila is in school and Zayn went out to do something that he mumbled about on his way out.
To engrossed in my book, I pretended to listen and then went right back into the novel Sarah lent me. I haven’t had time for books or whatnot, and now with bed rest prescribed by the doctor, books and TV are my constant companions.
I find I quite enjoy reading novels.
Zayn was sorely disappointed when he discovered that none of the books I read contained racy scenes.
“I have you for that,” I told him sweetly, before kicking him out of the room because he kept wanting me to read aloud and would pester me with questions.
A phone call from Elijah has me slowly making my way to the front door.
“Henrietta,” I exclaim, pleased to see the older woman.
“Eve,” she greets me warmly, leaning over to kiss my
cheek. “I wanted to come earlier, but I couldn’t manage the time. Is the guard outside, new? He didn’t seem to recognize me.”
I shrug. “I don’t know much about the security here, except that it’s really tight. Would you like something to drink?”
She gestures at the basket she carries. “I brought food and drink for you. It was my day off, today, and I thought to visit you.” She sits down on the armchair next to the bed, facing the door, as I settle on the bed, carefully positioning myself. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
“Well, you’re busy managing that huge house. I got the muffins you sent me. Zayn ate most of them,” I mutter the last part darkly.
“I had a feeling he would,” Henrietta laughs. “Which is why I brought some more for dessert. Along with those shawarmas that you like, and pasta salad.”
She takes out a sheet from the basket and lays it on the bed and takes out some cutlery, along with glass dishes.
When my phone beeps, I glance at it and frown.
“What is it, dear?” Henrietta sounds concerned.
I shake my head, my fingers moving over quickly on the screen, sending a reply. “My roommate’s boyfriend is coming over in a while to drop some things off. I don’t know why Ron can’t come himself,” I mutter the last part, mostly to myself.
Henrietta looks amused. “Ron’s a lovely boy. He sends me a painting each year for my birthday.”
“Is it that same vase painting?” I ask, dryly. “Because let me tell you, he gives me the same painting every year.”
A delighted laugh that is silver bells and infused with joy. “He did try that with me. I sent it back. Now, he sends me a painting of my choice.”
