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There were even sandals in boxes at the bottom of the closet for me to slip on.
From there, I went into my private bathroom, pleased to find a shower, sink, and toilet. I wouldn’t pretend to understand—or even want to—the plumbing in a over-water bungalow, but I was pleased to know it existed.
Turning to the mirror, I got a good look at myself for the first time since, well, I didn’t even know when.
My skin was a little paler than usual, and my eyes were bloodshot, despite the headache having gone away.
Reaching up, I pulled down my lower lip, checking the coloring of my gums. I’d never figured out what drugs I’d been given, so I had no idea what kinds of effects I might be looking at. Knowing him, he probably had a private chemist who could cook up random blackout meds that couldn’t even be traced on a drug test.
But, aside from the wobbly stomach that would probably feel better after some food, and the fact that I had no recollection of the day before, I was okay.
I took a minute to wash my face and roll some kinks out of my neck and back before I found my way back downstairs, ready to see if he had a fancy coffee maker there as well. And something to put in my stomach.
“I’m not going to ask how you knew my size for everything.”
“I’m a good judge of that kind of thing. And I did take your shoes off when I put you in bed,” he added, nodding down at my sandals. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, toasting me with his martini.
“Gee, I don’t think it would be a great idea to mix alcohol and whatever illicit substance you pumped into my system. I’ll stick with coffee. What?” I barked at the raised brow he shot at me.
“Nothing. Your coffee consumption would make Honore de Balzac proud,” he said, making my lips curl up.
“What?” I asked when his brows furrowed.
“Nothing.”
“No, not nothing. You have a look. Explain the look.”
“It’s just that the Balzac reference was obscure.”
“Ah, look who is being a snob again,” I said, looking over my shoulder at him. “You’re the only one who could possibly be educated enough to know supposedly obscure facts about nineteenth-century French novelists.”
“Touché,” Bellamy admitted, nodding.
And, damn him again, I really appreciated a man who could admit when he was in the wrong. I’d found it was a somewhat uncommon trait.
“Where are the mugs?” I asked after looking in the second cabinet with no luck.
“How would I know, love?” Bellamy asked, shrugging.
“Right. You have servants to find the mugs,” I said, continuing the search until I found the dainty porcelain mugs. “So, what about the food situation?” I asked.
“What about it? I had them fill the fridge and pantry.”
“And you, what, expect me to cook for you?”
“Admittedly, I haven’t given that part much thought. Do you cook?”
“I do not,” I said, pulling open the fridge and letting out a groan.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s a lot of green stuff in here,” I told him as I looked at all the various kinds of salad greens and veggies.
“I’m assuming, from your tone, I can infer that you are not a fan of green stuff?”
“Have you ever tried to cure an unknown drug hangover with romaine lettuce?”
“I can’t say I have.”
“Exactly. There’s got to be something carby around here somewhere,” I said, finding the pantry beside the fridge. “Well, there is a sack of rice. And beans. Oh, there’s some naan. Better than nothing,” I decided, grabbing the bread. “What?” I asked after rolling up the bread and biting into it like a wrap.
“Who are you?” Bellamy asked, brows low.
“I’ve told you just as much as I am willing to tell you about who I am,” I told him, shrugging. “So unless you’re packing some truth serum along with the knockout drugs, I’m afraid you’re about to be very disappointed with your decision to fly me all the way out here.”
With that, I made my way past him and out toward the back deck.
But I could have sworn I heard him mumble under his breath, “No, love, I don’t think I’m going to be disappointed at all.”
I pretended to ignore the words, though, because they may or may not have made a little shiver of anticipation skitter across my skin. And I may or may not have been able to decipher if it was the good or bad sort of anticipation.
CHAPTER SIX
Bellamy
She was wrong.
There was nothing disappointing about having Shawn with me.
Sure, she was surly and kept a wide berth from me at all times, even after Adnan came over to drop off dinner since neither of us knew how to cook. She’d come, gotten her food, and taken it to the round sitting area all by herself to eat.
