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“Don’t like it?” I shook my head, “food is food, you eat what you get, whether you like it or not. If you didn’t…” I stopped speaking, trying to think of what would happen then.
His gaze moved to me, waiting. “Then?”
“Well, I don’t really know what happens then.”
“You’ve never left food on your plate?” Mat’s mouth was hanging open, tiny bits of food still covering his tongue.
“It wasn’t allowed.”
“You can’t be serious?” His mouth closed, but his eyes remained focused on me, disbelief written all over his face.
I was completely serious, and Mat must have seen it in my eyes. He flicked a dark curl away from his face and turned back to his plate, cutting quietly into his food. Although his face remained neutral, I knew he was taking in every word I’d said, reeling it over in his mind and dissecting it like only an Alpha could.
No one ever asked me such simple questions without a hidden agenda behind them. Back home, everything was a test or learning opportunity. Mundane things such as my preference in food was often overlooked. I grimaced. Hearing my own answers now, I realised exactly how small the bubble I’d lived in was.
