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“I cooked it myself. Not him,” Tristan said, sounding annoyed.
“Really?” I stared at the food and then at him. I gagged.
“I was about to tell him the salt is too much and the steak is overcooked,” I said, reaching for my glass of wine.
Adrian tried to suppress his laughter.
Tristan was about to say something, but his ringtone stopped him. His facial muscles tightened as he looked at me, and his lips formed a thin line. He turned away from me, picking up the phone.
“It’s my mom,” he said to Adrian, leaving the dining room to answer the call.
“How bad is the wound on a scale of one to five?”
“Hundred.”
“Do you know those paintings you destroyed could have made you the richest person in the world if all the money was summed up?”
“Who cares?” I reached for the wine and refilled my glass.
“And those cups you broke were—”
“I don’t wanna hear it. Are you trying to make me feel like the bad guy here?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled with an apologetic smile.
Tristan returned, and we ate in silence. Morris cleared the dining room when we were done. I couldn’t believe I was dining with the person who had made me homeless, but I guessed it was better than starving and sleeping on the street.
“Adrian will take you to your room,” Tristan said, standing up. He seemed to be in a sour mood since he’d returned to the dining area.
“No, I want you to carry me, not him,” I voiced.
Adrian’s lips curved upward in amusement as he sipped the remaining wine.
“Do you want to crawl to your room or let him take you?”
“None of the above. You said it yourself; I’m your responsibility,” I retorted.
“Fine.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. He moved fast to where I was and threw me over his shoulder like I was a piece of cloth.
“This position is uncomfortable,” I groaned, his shoulder bones pressing into my stomach. “Tristan, put me down!”
The pain increased as he climbed the stairs. His lean ass was staring at my face. I thought of pinching it but stopped myself.
“You’re hurting me. I’m going to throw up if you don’t stop.”
He said nothing.
“You’re choking the baby,” I said, but the only reaction I got from him was a small growl.
“I will fart on your face if you don’t stop.” I wished I hadn’t said that. I was glad he didn’t say anything.
I endured the pain and tried to breathe. I was relieved when we got to my room. He threw me on the bed, leaving the room before I could say anything.
“That was a bumpy ride.” I massaged the sore spot on my stomach, lying in bed for a while.
I crawled to the bathroom and washed my face in the bathtub. It was impossible to have a bath. I felt crippled as I pushed myself up my bed. I thought of my family and Grey.
