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I hung up and stared at my door. My stomach grumbled. I was hungry, but I wasn’t ready to face Tristan yet. I sat up and thought of how to handle the situation. Should I skip dinner or ask Morris to bring it to my room? My stomach grumbled more. I groaned and stood up. Maybe he wouldn’t show up for dinner; he’d be too busy cleaning up.
I left the room. I took a glance at his door before going down the stairs.
I stopped in my tracks when I saw Tristan at the dining room, eating, while Morris poured him some white wine. Images of him punching the mirror appeared in my head. I got myself together and walked to the dining table.
All I had to do was act like I had seen nothing. I took a seat with a fake smile on my face. He didn’t look away from his food. He acted like I was invisible.
Morris served my food and poured me some wine. I stared at Tristan’s knuckles that were now wrapped with a bandage.
I looked away from his hands and stared at his face. He stared back at me with a neutral expression. He turned his face away from me and took a sip from his wine.
“What happened to your hands?” I asked, pointing at his knuckles with my fork.
He gave me an icy stare as he chewed his food. I waited an eternity between each second as he gnawed. Finally, I watched him swallow, expecting him to say something, but he went back to scooping some macaroni and putting it in his mouth, ignoring me completely.
Did he know I had been in his room? Maybe Morris had told him I went to call him for dinner.
I started eating, but the silence was killing me. I took a glance at Tristan and found him staring at me, but his expression was ambiguous. I had never seen him drowned in such stark ferocity. I met his curious blue eyes and waited for him to say something, but he didn’t utter a word. Tristan was like a complicated puzzle—and I hated puzzles.
If he had something to ask, he should just spit it out. Insecurity wrapped me by the neck, clawing at my consciousness, when people stared at me for longer than ten seconds. I looked away and ate my food with caution since he was watching me. His stare was drilling holes into my skin. I could feel it.
“Why are you so nosy?” he asked.
I felt like my blood was about to freeze.
“Huh?” I mumbled, looking at him. I raised my eyebrows, pretending to be confused. My body thawed slowly as I embraced his words.
He grabbed his glass, finished his wine, and stood up. I stared at him as he walked away, leaving me a bit confused.
“That prick,” I mumbled, returning to my food. I could eat comfortably now.
“Morris,” I called once I was sure Tristan was far from earshot.
“Yes, Miss Simpson?”
“Did you tell Tristan I went to his room to call him for dinner?”
“No, miss.”
“Thank you.” I was relieved, but why had he called me nosy? I was sure he hadn’t seen me.
I picked up my phone and called Adrian on FaceTime. I really needed to see his smile and hear his jokes—something to get my mind off the image of Tristan punching his mirror. I used one of the cups to support my phone. He picked up the call on the third ring.
I choked on my drink when I saw Adrian standing in front of me with only a towel around his waist. Water dripped from his hair and rolled down his outlined six-pack abs and broad chest. His skin looked so smooth and spotless, like a porcelain doll. A tattoo was inked on the left side of his chest.
He smiled at me as he dried his hair with a white towel. If I wasn’t choking, I would’ve been drooling.
“I’m fine,” I told Morris, who was rushing to help me. I drank the whole wine and exhaled.
“Are you okay now?” Adrian asked.
I looked at the screen of my phone and tried not to let my eyes wander.
“Yeah,” I replied, and he smirked. Why would he answer the call if he was just coming out of the shower? Not like I was complaining. I loved the view.
“I will call you later when you’re done dressing,” I said breathlessly as my eyes caught his V-line. I tried not to imagine his towel falling off.
“Hang on,” he said when I was about to end the call.
