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Leo, the gardener, is working diligently already, which isn’t unusual for him even in his old age. I’ve been watching him closely for the past two weeks, not staring straight at him but keeping track of his movements to make sure he isn’t injuring himself.
I always wish that I could help him. It all seems like such a big job for one person, especially someone as old as him. It makes me wonder why Adas hasn’t found someone to assist him yet. He has the means, of course.
I stay in the garden for about an hour before I realize how hungry I am. I wheel myself back over to the door, opening it by myself with ease. I’m finally able to do semi-normal things without the help of another person, and there are no words to describe how good that feels.
When I enter the house, I can smell breakfast being cooked already.
Adas must be in the kitchen cooking, not on a mission.
I breathe a sigh of relief, wheeling myself towards the source of the delicious smell.
“Hey, I was wondering when you’d be awake,” he says, a slight glimmer in his eye as he sees me enter.
“You could have woken me up. I was sad when you weren’t still there with me,” I admit as I roll closer to him. I feel a tiny spark of connection glowing in me that hadn’t been there even yesterday afternoon. Something about the sex we shared had awoken something in me last night, and now I’m here to play with that fire until it burns me.
He glances over at me with a blank stare. “I didn’t think it would bother you. We haven’t slept together since you came home in that bed.”
I stare back at him, my eyes widening slightly at the offhandedly stilted comment. “Yeah, I guess I just thought you’d want to stay longer because of that. It’s fine. I was just a little confused.”
The tone of his voice lacks the warmth and sweetness that I would be more receptive to after such a night. For someone who claims to love me so much, I’d expect him to be extra attentive towards me after being so rough while he was choking me. There needs to be a balance, and I would have expected to find that balance at a moment like this.
He shrugs and continues cooking, paying significantly more attention to the food than me. I swear he would rather watch bacon cooking minute by minute than have any semblance of a conversation with me.
That spark in my belly goes out, and what’s left is the dark, sooty refuse of scorn. I feel stupid for even approaching him the way I did, eyes wide as I bat my lashes at him like a schoolgirl with a crush.
What even was last night if he’s going to treat me like a hookup anyway?
I decide to be gracious with my impatience. Perhaps he just prefers to focus when he’s making breakfast or doing anything that requires active attention. This might just be a part of him that I have to re-learn, but I wouldn’t be surprised if this was something about him that I hated before as well.
I’m worrying myself in circles when I realize that I’m hearing that same obnoxious ukulele solo that I remember Adas playing the other day.
“Can you please turn that off? It’s grating on my ears. I fucking hate ukulele music. It just reminds me of shitty web ads for subscriptions that don’t need to exist,” I snap.
I’m shocked at the venom in my own voice, regretting my choice of words as soon as they’ve left my mouth. I feel selfish and mean-spirited.
He turns back towards me again, his expression questioning and almost worried.
“You really don’t like this? Not at all?”
I sigh. “No! It’s so generic and way too upbeat. It’s awful.”
He reaches over to his phone, changing the song without another word. He’s playing something I’d expect to hear in an Olympic weightlifting gym, but it’s at least tolerable.
Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t try to speak to me on his own again. I can’t say I blame him. I seem to have only been getting on his nerves this morning. But how am I supposed to know that when we were so fucking close last night?
How can a married man be sending such mixed signals to his own wife?
“So, why did you wake up so early?” I ask, trying to keep a conversation going in order to eventually work up to the sex we’d had.
Before responding, he plates some scrambled eggs and sausage links, sliding them to me from across the counter. “I got a call about the warehouse. We were ambushed pretty badly last night, but we were able to keep everything moderately safe once all of Marat’s men were dead or fleeing.”
My face turns white.
They were ambushed? And he didn’t tell me?!
“Why didn’t you tell me there was an ambush?” I press, ignoring my breakfast even though I’m absolutely starving.
“What would have been the point of that last night? You were sleeping when I got back. I wasn’t going to wake you up as soon as I got there to tell you that I almost got shot to death by my mortal enemy,” he replies with an annoyed, self-righteous tone.
