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Please don’t talk about the cafe,she thought.Please don’t talk about the cafe.
The fear of getting caught excited her in strange ways. As she balled the meat, she stopped herself from imagining all the ways she could fuck Malik tonight. She could excuse herself with a headache and head up to the bedroom, and then signal behind Kent’s back for Malik to follow her. They could sneak off to the living room while Kent was doing the dishes, and she could force Malik’s hands down the front of her pants.
“How about it, honey?” Kent asked.
Birgitta jumped so much that she almost dropped the meatball wedged between her palms. Heat rushed up into her cheeks as if she’d been caught actually doing the things she’d been fantasizing about. She gazed over her shoulder at both of the men behind her, completely lost. “What?”
“I said next time we should invite Malik’s mother, too,” Kent said. “Don’t you think?”
“Oh,” Birgitta sighed. “Yes, sure. That sounds nice.”
It didn’t take her long to finish the meal and serve it on the table, the pots and pans balanced on heat-proof pads. Kent stood up from the table and got out the plates and cutlery.
Once the places were set, Kent didn’t wait to start serving himself. Heaps of mashed potato and meatballs swam on his plate, with only a tiny serving of carrots. He left the spoon in the potatoes, covered in small chunks and spots of grease, for Birgitta to clean up.
It took her a moment to notice that Malik wasn’t getting himself any food. He was leaned back in the chair, his arm draped over the empty chair beside him. Birgitta frowned at him.
“Is something wrong?” Kent asked, pointing his knife at their guest.
“I’m waiting to be served,” Malik said.
Birgitta couldn’t tell if it was smugness or confusion in his voice.
Kent shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked down at his food. She could tell he didn’t want to make a scene, but hearing Malik demanding to be served had riled him.
“That’s not how we do things in this house,” Kent said, almost gently. “You can serve yourself.”
Malik leaned forward, his eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “Women serve men,” he said coldly. “That’s how the world works.”
“Not Sweden,” Kent snapped back. “Serve yourself or don’t eat.”
Birgitta felt her body rise out of the seat without her telling it to. Her legs carried her over to the head of the table, her hands reaching out for the large spoon embedded into the potato.
Her stomach quivered inside her as she thought about what she was doing. She was openly disobeying her husband to serve another man. A strange thrill washed over her body as she began to pile the potatoes onto Malik’s empty plate.
“Gitta,” Kent said, clearly shocked. “What the hell are you doing?”
Birgitta looked over at her husband dreamily. She thought she was smiling but it was hard to tell. She’d lost all sensation in her face.
“Gitta, stop,” Kent said, a little harsher now.
“It’s fine,” Birgitta laughed, her voice shaking as she piled a large spoonful of meatballs onto his place. “Don’t worry about it, Kent.”
“He needs to learn,” Kent warned her. “How is he supposed to integrate into society if he still holds onto his sexist views?”
Birgitta whirled her head around to stare at him, wide-eyed. She hissed as she spoke to him through clenched teeth. “Now is not the time for political discussion. We’reeating.”
So much for not showing Malik the cracks,Birgitta thought bitterly. There was no way he was going to stay away now. She risked a look at him. Displayed on his face was a smug smile. He knew that he had a chance now. There was no denying that look in his eyes, or the way they openly drifted down Birgitta’s body.
Kent shifted uncomfortably in his seat before tucking into his food. A tense air had filled the room now. Birgitta could have cut through it with a butter knife. She sat back in her seat and ate in silence, keeping her head turned down to her food.
Does he like me like this?She wondered.Meek and subservient?
Birgitta tried to control her thoughts but it was hard with such a beautiful man sitting across from her. How was she supposed to control herself? Even with Kent there, it was hard for her not to lean across the table and plant her lips against Malik’s.
It didn’t take long for Malik to strike again, this time by holding up his empty glass and tapping against it with his index finger. Kent looked up to him first. His face instantly darkened.
“Get yourself a drink,” Kent said. “The jug is right there.”
