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And with that, he turns to leave.
“Jeremy!” I call his name, but he’s already running out of the dining room.
I ignore my breakfast and stand up to follow him. I don’t care if he’s not my child, the pain in his face was so raw.
No kid deserves to feel strong emotions like that. I know better than anyone, considering my own childhood.
Adrian clasps a hand around my wrist, keeping me in place. “Don’t follow him.”
“But—”
He tugs on my arm and I gasp when I’m forced to meet his gaze as he says, “You have me to answer to first.”
11
Winter
Ican’t believe this man. His son was obviously hurt, and all he’s focused on is whom I answer to?
Just what type of oppressive man is he?
I try to twist my hand free of his, but he uses his hold to haul me onto the chair. “Sit down.”
“Jeremy needs me.”
“Needs you?” he repeats with veiled menace. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Your wife. You made me into her, remember?”
“And you think that magically makes you his mother?”
Right. I’m not. Why the hell am I so angry? Adrian is his father and he doesn’t seem to give a damn, so I shouldn’t be worked up over this.
And yet I am.
Hot flames bubble in my veins at the way Adrian dismissed his son so casually. People like him don’t deserve children—or anyone, really.
He goes back to cutting his eggs like nothing happened, his fingers handling the knife with infinite ease. Pursing my lips, I opt to have breakfast, too. After all, this is the reason I’m here.
To eat.
I fix a double sandwich of butter and jelly, using three slices of toast, then take a generous bite. An involuntary sigh leaves my lips as the food settles in my stomach.
It’s not until I take a sip of the coffee, with milk, as I prefer it, that I notice both Adrian and his stern teacher watching me. Their gazes are intent, unblinking, as if I’m some sort of an animal at the zoo.
Did I do something against etiquette or something? I made sure to eat slowly.
My fake husband takes a sip of his own coffee—black like his soul—and continues to watch me over the mug. He has a killer stare, I swear. Without uttering a single word, he manages to push me to the edge of my seat.
“This is Ogla.” Adrian motions at the stern teacher with his head. “You can ask her anything about how you used to act. She knows you’ve lost your memories.”
I’m about to tell him I haven’t lost my memories, that I’m only playing a role, but then I figure out the angle he’s going for. If he tells everyone I’ve lost my memories, he and I can get away with many things when I act out of character from how Lia used to.
He’s smart, but so are most assholes.
The stern teacher, Ogla, gives me a sharp nod that I return with an unsure one.
He continues to watch me eat in that unnerving manner. I force myself to chew slower, but his stare is what will give me indigestion.
