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Dripping on the floor, he grabs another towel and dries my hair as I tightly wrap the big towel around me. Once my hair is dried, although still damp, he finally takes a third towel and whips it around his waist.
I shuffle into the bedroom and stop in my tracks.
There’s a tray with two covered plates of food and glasses of water and juice.
“What the hell is this?”
“My mother left it,” he replies, avoiding my glare as he dries himself.
I gaze up at the ceiling, tears pricking the edges of my eyes.
He comes behind me again, wrapping his arms around me. “I had to tell her. She would’ve heard anyway. Everyone is on high alert. You need to hydrate. You need to eat.”
“You could’ve just taken me home. My mother would’ve—”
“No.”
“No?”
“No, you need to be here with me, and I need to take care of you.”
I glance over my shoulder at him. “You mean, you need to take care of me because you feel guilty.”
“The guilt is there, yes,” he admits. “But after what happened, I’d need to take care of you regardless.”
Too tired to argue, I shrug out of his hug and plop on the bed. Picking up a glass of water, I down it in a few gulps.
“See,” he says as if that somehow justified any of the choices he’s made. It’s not that his mother doesn’t know about us. She was at the wedding. It’s just that now I’ll have to go upstairs and thank her. Talk about awkward. I was hoping to slink away under the cover of darkness or early morning light. I can barely think at all, much less talk to anyone…except Marku, apparently.
He lifts the cover off a plate and the scent of roasted lamb and potatoes and carrots drifts up to me. On a side plate ismamaliga, or Romanian polenta. Suddenly, my mouth is watering. I scoot closer to the tray of food, tear off a piece of lamb, and pop it in. The flavors of rosemary and garlic and savory meat burst on my tongue. I take a spoonful of creamymamaligaand stuff it in my mouth.
Marku sits beside me, staring at me with remorse in his eyes.
“It’s rude to watch people eat,” I say between bites of food. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
He shakes his head.
I take a forkful of food and press it to his lips. He opens his mouth and swipes it off the fork with his tongue. His eyes close as he slowly chews and savors the food.
“See, told you.” Meanwhile, I’ve scarfed down half a plate of food. “Your mother’s a way better cook than mine.”
He remains quiet, just watching me, and opening his mouth when I pause long enough to prepare a bite for him. He’s just appeasing me, but I can’t eat alone and he knows that.
Once I’m full, I drop the fork. It clatters on the porcelain dish and I jerk in reaction.
He covers my hand and says, “It’s okay,” as he passes me a glass of juice and takes care of the food, depositing it outside in the family room. Embarrassment flushes my cheeks as I think of his mother returning downstairs to pick up the tray and cleaning up after me.
He closes and locks the door, glances at me, and says, “It’s okay, baby. She’s your mother-in-law. Has been for a couple of weeks now.”
“Married for weeks and yet you had no issues ignoring me for five days…”
He pulls the bed cover down and tilts his head for me to get in.
Too tired to argue, I glance around, and say, “I need a shirt or something.”
He lets out a beleaguered sigh. Yeah, yeah, he wants me naked, but I don’t usually sleep naked, and I’m not about to do it for him tonight.
He opens a chest of drawers and hands me a white T-shirt. Cold, I drop the towel long enough to throw the shirt on and then dive beneath the covers. He gets in beside me and I turn my back to him. Not to be deterred, he spoons me from behind.
