Chater FOUR:
4 eggs. 3 avocado toasts. 2 cups of orange juice.
1 woman who ate like her enemy was incapable of poisoning a breakfast.
You see, I never question my judgment.
Therefore, I'd never had my doubts about the whole 'facade' thing (you know, about her putting on a mask and this whole thing being some undercover shit to trap me or spy on me).
I never doubted this despite how flustered she got from me after I played along to her romance, despite how real her affection and contentment with me seemed earlier today.
But this is having me question everything.
I watch and wince at her enthusiastic eating, stuffing her mouth with bread as mustard bleeds through the corners of her mouth.
Is she… genuine? If so, why? Maybe she's just incredible at playing twisted games.
But that's hard to believe when her presence is so sincere. So actual and authentic. Almost lovel-
Don't even think about it.
I rest my arm on the kitchen table, taking a moment to observe the scene.
Mariah is wearing my knitted rainbow-striped sweater. It's incredibly oversized on her, settling around her thighs. That sweater reaches my waistline at most.
It's sleeves keep pulling over her hands successfully getting in the way of her food.
Right- the food.
Does she not care if it's safe or not?— Is she immune? Genius or stupidly naiv— My non-stop chain of questions is cut off by her noticing me staring at her. I freeze. So does she.
But then she smiles at me, cheeks puffed with stuffed bread, then continues chewing and stuffing my share of breakfast into her mouth. I feel something other than disgust at her smile.
As she attacks the food, I notice a million things—a lot of which I'm not proud of.
I notice how the sunlight streaming through the windows turns her hair from matte silver to iridescent, her normally black eyes now grey, and every part of her that faced the sun ten shades lighter. Ethereal.
Even her unawareness about how the rainbow prisms reflecting off her hair light up the surroundings more than the sunlight itself.
They move around the room following the motion of her head, all around her as if highlighting attention to the subject of an image.
"Do they starve you at Bostings'?" I earn a glare as I walk over and pull out a seat next to her.
No response.
"I guess it's a yes then," I take a bite out of the toast "Though you'd never expect such a pure corporation to do harm such as starving employees." I mock.
It's not very gentleman-y to point out a woman's manner of eating, I'm aware.
But I needed to bring the corporation up. To know her intentions. Remind her of our differences. She's too laid back and it's eating at my soul.
"I'm not an employee. I'm the CEO's daughter." She flashes a humourless smile.
Right. Kent's daughter. I don't like the sound of that. "So they do starve you."
Again, no response. I choose not to push more buttons.
An awkward two-minute silence later, she finally speaks. "They do, you know."
YOU ARE READING
Unconventional Bonds
Romance"Sometimes the Hero isn't missing- sometimes she's just under evil's arms fulfilling desires you all 'good people' believe are too cruel to do to women in the bedroom!" - Villian, who else if not him? ********************************** Maybe she rea...
