The Professor

Chapter Twenty Four • Chef

Valentina

Mark carry's me to the closest bathroom in his house.

He didn't speak to me on the drive home, he hasn't uttered a word since we got here. His silence is scaring me.

He sets me down on the counter, avoiding eye contact as he searches for his first aid kit under the sink.

I fidget with my hands. He concentrates on caring for the cuts on my lip and my eyebrow.

His brows are knitted together in deep focus as his hand gently holds my chin in place, softly brushing over my wounds and bandaging them.

I hate the feeling that he might be mad at me. That he might be disappointed.

"Mark." My voice is small, unsure. It's the first time I've spoken since the fight.

He looks up at me, his eyebrows still knitted and his lips slightly puckered from his focus.

"What is it, sweetheart?" His eyes search mine.

"I'm- I'm sorry." I say, looking down.

He lifts my chin up and meets my gaze. A warm look on his face, understanding.

"I'm not upset with you, baby." His voice is sweet. "When I saw blood on your face, and her hands in your hair, I was only worried. I hated the thought of you being in pain."

Concern flashes through his eyes, something else does too but I can't quite place it. Something I think I might be starting to feel too.

He starts tending to my wounds again, careful not to hurt me.

"Can I make it up to you?" I say, drawing his eyes back to mine.

A smirk instantly covers his face, and knowing where his thoughts went, I gently push his chest. We both laugh.

"No. Let me buy you dinner. Anywhere you want to go." I offer. His eyebrows raise slightly.

"I have a better idea." His smile is warm. "Let me cook dinner for you."

"You want to- cook? For me?" My confusion must be clear on my face because he laughs and places his hands on either side of my thighs on the sink counter.

"I want to cook for you." He whispers in my ear, sending chills down my arm.

"You're really hot, you know that?" My drunk-self says, earning me a smirk for him.

"Thanks for the ego boost, hon." He winks at me and softly kisses the corner of my mouth farthest from the cut.

Mark carry's me from the bathroom to the kitchen, setting me down on the island. I swing my legs slightly as I watch him get to work.

He rolls his sleeves up and my heart beats a little faster. Heat rushes to my face.

I notice the tattoos around his arm for the first time. It seems to be a vine that curls around his arms and goes up, I'm not sure how far.

On his other arm he has no tattoo.

I watch him skillfully move around the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers. Pulling out food from the fridge.

I sip from the wine glass he handed to me and watch him cut into some chicken on a cutting board.

"This might be a little loud, darling." He says, before turning on the blender for a few seconds.

When he's finished cooking and the house smells of well-seasoned meat and potatoes, he sits us down on the high chairs that face the island counter top.