Chapter Eighteen

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Waking up with a sore throat, a spiked temperature and a congested nose on a weekday is a nightmare. Unfortunately, it is a nightmare I am living out today. I didn't even want to leave my bed this morning. I spent almost half an hour trying to drag myself off of the bed. I blame London's spontaneous weather system for my current predicament. I've lost count of the number of times this past week that I've been drenched by London's sudden downpour.

I groaned at the sound of Alexander's nearing footsteps echoed. He's the last person I want to see me like this.

"Amelia," Alex nodded as he eyed me.

Confusion plasters his face.

"Where's my breakfast?" He asked as he scanned the kitchen.

He scrunched his eyebrows as he again gazed at the counter. Usually, his breakfast is already plated and waiting for him in the mornings.

Sighing, I reached for a medium-sized, white, porcelain bowl from the overhead cupboard. Resting the bowl in front of him, I placed the box of milk and the cereal box on the counter too.

"Here," I mumbled as I handed him a spoon.

Suspiciously, he collected the spoon.

"What do you want me to do with this?" He grunted as he held the spoon up. "Is this your idea of a joke? I don't find this funny at all Amelia. My food is going to go cold. Just give it to me already. Have you hidden it in the oven?"

"This is not a joke Alex. You will be eating like normal people today. You're having cereal for breakfast this morning."

"I will not be having cereal for breakfast," He grunted again as he eyed me in disbelief.

I know that he is trying his best to the suppress his anger. Change is something he despises. Anything that alters his daily routine leaves him with a sour mood for the rest of the day.

"Why didn't you prepare me a proper breakfast Amelia?"

"Cereal is a proper breakfast. Mason and Tyler already ate their cereal. Stop complaining and eat your cereal," I replied as I poured some of the cereal into the bowl in front of him.

"I've got the flu so unless you want my germs in your food, I suggest you eat the cereal."

Cringing, he gazed at me.

"That explains why you look so pale and dishevelled. I thought you were just having a bad day. Do you want me to call my personal doctor?"

"No," I laughed. "It's just the flu. I'll live."

"I'm guessing you didn't prepare lunch for the boys either?" He asked as he carefully poured the milk into the bowl.

I watch in amusement as he intently eyed the milk as it fills the bowl. He doesn't look as if he is about to eat breakfast. Instead, he looks as though he is carrying out a chemical experiment that requires great precision and accuracy.

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