Fucking hell. I’d never wanted to kill a man so badly and so painfully in my life. Not even the prick who had beat on Kaleawhen she’d been nineteen. And for us to have been so close? I didn’t know when Nishi’s last escape attempt had been, but Tommy had told Aloiki it was a few days old. We were so close, and Ku was likely laughing at us for not being fast enough.
Caroline pushed the bowl of yogurt and fruit in front of me. I blinked down at it. Did she expect me to feed Samantha? I looked up to ask her when I saw she was pulling out a smaller bowl, one more suited for that of a child.
“Wait, you made this for me?” Beyond that I didn’t even like yogurt, I was not eating any food when there were females present who hadn’t eaten yet.
Caroline reached for the fruit container that was filled with a variety of berries. “Of course.”
We stared at each other, and I saw the same confusion on her face that was likely on mine. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “You and Samantha eat first.”
The expression that came over her face made older movies where the lady clutched her pearls in aghast horror. Normally with a Bible in her other hand. “But, sir?—”
I stopped her right there. “The only people who call me ‘sir’ are telemarketers and corrupted politicians who think politeness will buy my vote. You are neither. Call me ‘Tangaloa’.”
Her cheeks flushed again. “Tangaloa.”Lesu Kristo, my name should not sound so good on her tongue. “Men are served first in the household.”
My jaw ticked in annoyance. “In many households, I’m sure they are. The tradition derives from the man being the breadwinner while the woman takes care of the home.” I was starting to get a feeling like I knew who had been keeping this mansion of a house so clean when there were no household staff. Why would Weatherby Dalton-Jones IV need to pay someone to clean his home when he could just kidnap women to be his slaves, both inthe bedroom and out of it. “But it’s also a tradition that is meant to show respect, and I highly doubt you ever respected Jones.” From the look on her face, I was right. “Additionally,” I added, reaching across the island for the smaller bowl she’d pulled out for Samantha, “no woman or child will ever not eat in my presence while I sit back, gorging my face.”
I took the spoon from the bowl she’d given me, and put a giant dollop of yogurt and fruit into Samantha’s. “Another thing, I hate yogurt.”
Caroline’s eyes lit up, making them appear more green than blue. “I can make you something else. I never offered you a drink either.”
“I’m fine,” I pressed. “Do you have anything else for Samantha to eat? I’m not that familiar with kids, but I think PBJ sandwiches are universally loved.”
“PBJ?” With the amount of yogurt that had already been scooped out, she put the lid back on the container.
I watched as she cleaned up everything as she went, leaving the kitchen as immaculate as when we’d first walked in here. “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?” I clarified.
Caroline called Samantha over to the counter to eat. There was a bar stool that looked far too tall for her, so I easily bent down and lifted her onto the round seat. Both Samantha and Caroline looked surprised by my action, but thankfully Caroline did not scold me for touching her child. I hadn’t asked permission before doing so, which was wrong of me.
As Samantha ate, Caroline and I moved down the island to continue our conversation. I couldn’t help but notice how still Samantha sat. What four year old ate so neatly while sitting like she had a board strapped to her back?
I also saw the little wrinkle of her nose before every bite. “She doesn’t like yogurt, does she?”
“She used to,” Caroline answered softly, “but I think it’s therepetitiveness of the meal. There’s only so much yogurt anyone can eat before they’re sick of it.”
I scowled. “Then why give it to her?”
Caroline’s cheeks blazed, and I instantly regretted my question. “It’s what I’m allowed to give her.”
I cursed myself for putting my foot in my mouth.Of coursethere would be restrictions. A man like Weatherby Dalton-Jones IV wouldn’t be caught dead in aMcDonald’sdrive-thru picking up a happy meal for his kid. If she was even his kid. Fucker.
“I’m sorry,” I told Caroline. “For more than speaking out of turn.” The reassuring smile she gave me did not reach her eyes, and I felt like the biggest asshole in the universe right then. I needed to make it up to her. To both of them.
Marching over to the fridge, I opened it, searching for anything else to feed them.
“No! Wait, there are rules?—”
The raised-eyebrow look I gave her over my shoulder stopped her protest mid-sentence. She blinked, seeming to realize what it was she was starting to say. “That’s right,” I smiled down at her. “Welcome to the world of anarchy, where rules are made to be broken. Now, what in here do both of you want to eat?”
Hell, I’dDoordashher a meal if what she wanted to eat wasn’t in here.
Caroline approached the fridge like she thought it might bite. I kept the door open, allowing her to see inside. Let it try to bite her. I’d unplug the bastard and throw it out the goddamn window.
She reached inside and pulled out a tray of smoked salmon. “This was his dinner last night. I was planning on making omelets for him with the leftovers.”
I ignored the implication that she was Weatherby Dalton-Jones IV’s cook, as well as housekeeper. “Do you like smoked salmon?”
“I’ve never had it,” she answered, staring down at the tray. “But it has always smelled so good.”