“I love spicy food,” she says, watching me while I dish up a plate for her.
“I’ll have him make that one on the weekend, then,” I smile.
She doesn’t reply.
Once we both have our food, I watch and wait for her to taste it. She seems awkward, shy, and reluctant to be here.
“Blair, it’s not healthy for you to stay up in that room all day. The mansion is massive. You shouldn’t confine yourself to a single room in it. And the beach is right outside the door. The guards are there to keep an eye on you, you’ll be perfectly safe if you want just to sit out there and enjoy the fresh air?”
She nods, “Thank you.” It’s hardly the reply I was looking for.
Sighing, I pick up my fork and start eating. She does the same, and we eat in silence.
It’s frustrating to think that I have her on paper. Legally, she is mine, she belongs to me, she carries my name, but in the real world, I can hardly get her to spend a few minutes with me, and when she does, I can hardly get her to speak.
Our first dinner at the mansion is painfully quiet, but I accept the win for what it is. I got her to come out of her room. Tomorrow will be better. Slow, patient steps. It’s always the best way to handle things.
The next day at lunchtime, I have the chef set up a summer buffet of fruit and salads on the deck overlooking the pool and the ocean. When I knock on her bedroom door this time, I wait for her to open it instead of barging in. She’s wearing the same jeans, but this time with a pink crop top.
“You look lovely, but aren’t you hot in those jeans?” I ask.
“A little, but I don’t want to wear all those brand-new clothes that don’t belong to me,” she explains.
“Blair, everything in that closet belongs to you know. And whatever else you need. I’ll order some more summery clothes for you and have them delivered. Do you have a specific brand you prefer?”
She laughs as though my question is ridiculous.
“I don’t think I’ve ever worn a brand name until I came here, so no, I don’t really have a specific brand I prefer,” she says.
“The chef has made us a picnic lunch to eat on the deck. Why don’t you grab one of the swimsuits and a dress, then join me outside? It’s lovely and hot, a really beautiful day, and the pool water is looking damn inviting.”
She bites her lip and nods. “Alright,” she agrees.
Slowly but surely, I get her out of her room, day after day, until our lunches on the deck become a routine and she begins to open up to me and relax around me.
“This mango salad is amazing,” she remarks, taking a bite.
“Oh, I almost forgot to ask, did you find what you were looking for in the library yesterday. I saw you browsing in there when I walked past.”
“I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. I was just admiring your extensive collection. Your library has more rare books than I’ve ever seen, certainly in comparison to our little secondhand bookstore.”
“Did you enjoy the mythology section?”
She smiles, nodding. “I noticed it was the largest of all your collections. Some of those books are… I know how rare they are. They must have been incredibly difficult to find and even more difficult to negotiate a price for?”
“I enjoy the challenge, though. But yes, some of those books took me years to acquire,” I agree.
“What do you do for a living?” she asks.
I don’t have to lie to her, but I also don’t intend to tell her the full truth.
“My family owns a business that supplies restaurants, stores, and hotels with food. Both in this city and in others. It’s a big industry, and we are top of the game as one of the biggest suppliers in the market.”
“Yes, well, I assumed that whatever you did, you did it well,” she giggles softly. Her gentle laughter brings a smile to my face.
“And how did you end up working at a bookshop? What do you do there?” I ask, realizing I have an unanswered question about her.
“I gravitate naturally toward words. I think they are so beautiful when used properly. You can build entire worlds,entire universes with justwords. And people canseeit andfeelit. It’s really magical.”