Clara squirmed under Christian's heavy gaze. "Yeah. Yes." Her voice wavered, and she stumbled over her words. "I made Elizabeth take food up to her room since she refused to come downstairs. I—I thought she'd already eaten."
I could see the confusion on Elizabeth's face.
Clara was obviously lying, but Elizabeth didn't say anything to counter her claim. Instead, her worried gaze slid toward me.
"You haven't eaten all day?" Christian's eyes locked onto mine, and after a few seconds, I found myself looking away. I had nothing to say to that. At least not here, not in front of them.
"I'll set the table now, if you'd like." Elizabeth's voice cut through our silence.
"No. I think we'll order. We'll have Chinese. She loves their dumplings and fried rice. Beef and Broccoli for me, sweet and sour pork for her."
My heart skipped a beat. I looked at Christian in shock. I didn't know he knew that about me. I didn't know he knew anything about me. Especially not my comfort food.
Wait what? did I hear him right? Did he just ask for a portion for himself?
I pulled his hand. "You want Chinese too?"
A smile danced on his lips as he replied, "We'll eat together." He said to me, turning to Elizabeth with an air of authority, he added, "bring it up to my room."
She nodded and left.
Christian pulled my hand as he walked upstairs. I smiled, not just because of the flutter of butterflies that had awakened within me at his return, but also because of the priceless look on Clara's face as he continued to hold my hand and pull me to his side.
I wished I could tell her, with all the certainty in my heart, that she would never again have any kind of power over him. But who was I to speak? I still couldn't pin down what I meant to him, nor could I define my worth in his eyes.
I'd never been in Christian's room before. It was very different from mine. His was bigger, the master bedroom no doubt. The room had a refined modernity to it. Like mine, the ceiling soared high above, but where mine had walls, his had a floor to ceiling window with a vast view of the garden and beyond the horizon. His bed was neatly dressed in crisp white linen and adorned with layers of plush, texture throws and cushions. My eyes were drawn to a particular piece of art; a painting of a lady in red. She exuded elegance despite her back being the only thing you could see.
Christian led me to take a sit on the chaise lounge just beside the fireplace. I settled there, my eyes still scanning the room, desperate for a distraction. I wanted to look anywhere but at Christian. As seconds rolled by, I began to feel awkward being in his space. My eyes finally settled on a bespoke sculpture just beside the glass window and it stayed there.
"Give me a second to get changed." He murmured.
When he turned his back to me, I watched him walk away. He went through a small glass door, my guess, to the walk in closet. He came out a few minutes later in sleek black shorts, but he retained the white t-shirt he was wearing.
The silence between us had gone on for too long. The awkwardness, I guessed, was normal. After all, this was the first time we were in a room together since we got married. If there was one thing I could boast about, it was that Christian and I had never been awkward around each other. There was always our light, and sometimes, heavy banter to fill the silence. So I said something.
"So… how was Greece?"
Christian took a seat on his bed. "Not as swell as your time here, apparently."
"Enough with the teasing." I said with defiance, my teeth gritted. "You said you wouldn't be back for another three weeks."
"But someone seemed to miss me a lot," he countered, his tone laced with playful reproach. "How could I not come?"
Christian knew how to push my buttons. But more than that, he knew how to make me swoon for him.
His words stirred memories of the past, of a time when I was nothing more than a desperate girl, the daughter of the Callisto's, pining for a love that was always just out of reach.
Back then, I endured his cold glares and his harsh tone. Yet, despite it all, I would smile at him every time I saw him, hoping that he might one day see the depth of my devotion.
He knew how much I wanted to marry him. How desperate I was for the smallest sign of affection from him. And all I got from him were gifts through his employees, and hatred I still didn't understand till this day. But now all he seemed to do was smile and tease me.
It was maddening. Not being able to read him and figure him out. Not knowing my worth to him.
He'd said he didn't believe Clara had set me up. But then he believed me when I said I wasn't cheating on him. It didn't make sense. I really wanted it… him, to make sense.
And now he was here, home with me because I had cried over the phone. He'd left business in Greece… for me.
I desperately wanted to believe that he cared, that his return was a sign of something more profound than a contractual obligation.
"Can I ask you a question?"
He nodded.
I was tempted to ask him who Clara was to him. I wanted to show him the pictures Leah had sent me. If I was lucky, I'd get an explanation or an apology. But I couldn't bring myself to ask. Fear didn't let me. What if he really was entangled with her. I couldn't take it.
Just the thought of it was making my chest hurt. I wouldn't be able to hear him admit something like that.
"What exactly am I to you?"
The question was an easy one. Maybe it wasn't the question I wanted to ask, but I still needed to know this.
Christian kept a straight face, and said nothing. Under his gaze, I found myself speaking again.
"I know I'm your wife. But… is, is that…." The words struggled to come out. I tried to steel my heart, my voice still trembling, yet I spoke, my resolve strong. Even if I cried, I was determined to ask. "Is that all that I am to you?"
I held my breath. Waiting for him as he pondered what to say to me.
At least he was thinking about it before speaking. I was afraid he'd reprimand me. After all, he'd done it before. Years ago, when I was only fifteen and he was twenty two...
But this time he was being… considerate.
Truth is, Christian confused me. One minute he was nice, and the next, he acted like someone who had been possessed, completely different. And even though my brain sometimes convinces me that maybe I mattered to him; why else would he have come looking for me after four years, I still had my doubts about his true feelings for me. And not just because of Leah's relentless messages.
"Am I simply a pawn in your revenge plan?"
His expression turned serious. "I thought we had an understanding."
I blinked. Not the answer I was expecting.
"We do. I'm just—"
"What you are is my wife for the next five years." He cut me off. "I promised to help you get your revenge on the family that abandoned you. And if you wanted to, get your revenge on me as well. This is a contract marriage, it's not real. And it never will be."
My fragile hopes and expectations shattered. His words cut deep. My heart sank, and reality hit, hard. He had been unequivocally cold.
I'd mistaken niceness and contractual duty for love. I thought he was beginning to see me as more than just a piece in a game. I was wrong. And it hurt.
My chest tightened and I struggled to maintain my breathing as both pain and anger tried to surface.
It was ludicrous, feeling this way. He hadn't said anything to make me think otherwise. He had simply been nice. So where did these expectations I had of him come from?
How much more delusional could I be? At this point, It was getting very embarrassing.
I was the only one that got hurt. Whenever I was with Christian, I was the only one that got hurt. His heart of steel remained intact. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to feel even a fraction of the pain I'd felt all six years I was betrothed to him, and the pain he was causing me now.
"How can I hurt you?"