A Debt Owed(22)

And what I want right now is for her to eat with me at this big table that is otherwise pretty empty without her. I’ve looked forward to this moment for ages.

When she enters the room in her floaty white gown that I had custom tailored to her size, it feels as though the entire room suddenly lights on fire. Her beautiful eyes blaze as she glares at me.

I know she hasn’t forgiven me yet, but that’s okay because I don’t expect her to. I do expect her to behave in an orderly fashion, though. As long as she obeys my rules, everyone will be happy and remain alive. Simple.

“Sit,” I say, pointing at the chair next to me. There’s plenty of space for her to sit, but I’ve asked them to set the table to ensure we can look each other in the eyes.

She observes the table, standing frozen in place before walking toward the other end of it and sitting as far away from me as possible. The deadly stare she gives me sets my body ablaze. Does she not realize it only makes the urge to grab her and fuck her right here on this table stronger?

All I want is her, and all she wants is to get away from me. How fitting.

A tepid smile forms on my lips as I clear my throat, and say to Nick, “Please bring Miss Davis her plate and cutlery. We wouldn’t want her to eat with her hands, now would we?”

She gives me a faux smile accompanied by eyes reduced to mere slits. I honestly imagine she’s shooting venom at me at this point, but I don’t mind. I know she’s upset, and she has every right to be, but that won’t change the fact she’s mine. I still won’t let her go, no matter how hard she tries to pretend she’s going to fight me on this.

Soon she’ll give in … and then I’ll ravish her bit by bit.

When Nick’s done setting the table, the food comes in, and her eyes immediately hone in on the cream-filled bagel I bought early this morning from an American baker in Amsterdam just for her. I know she likes these things, like cranberry juice, coffee without sugar or milk, and a fried egg on toast, sunny side up. All of which are stacked onto a plate and brought to her side of the table right now.

She sure loves pure tastes with no dilution and nothing from a can or a box. Everything has to be fresh with Miss Princess. Her eyes widen at the sight of all that delicious food. Her mouth must be salivating by now. I don’t even have to guess … I know because I took extensive notes on all her favorites courtesy of her father’s staff … and my own personal research, of course.

I clear my throat, and say, “If you eat your breakfast without protesting, I’ll overlook the fact you refused to sit next to me.”

She snorts and looks away, shaking her head, but she doesn’t respond. Typical for her, but I know she’s thinking a myriad of things. She’s just afraid to say them out loud.

I pick up my bagel and take a bite, but the more I swallow, the less she seems interested in her food.

“Go on. Eat.”

“No,” she says, folding her arms.

I’m offering her an olive branch right now, and she throws it right back in my face.

“Charlotte, are we going to play this game again?” I raise a brow at her, challenging her attempt to defy me once again. “Please don’t try. You know it’ll only end in heartbreak.”

“You mean pain,” she replies. “My pain.”

I wish her words didn’t cut into me the same way I’m slicing through the butter right now, but they do. I do desperately want to hurt her, but not in the way she thinks.

I don’t want her to feel the pain that I felt. I want her to feel the pain that makes you squirm, that makes your throat jam and takes your breath away. Not the kind where your heart is ripped out of your chest, thrown on the ground, and stomped on. Because that’s what I felt when she didn’t even acknowledge my existence in front of her father. Nor does she know the kind of pain you feel when you find your own father lying on the floor dead.

“You don’t know what pain is,” I growl back, angered by the memory.

She narrows her eyes. “Like you do.”

I stab the butter knife into the butter like a butcher’s knife into meat. “You don’t fucking know what I’ve been through, so don’t even try.”

“Really? Tell me then. Tell me how hard the world has been to you,” she jests, trying to get under my skin. It won’t work. I won’t let it.

“Eat. Your. Breakfast,” I say with a low, commanding voice. Then I proceed to eat my bagel and take a sip of my coffee.

“Only if you tell me why. Why all of this ‘pretending’ to be happy? Why do you even care? You already have me. What more could you want?”

I look up from my food, narrowing my eyes at her as I answer. “Your heart and soul … and I won’t stop until they belong to me.”

“Then you’ll die trying,” she says, picking up her bagel and taking a defiant bite. She can even turn food into an object of aggression. I don’t know how she does it, but she makes me want to dig my nails into my skin until I bleed.

“You say that now, but you’ll warm up to me eventually,” I say. Her tongue dips out to lick the spread from her lips, and I wish that was my tongue instead. Fuck.

“Why do you think that?” she asks, taking another bite.

“Because I charmed you once …” An arrogant smile curls my lips. “I can do it again.”