Page 6 of Devotion

“Sure. That sounds good. I’ve got a meeting with the president today that will probably last most of the morning.”

“Is it in his office or in the conference room?”

“His office.” His brows pull together in a silent question.

“Meetings in his office are private, but the ones in the conference room are public, so partners attend.”

“You attend business meetings? Why? Surely it would be deadly dull to you.”

“We go with you to all public events. We don’t participate, but we’re present. It’s been that way since the beginning.”

He gives a skeptical shrug. “Okay. Today it’s in his office, so you get to escape hours of tedium.”

He believes attending meetings would be torture for me, but I’d rather listen to people talking at a meeting than hang around this room on my own doing nothing. I don’t say it. I change my shoes while he heads into the bathroom.

After my walk, he’s already left for his meeting, so I sit around and wait for an endless eternity until he finally returns well after noon.

I was half dozing in my window alcove, but I jump to attention as soon as I hear the door open.

He looks tired and annoyed. His hair is messy like he’s been rubbing at his head.

“How was the meeting?” I ask him.

“A huge waste of time. Like most meetings.” He scratches at his scalp idly with his fingertips. That gesture must be what’s disarrayed his hair. “I could have been getting work done all this time.” He’s scowling as he heads into the bathroom.

I sit and wait until he returns, vaguely hopeful that he’s in such a bad mood he might let me help him relax and feel better. But my hopes are groundless. When he emerges after a couple of minutes, he goes right to his desk and starts shuffling through papers until he finds the one he wants.

Ten minutes later, he remembers I exist and slants his eyes over toward where I’m sitting upright, my hands folded neatly in my lap. “Are you just going to sit there?”

“What else am I to do?”

“I don’t know. Do whatever you want. It’s unnerving for you to be sitting there like that, doing nothing.”

“I thought you understood. I’m not allowed to do anything unless you’ve given me?—”

“For fuck’s sake, you have permission to do anything you want! You can hang out with your family all day for all I care.”

I swallow back a swell of annoyance at his biting tone. “I’m not allowed to do that. They give us four hours off a week andone free day a month. I visit my family on Saturday evenings and all day on my free day. Otherwise, if you’re in your rooms, I am too.”

“Okay, but can’t you do something instead of just sitting there? What do you normally do with your downtime?”

Despite his tone, I take his question seriously. “I know how to read. My father taught me. So I enjoy reading books. I also like to draw. And my great-aunt taught me how to knit. I enjoy that too.”

“All right. Great. All three of those things would be fine for you to do.”

“I would need supplies. Or books. And I can’t?—”

He groans. “I’ve told you if you need something, just ask me outright. I can’t stand these silly guessing games.”

For the first time since he chose me, I’m actively, hotly angry with him. It’s not my fault he’s completely ignorant about a fundamental palace tradition. I’ve done everything I can to act appropriately while still helping him understand what’s expected.

I don’t deserve to be treated this way.

I want to snap back a response, but I manage to swallow it down. My tone, however, is decidedly clipped and cool as I respond. “I am not playing games. I have asked you for what I need. I am not the one uncomfortable with my having nothing to do.”

That isn’t entirely true. I hate sitting around with nothing to engage either my mind or my hands. But he doesn’t need to know that right now.

His eyes widen as he scans my face closely. “You’re pissed. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

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