Page 73 of Heir

We ate in silence.

I finished my food before she did, pushed my plate away, and took a sip of my coffee. I had finished the orange juice already. She hadn’t touched hers. I wondered if she didn’t like it, though I didn’t comment.

I watched as she slowly worked on the plate. Not even half the food was gone.

I frowned.

She didn’t behave as if she was hungry, but her stomach didn’t lie to me.

She turned to me, a strange expression on her face. “I don’t think I can finish this all. Sorry.”

“That’s all right. Just eat what you can.”

She nodded and ate the eggs.

“You don’t like pancakes?” I asked.

“Huh? Oh, I like them just fine.”

“Would you like some syrup?”

Her eyes widened, as if I had just asked her if she wanted to do crack with me.

“Uh. No. I’ll just eat it like this.”

I nodded, resisting the urge to grab the fork from her hand and feed her myself.

Unlike my dad, I didn’t have a feeding kink.

I lost count of how many times I went over to his house, only to see him with Emmy on his lap while he fed her.

But right now, I was so fucking tempted to do just that.

It was only because of the strange way she was reacting to eating breakfast that I resisted.

Finally, she pushed the plate away when she finished all her eggs, one sausage, and half the pancakes.

She grabbed her coffee mug and turned to me, smiling.

Gemma couldn’t lie to save her life. I got that now. The genuine expression I saw every time I looked at her was just that—genuine.

So it was throwing me off to see her trying to hide shit from me—and badly, at that.

I didn’t know what that shit might be and what eating breakfast had to do with it.

“All done?” I asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

She took a sip of her coffee, looking everywhere but at me.

I thought back to what Blue had said the day he met her at the bar. He said she sounded panicked. Almost as if she was hiding from something.

I worked hard not to show too much on my face, especially when she was looking at me like she was trying to figure out what I was thinking or feeling.

“Are you close with your family?” I asked.

I could almost see a shutter falling over her eyes, as if she didn’t want me to see what she was feeling—and failing miserably.

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