Page 103 of Crocodile Tears

“I’m so sorry. I should have realised,” he babbled. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry, I really am.”

Josiah wondered what had happened to the challenging man he’d interrogated earlier. Then, in a flash, he understood.

He was Alexander’s houder now. He wielded ultimate power over his new servant’s every waking moment – what he ate, what he wore, what he did, and when he slept. He held Alexander’s well-being in the palm of his hand, and he was suddenly realising what a weight it was.

“It’s fine. I should apologise, not you,” he said gruffly. “It was a misunderstanding. I’m not used to having someone in my space, and I overreacted. Here.” He slung the clothes on the bed. “You can wear these for now – and there’s a change of clothes for tomorrow, too.”

A smell of burning suddenly wafted up the stairs.

“Oh shit. There goes the stir-fry surprise,” Josiah sighed.

“Is the surprise the fact that it’s burnt?” Alexander asked.

Josiah stared at him for a moment, and then they both burst out laughing.

He ran down the stairs to find the stir-fry completely ruined. He threw it into the bin, then turned to see Alexander standing in the kitchen doorway again.

“You have to stop creeping up on me like that,” he said. “Make some noise, or sing or something, when you’re coming down the stairs.”

“Yes, sir,” Alexander said seriously, and Josiah’s heart sank as he realised that every stupid suggestion he made from now on would be taken as some kind of binding order.

If Peter’s clothes had been big on Alexander, then his ownpositively swamped him: the sweatpants were pulled up so high they sat just under his nipples, and the tee-shirt resembled a tent.

“Tomorrow, I’ll take you back to Dacre’s house, and you can pack a bag of clothes to bring back here,” he said firmly.

“Oh, thank God. No offence, sir, but I feel like a little kid playing at dressing up in these.” Alexander grinned.

Josiah grinned back, relaxing a fraction. “Dinner’s ruined, so I thought I’d call for a takeaway. What do you want? Pizza? Indian? Chinese? Dutch?”

“Dutch – I love hachée.”

Josiah smiled at him approvingly. “Me too. Let’s get that and sit on the sofa in front of the screen with it.”

The last time he’d sat and watched the screen with someone in his house was when Peter had been alive, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it, but he didn’t want to make the IS eat in the kitchen while he enjoyed the comfort of the sofa.

They took their food into the living room, and Alexander paused, looking bemused.

“I haven’t seen one of those in years,” he commented, nodding his head at the static screen embedded in the far wall. “Most people have smartwalls these days.”

“I don’t like them.” Josiah shrugged. He gestured to Alexander to join him on the couch, then flicked through some movies and brought up a recent Hudson Brink classic that he thought Alexander might enjoy.

He’d never been any good at small talk, and he was completely at a loss as to how to interact with the IS. Alexander didn’t say a word, which was both a relief and a strain as the silence stretched between them.

“Don’t you like the food?” he asked, noticing that Alexander had barely touched his meal.

“It was lovely. I’m not a big eater, sir.”

There was another long silence.

“Uh, so, do you like this guy’s movies?” he said at last, waving at the screen, where Hudson Brink was heroically rescuing the feisty but foul-mouthed female love interest.

“I’m happy to watch it if you enjoy it, sir,” Alexander replied.

“That’s not what I asked – I asked if you liked this guy.”

“Not really.”

“Any reason? His acting? The genres he chooses?” Josiah ploughed on, trying his best to make conversation.

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