Page 11 of Ezekiel
“Yesterday was a most blessed of days, Ezekiel. It was our wedding day. A day I will always look on with joy.” Such pretty words for such a horrendous event.
“Yes, it was. But it was also brutal. What happened after the ceremony—” My words cut off. Everything I wanted to say was rough, abrasive, and I didn’t want to scare her off or make her relive that moment any more than necessary.
“It was God’s command,” she answered dutifully. It took everything I had not to scoff and roll my eyes. God’s plan. There was no God. But saying so would surely frighten her off.
“I say this with all the respect I can, Talia. There was no God in that room. That wasn’t okay. Surely, you know that,” I nearly begged her for understanding.
“You don’t mean that, Ezekiel,” she protested, but I could tell her heart was not in her words.
“I do mean that. You were exposed and watched in a way that I simply can’t believe that God would approve of,” I nearly spat. I watched as she recoiled. I held my hand out in apology. “I don’t mean to be crass. And I don’t mean to be disrespectful. But that was not okay. I did not want to do that.”
“You did not want to consummate our marriage?” she asked, that hesitancy present in her voice again.
“Not like that, no.” There was a long silence. I watched as her eyes, downcast to the floor, bounced back and forth as she processed my words. I was about to leave the room, to let her have time to think, when she spoke again.
“Then how?” Her question surprised me. How? How did I want to consummate our marriage? That was quite a question. One I didn’t think she would appreciate me answering with the truth. I decided to give her what truth I could.
“I would have chosen to consummate our marriage privately, in the comfort and safety of our own home. You deserved something more gentle, more caring. And I wish I could have given that to you.” Her eyes stayed downcast, unable to look at me. I crossed the room, moving past her to give her space, when she stopped me with a hand on my arm.
“Show me?” she asked, still not looking at me. I froze. Uncertain. My hands fisted at my sides.
“I can’t.”
With that, I left the room, left her there to have space. No, to give myself space. I sequestered myself in my study. First pacing, and then reading, but nothing held my attention.
She was loud. Much louder than I had anticipated. I could hear her footsteps echoing through the house, busying herself with who knew what. After reading the same page in my book for the third time, I decided enough was enough. I entered the kitchen, hearing her humming to herself as she moved about the room, fixing something for lunch. I watched from the doorway, her body moving to whatever song played in her head. I couldn’t have stopped the smirk on my face if I had tried.
“What are you making?” I asked, stifling a chuckle when she jumped nearly half a foot in the air from fright.
“You scared the devil right out of me, Ezekiel,” she scolded, hand held to her heart to calm her racing pulse.
“I apologize,” I stated genuinely. I could see on her face she was embarrassed at being caught. She had no need to be embarrassed, not that she would know that. She knew nothing about me, nor I about her. I needed to man up and take Delilah’s advice. So far I’d tried it my way. That had only served to fuck this situation up more.
“What are you fixing?” I asked again, reminding her of my previous question.
“Oh, nothing special or fancy. Just a little chicken salad for lunch. I was going to prepare some for you as well, if you’d like,” she offered sweetly.
“I would like that. Very much so. What can I do to help?” My offer took her by surprise. “I would like to help you prepare lunch. I have two hands,” I started with a smile, holding up my hands, “and I know how to use them.”
Her mouth dropped open again at my statement, and I realized the double entendre I had used. More intriguing was the fact that she picked up on such a joke. Interesting, indeed. I cocked an eyebrow in her direction, and she nearly flushed, turning away to continue her meal prep. Even more intriguing.
“What would you like to drink?” I asked, deciding to just dive in head first.
“Just water will suffice for me, thank you.” I nodded, retrieving glasses of water for each of us and carrying them to the table. She set my meal in front of me, smiling as she did so. She was the perfect picture of what she had been taught to be, yet Delilah’s words would not leave me alone. They incessantly rang through my head, urging me to get my head out of my own ass and just talk to the girl.
“This is delicious,” I stated, digging into the food she’d prepared. It was delicious. “What did you put in this to make it taste so good?” I asked, unable to place what spice or seasoning I was picking up on.
“Tarragon and a tiny pinch of red chili flake. I find that it gives it a really nice depth of flavor. And who doesn’t love just a little bit of spice?” The off-hand comment had me pausing, fork poised half-way to my mouth.
“A little spice does do wonders,” I tossed back. I knew that she was completely unaware of my particular proclivities, and my meaning was likely completely lost on her. But damn, it was hard not to want to flirt when she said things like that.
“May I speak freely?” she asked. I found the question odd. Many people in Zion spoke that way. Hell, us brothers were raised to speak with an air of formality, but regardless, it just felt off. Fake and old-fashioned at the best of times. Pompous and high-handed more often than not.
“You don’t need to talk like that here, Talia,” I sighed heavily. “Just be yourself.”
“Why did you say that this morning? Is there something about me that you find unappealing?” Her blatant words, just shoved right out there in the open, took me by surprise. Well, I had asked for it.
“There is nothing unappealing about you, Talia. Far from it. You’re a beautiful woman,” I reassured. I had expected her to blush or simper under my praise, but she didn’t. She simply eyed me with a reserved curiosity that had me wanting to fidget under her gaze.
