Page 123 of Cerulean Truth
He halted.
“Don’t expect me to suddenly change, Emma,” he said softly but in a determined tone.
I frowned. “I’m not expecting you to. I want you to be who you are, grumpy stuff and everything, but I don’t think you have ever adapted your tone to your conversational partner and I expect you to do so with me. And I don’t feel like that is a lot to ask.”
James halted. His eyes roamed my face, searching for…something. Then he nodded slowly and said the three words I had been dying to hear from him: “Fine, I’ll try.”
My jaw dropped slightly. I had not expected him to concede so easily. The fact he was willing to try, for me, made me feel all “fluttery”. The Scotch, cigars, alcohol, and stargazing might have had something to with that as well.
James picked up the blankets and the glasses, and we made our way back inside.
Entering his loft, I got very nervous. Being around James always made me antsy, but being around James who was charming, and smiling, and keeping me warm in his arms was…
“I think I’ll be okay in my own room,” I blurted out.
James’s eyes narrowed.Clearly the wrong thing to say.
“The bubble is still in place. If a life-threatening situation were to come up, your body will try to translate instinctively and you will probably die. I’m not taking any chances.” His delivery was dry and detached, as if we were discussing the weather changes of late.
Which annoyed me to no end.
“I won’t translate. I don’t even know how to, as you are well aware of. And nothing is going to happen, the bubble is there to keep me safe, the Radicals can’t translate either so I think I’ll be pretty safe in my own bed.”
“It is not up for discussion,” James grumbled, his charming demeanor instantly gone.
This man and his mood swings.
I sighed deeply, opting wisely to choose my battles and realizing this one wasn’t worth fighting.
“Fine. Then where will I sleep?” I asked, trying to keep my annoyed tone to the absolute minimum. And failing.
“Follow me,” he said, leading the way into his bedroom. "This is my bedroom. That's where you'll sleep, comfortably and alone." He pointed to his bed.
"And this..." He indicated a second bed on the other side of the room, "...is where I'll sleep."
"You want us to sleep in the same room?" My heart raced, and I felt a knot forming in my stomach.
"I want to keep a close eye on you. It wouldn't serve its purpose if we slept in separate rooms."
"You mean you want to keep an eye on my untraceable translation," I tried to sound composed, but my voice quivered. "Make sure no one gets their hands on it and thwarts the Great Exposure."
He raised his eyebrows, puzzled by my sudden accusation. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, counsellor," he replied dryly, then made his way to the bed and lay on his back, effectively ignoring me.
I remained rooted to the spot, my nerves getting the best of me.
"What now?" he asked, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone.
"I don’t want to sleep in the same room," I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Well, tough luck, because that's how it's going to be," he asserted, ignoring my wishes entirely.
Ouch. His tone cut deep, especially since we had…
He sighed, clearly rethinking his tone. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe from the Radicals,andyou’ll be safe from me.”
I raised a brow in surprise. “I know I’m safe here. It’s not because I don’t trust you.”
“Then what is it?” he suppressed a yawn.
