Page 35 of Wildflower
“Not like that. She’s just annoying.” I swear I saw her dancing behind the glass wall yesterday—a wall that is much too see-through for my liking.
And she talks to everyone.
All the time.
What is she even doing in that role?
“Yeah, I hope that’s not the expression you take to the office,” Aiden says, pointing at my face.
“What? She pisses meoff.”
I finish my protein drink but still feel Aiden’s eyes on me.
“If you say so,” he mutters.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He holds up his hands in defeat.
“Cryo.” I point towards the cryotherapy chamber in the corner. We usually hit it for about a minute at minus forty degrees before we get in the infrared sauna to heat up. It helps to heal the muscles after an intensive workout.
“Or do you want breakfast right away?” I ask when he hesitates. He’s always hungry, and maybe he’ll forget about this conversation.
“Fuck yeah, breakfast, please. I’m starving for Emine’s eggs.”
The muffled tread of our feet on the herringbone parquet floor is the only sound as we enter the living room. The view of Green Park greets us, stretching out towards where Buckingham Palace lurks in the background.
My flat is normally empty and quiet. My private chef, Emine, comes in every morning while I exercise to make me breakfast and leave food in the fridge for the evening. She’s gone before I’m done, and I eat in peace.
But on Saturday mornings Aiden is here, and Emine sticks around to clean up after us. Not because she has to, my cleaner comes in every day too, but I think she enjoys it.
I can hear her clanging around in the kitchen, and Aiden rubs his hands together, humming.
“Mmm, smell that goodness.”
“Good morning,” Emine croons as we enter the grand kitchen and dining room. Her face lights up as she sees Aiden, and he plants a kiss on her cheek.
“Emine, this smells divine!” he says, breathing in hard and sighing.
“Your favourite bean and lentil shakshuka, with sweetpotato and kale hash, and harissa yogurt. For dessert; chia pudding with berries.”
“Marry me!” Aiden gives Emine a sideways squeeze, and she giggles.
“Stop it,” she mutters. She’s nearly sixty and happily married, but Aiden makes her blush like a teenage girl.
We sit at the kitchen island and eat in silence, both hungry as hell after the training session. Emine hums a tune while she cleans the pans.
“Right, back to Alice,” Aiden says, putting his cutlery down.
“Why?”
“You don’t know why?” he asks, angling himself towards me.
“Not at all. It’smylife, isn’t it? What’s there to talk about?”
“You have never, as long as I can remember, been preoccupied by a woman. Even when you were with Jody you were laser-focused on work,” he says, referring to my ex-girlfriend and the only relationship I tried to have after kicking off my career.
“It’s probably age-related,” I say. “My body wants me to reproduce, so I’m reacting differently.”
