Page 51 of Honey, Honey
“But it’s cold in here,” I told him.
He frowned and glanced towards the door where a blinking thermostat was on the wall and stood. “I’ll turn on the heat. Get in the bed, it’ll be warmer there.”
My feet were moving before I could think. “Yeah, okay, but where…” my voice trailed off and I looked at him again, “where are you going to sleep?”
“In the chair,” he said, as if that were obvious. He was already at the thermostat and was punching buttons to kick on the heat. “There, that should do it. I don’t want you getting cold. In the bed. Now.”
“Bossy,” I muttered, but did as I was told.
“Seems to be the only thing you respond to,” he countered, and I smiled even if I didn’t want to.
“Fair point,” I said, pulling back the covers and getting into the bed. It was cold now but I knew the sheets would warm within a few minutes. “Are you drinking tea?” I asked, looking at the mug he had set on the cart.
“Yes, we both are.”
“Are we now?”
“We will be as soon as you tell me how you like yours.” He came to stand beside the cart and gave me an expectant look.
I bit my bottom lip and then, because I did love tea and the cloying smells of jasmine and bergamot were too much to resist, I said, “I’d like a splash of cream, that’s it.”
Law didn’t say anything, but that seemed to be his default setting. I watched his hands while he worked. They were inked, the tattoos I’d seen before, the ones that had pulled my attention in the first place that morning in the coffee shop had my attention once again. The bold black lines of the ink were pretty...in a savage way. Just like Law.
“Here you are,” he said, holding the cup out to me.
“Thanks.” I took the cup and inhaled deeply, letting the familiar smells of the tea calm me further. This had been exactly what I’d needed. I sipped the tea and nodded at him. “Thank you. I mean that.”
“It’s my job,” he said and I felt my chest get tight. I didn’t want him to say that. I wanted him to want to be here with me. But that Law didn’t exist. He pulled the dome lid from the tray on the cart back to reveal fruit and cake. The cake was chocolate with thick luscious looking frosting over the top of it. I focused on the fudge dripping down the sides, preferring to think of the cake than dwell on the fact that the Law I wanted, the one I wished was real, wasn't.
Why did I want a man that didn’t want me? What was wrong with me?
Different man, same old song and dance.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, squatting down so that he was looking up at me instead of standing above me.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I lied. “This looks great. Can I have the cake?”
“Not until you tell me why you’ve got that look on your face.”
“What look? I don’t have a look.” I hid behind my tea mug and avoided his eyes. “Hey, do you think that’s a real painting, like an original? Or is it a print? I thought it looked like something famous, but I didn’t really pay the most attention in school.” I was looking at the painting now and rambling, but it was the best I could do given my current situation.
“Honey…”
“It looks like it could be an original, but they make fakes all the time that have the brushstrokes and crap like that, so you never know.”
“Look at me, Honey.”
“The Cairnwouldhave a million dollar painting in one of these suites. They just would,” I insisted, while I did everything but what Law asked. I kept my eyes fixed on the painting while Law shifted closer to the bed.
“Honey.” Law put a hand on the bed, not touching me but close enough that I had to pay attention. “What is wrong? I can’t help if you don’t tell me, princess.”
The tightness in my chest spread.Princess.I had told him not to call me that, but it was a lie. I liked it when he called me that. I’d felt proud as hell that people had heard him call me princess. And now here he was again, saying it, but it was all wrong. It was all wrong because Law didn’t want me to be his princess.
It was just a name.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I lied again. That was two times, and I wasn’t getting any better at it. I could tell by the heavy sigh Law let out. He flattened his palm against the bed and then moved, sitting on the edge of it so that he was blocking the damn painting I’d been fixated on.
“I know you’re lying,” he told me, shifting his body so that it was angled towards me. “I don’t know why though.”
