Page 87 of Peasants and Kings
I mulled over his explanations, finding myself even more in awe of him. Why he wanted to know anything about me was bizarre—he was the interesting one. And I was fascinated.
I paused in reflection a moment before saying, “Mutton stew, please.”
While the stew was heating on the stove, he cut up a loaf of thick, brown bread.
“I’m guessing you didn’t make that,” I said.
“My housekeeper, Ingrid, baked it. She’s the only reason there’s cooked food in my refrigerator.”
I grinned.
“What?”
“I’m just glad to know you’re not good at everything.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you don’t cook.”
“Who said I don’t cook?”
“You.”
“Icancook. I just choose not to,” he explained.
I wrinkled my nose at him. “That’s annoying.”
“What is?”
“Being around someone who’s good at everything.”
He smiled but didn’t rise to the bait.
“Where is she? Ingrid, I mean.”
“I wanted you all to myself today, so I gave her the day off. You’ll meet her tomorrow.”
“What does she do for you?” I asked, pleasure at his words warming me.
“She oversees my household. She cooks my meals and handles my laundry and other services. Her two daughters come and clean a few times a week, and if I need anything at all outside of the ordinary, Ingrid will get things sorted.”
I nodded. What must it be like to be so wealthy that you had people to cook and clean for you? Well, for the next six months, I’d find out.
“Wine?” he asked.
“Sure.”
There was a nondescript bottle resting on the kitchen island. Hadrian opened a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew.
When the food was ready, Hadrian plated it on a tray. I grabbed the wine glasses and the bottle of wine and followed him into the dining room, which felt just as modern and stiff as the rest of the house. It wasn’t warm or inviting.
I reached for the pepper grinder in the middle of the table, but Hadrian’s hand stopped me.
“Taste it first.”
“It needs pepper. Everything always needs pepper.”
“Eden.”
