“It’s fresh.” He lifted his hand and walked back to the stove, drawing her gaze to the roundness of his butt.
Yanking her disobedient attention to the food again, she eyed the croissant. The pastry was dotted with slivers of almond and, two ramekins, one with strawberry jam and the other holding melting butter, lay by its side. “Fresh?”
“I went out early.” He returned to the table with his own breakfast. “Pastry should be fresh.”
The recognition that he’d gone out early to buy pastry…she glanced at his plate. “Where’s your croissant?”
“I don’t eat them.” Flipping a black lock over his shoulder, he dug into his food. “I don’t like sweets in the morning.”
“But I do?” She did, yet she didn’t want to admit the fact and also confront the realization he’d climbed off the couch early to ensure she’d have fresh pastry.
“Si.” He bit into a piece of bacon and crunched until it was gone. “Your friends told me this as well.”
Renewed anger at another betrayal mixed with a tender sort of feeling towards him she didn’t want to contemplate. The mix threatened to drive her appetite away and she didn’t want that to happen. Who knew if this would last? Maybe nausea would reappear at any moment. She ripped the croissant apart and slathered butter and jam into the warm hollow. The taste bloomed in her mouth, a blend of yeast and sweet fruit.
Closing her eyes, she swam in the delight of enjoying good food after such a long time.
His chuckle came from across the hardwood table. “Good, huh?”
Yes, good.
Somehow he’d convinced her to take one day without her laptop. And then another. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost the need to fight and fuss. In some way, his way, he’d charmed her into letting go, letting everything be good.
He’d slept on the couch the entire two weeks without complaining or cursing or questioning. Every night, he courteously said good night and left her alone. Naturally, his grin came and his eyes twinkled with wicked intent, yet his actions, his words? She could find nothing to grumble about.
Poking him only provoked a laugh.
Prodding him did nothing but gain her a smile.
She’d thought about punching him, except a lady didn’t descend to that level and to be truthful, she didn’t want to get that close. He might respond in a way she wasn’t able to rebuff anymore.
The thought gave her a cool knock in her jaw every time she pondered it.
A cluster of laughing students passed their table and Lise watched them as they shoved each other in affection. Her gaze slipped over them and returned to her husband. Just like her focus always seemed to gravitate to him whenever he was near. With irritation, she noticed he was checking his messages on his mobile.
The one he was allowed to have, while she was not.
She’d argued.
No work, he’d said.
But you—
No work for either of us. This, he’d waved the phone, is only for emergencies.
Sure, she’d thought, in sheer disbelief. No professional man in her acquaintance could ever really get away from his job. Her father, her co-workers, Robert—all of them had taught her—a sign of being a professional was to be constantly in touch with your staff and your work. She’d been sure, positive, Vico was lying. She was sure he’d spend the majority of this so-called honeymoon on the phone, on the computer, busily undermining her at the office while she languished in boredom.
Surprise wasn’t exactly the word she’d use to describe her reaction to his subsequent actions during the last two weeks.
Across from her, he slid the phone shut and slipped it back into his pocket. Glancing up, he met her gaze. A dark brow lifted. “What?”
“Nothing.”
It was a response she knew irritated him, still, his frown was slight and before he could respond the waiter appeared with their meal. The salmon sat on a bed of rice, fresh asparagus lacing its side. The lemon butter pooled over the fish in glistening splendor. The smell wafted to her nose, rich and robust. Lise cautiously sniffed.
Her stomach rumbled.
Her husband chuckled.
Ignoring his delight, she dug into the meal. She relished the aroma of her favorite fish, enjoyed the crisp crunch of the vegetable, let the taste soothe her irritation and frustration.
He’d been true to his word. He hadn’t worked. Not once.
Surprise wasn’t the word she’d use. Amazement wouldn’t do either.
Confusion? Shock? Bewilderment?
Whatever the word, the reality was he hadn’t spent a moment of his time or concentration on work. Instead, he’d concentrated on her.
Her comfort. Was she too hot? Was she thirsty? Did she need a break from walking?