He put his book down and raised a brow. ‘While you are on this island, you are my guest and you will be treated as such.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to rebuke him, to point out that guests were generally allowed to communicate with the outside world. And that, oh, as a rule, guests weren’t usually forced on to their host’s island.
For once she kept her tongue still.
They both knew the facts. There was little point rehashing them.
They had a long night ahead of them. Better to try and sustain the strange kind of harmony they’d managed to establish.
As long as she continued to keep her guard up, she would be fine.
Rooting round the kitchenette for something to do, she found a large tub of vanilla ice-cream in the freezer. There was nothing better than ice-cream to aid harmony.
‘Do you want some?’ she asked, holding it up for him.
‘Sure,’ he replied with a shrug, closing his book and placing it on the arm of the sofa.
Grabbing two spoons, she took it over to the table.
Pascha pulled out the chair opposite her and nodded at the tub. ‘No bowls?’
‘Saves washing up.’
‘It’ll melt.’
‘No, it won’t. I guarantee that in ten minutes it will all be gone.’ She might not have been able to manage much of her dinner, but ice-cream...now, that she could happily eat, however fraught her emotions. ‘If you want a bowl, help yourself.’
Rolling his eyes, he got himself a bowl, sat down and methodically scooped some ice-cream into it.
‘Is that all you’re having?’ she asked with incredulity. He’d only put two scoops into his bowl.
He quelled her with a look. ‘It’s hardly a healthy food.’
‘It’s ice-cream. It’s not supposed to be healthy. It’s supposed to be comforting.’
‘I’ll be sure to tell my arteries that.’
They ate in silence but, unlike over dinner, this silence didn’t have an uncomfortable edge to it. Probably because no one could be uncomfortable whilst eating divine vanilla ice-cream. The sweetness was soothing.
While they ate, Pascha checked his phone.
‘Did you manage to get hold of your lawyer?’ she asked.
‘Just. The battery died after a couple of minutes.’ He gave it a shake, as if hoping it would miraculously charge itself.
‘You do realise you’re torturing yourself by checking it?’ she said.
He pursed his lips. ‘It’s pointless, I know. I just find it incredibly frustrating.’
‘Have some more ice-cream.’
‘Will that help?’ he asked mockingly.
‘Nope. But it will make the frustration taste a bit sweeter.’ To make her point, she put a delicious spoonful into her mouth.
His lips twitched.
She grinned to see him scoop a little more into his bowl, but only a little. ‘Have you always been a control freak?’
His eyes narrowed a touch. ‘I like to control the environment in which I live,’ he answered slowly.
‘We all do that to an extent,’ she agreed. ‘But you seem to be quite extreme about it.’
He put his spoon down. ‘I had leukaemia as a child,’ he said simply.
Startled, Emily felt her eyes widen.
He’d had leukaemia...?
‘Being so close to death so young...’ He raised a shoulder. ‘It shapes you. It shaped me.’
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said starkly. ‘Are you okay now? I mean...’
‘I know what you mean and, yes, I am in good health.’ He hadn’t escaped unscathed, though, Pascha reflected with a trace of bitterness. Five years of chemotherapy and all the other associated treatments had given him a future but had also come with one particular cost, a cost that no amount of money could ever fix.
‘But I do not take my good health for granted. I freely admit I like to take control of my life, but when you have spent five of your formative years with no control over your body or your treatment, and no control over how it affects those you love...’ He shook his head and scraped out the last of the ice-cream in his bowl. ‘Now I am in control. Just me. To use business jargon, I will not outsource it.’
Emily had stopped eating, her spoon held in mid-air. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She shook her head, a dazed expression on her face. ‘That must have been awful for you. Terrifying. And your poor parents. It doesn’t bear thinking about, does it? It’s hard enough watching your parents suffer but when it comes to your own child...’ Her words tailed off and she seemed to give herself a mental shake, sticking her spoon back into the tub.
‘Yes, it was hard for them,’ he agreed, his voice dropping, his mind wandering back to a time when his mother had seemingly aged overnight. One minute she’d been a young mother with an easy laugh, the next a middle-aged woman with lines on her face.