Unveiled(62)

“What?” I reclaim the spoon and try to stir.

“Please don’t make me eat that.”

My whole body deflates, disappointment replacing the tingles. “What did I do wrong?”

The spoon is taken from my hand and left to rest in the bowl before he turns me in his arms. All dismay has vanished. Now I’m the butt of his amusement. “You spent too long vandalizing my table, so the chocolate has set.” He’s smug. “I’m afraid there will be no licking chocolate from body parts.”

I really am hopeless. I realize it’s silly, given that I’ve just wrecked his table in the process, but I wanted to do this trivial thing, because it isn’t so trivial in Miller’s world. “I’m sorry.” I sigh, letting my forehead drop onto his chest.

“You’re forgiven.” His arms curl around my back, and he presses his lips to the top of my head. “How about we abandon breakfast for today?”

“Fine.”

“We’ll veg. All day. Then have brunch.”

I cringe. I knew that would be his plan. Lock us away to protect me from his world. There’s no way, not when Nan’s coming home today. “I’m picking Nan up from the hospital at four.”

“I’ll collect her,” he offers, but I know exactly what he’s doing. There’s no way I’m going to be kept from Nan. “And I’ll bring her back here.”

“We’ve been over this. She needs to be in her own home, in her own bed, with everything she knows around her. She won’t like it here.” I break away and head from the kitchen, not prepared to allow him to even try to talk me down. It’ll be a waste and will result in a row. After last night, I expect he’ll be unbearably protective.

“What’s wrong with here?” he asks, insulted.

I swing around, a little mad that he would be so obtuse where Nan is concerned. “Because it’s not home!” I spit, and a small part of me is wondering if he truly does want me here polluting his apartment with my messy ways or if he’s so desperate to keep me from harm’s way that he’ll even torture himself by having me and Nan permanently here.

The hurt is visible instantaneously, and I snap my mouth shut before I twist the knife some more. “I see,” he says coldly.

“Miller, I—”

“No, it’s fine.” He walks past me, ensuring he doesn’t touch me. I feel like all kinds of shit as I let my back fall to the wall and gaze up to the high ceilings of his apartment. I’ve hurt his feelings. He’s trying to help. He’s worried about me, and I’m being a total bitch.

Reaching up and pinching the bridge of my nose, I groan my frustration before I go after him. “Miller,” I call, watching his back disappear into the bedroom. “Miller, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

He’s yanking all of his bedsheets into place when I enter, being rough and stroppy. “I said it’s fine.”

“Clearly.” I sigh, my arms falling lifelessly to my sides. I’d go over and help, an olive branch in the form of Miller-style tidying, but I know I’ll only piss him off further when I get it all wrong.

“You don’t want to live here.” He plumps the pillows and glides careful palms across the top. “I accept that. I don’t have to like it, but I accept it.” The silk runner is practically tossed onto the bed, and he starts pulling and huffing it into position. I watch silently, a little surprised by his juvenile, stroppy behavior. He’s pissed off. Not angry or looking on the brink of psychotic, just plain slighted. “Fuck it!” he shouts, grabbing at the perfected sheets and tossing them across the bed. He collapses to his arse on the edge and throws his hands into his hair, breathing heavy. “I want you in my arms every night.” He looks up at me, his eyes pleading. “I need to keep you safe.”

I pad over to him, his eyes following me until I’m looking down at him. He spreads his thighs, giving me room to move in. My hands rest on his shoulders, his on my bottom. Looking up at me, he sighs and swallows hard, then lets his forehead fall to my tummy. My hands climb the sides of his neck and thread into his hair.

“I realize I sound needy and demanding,” he whispers. “It’s not just because I’m worried. I’ve gotten so used to waking up with you and falling asleep with you. You’re the last thing I see before I close my eyes, and you’re the first thing I see when I open them. The thought of not having that doesn’t sit well with me, Olivia.”

I immediately comprehend his issue. We’ve not been separated for weeks. New York was a constant carousel of worshiping, things, and indulging in each other. We’re back to real life now. I smile sadly, unsure of what to say or do to make him feel better. Wild horses won’t keep me away from Nan. “She needs me,” I murmur.