Chapter 19 Breakfast
Groaning, I stretch my body and roll to my other side as I'm waking up from my sleep. My heart jumps out of my chest at the sight of the man sitting on the bed across from me. Now I remember we've been staying in the same bedroom since yesterday. All the embarrassing memories from last night then flood my mind. Oh no. I can't believe that happened.
"How are you feeling?" Dante asks.
"Better. The ice packs helped," I say. I touch my head and move my left foot. Both still hurt, but not as badly as they were before. Thank goodness. Now I don't have to worry about pretending to be completely fine in front of my father.
"Good," Dante says, nodding with a smile.
I look out the window and see that the sky outside is already bright. Way too bright to my liking. My eyes and head hurt from how blue the sky is right now. What time is it now anyway?
"It's nine am right now," Dante says. How did he know I'm about to ask him that? I swear, if he keeps doing this, then it'll convince me enough that he can actually read minds.
"To answer your question, no. I can't read minds," Dante says.
"Then how could you keep answering all the questions I'm thinking?" I ask.
"Your face says it all," Dante says. My face? Is he saying he can read me like a book? All this time, I thought my poker face was good enough. I guess that's not the case. I really need to work on it ASAP, or I'll get in trouble with others.
"Am I that easy to read?" I ask.
"You could say that," Dante says.
Oh well. This sucks. I need to pay better attention to my facial expression. Now that I'll be more involved in the business, it's a must to look as expressionless and emotionless as I can be. Everything could be in ruin if they catch the slight distaste on my face.
"Wait. The breakfast! We should be at the restaurant already by now," I say as I get
"Don't worry. I told your father that you're not feeling well, so he got the food delivered to our room," Dante says.
When I shift my gaze towards the table, everything is confirmed. The empty and clean table has now been set with various dishes and pastries.
"Oh. Wait. Did you tell my father I was sick? As in I hurt myself last night?" I say.
"No. I just told him you're not feeling well," Dante says.
Okay. Thank goodness. I don't want anything to happen to both of us. It would turn really ugly if my father knew the truth about last night.
"Okay. Let's eat our breakfast, then," I say.
"Gladly. Take what you want, I'll eat the rest," Dante says.
I walk towards the table and scan all the stuff on it: two small bowls of what it seems to be blueberry yogurt, croissants and danish pastries, scones, two plates of omelette, potato wedges, bacon, and sausages, pancakes, cinnamon toasts, a vegetable salad bowl, fruit platter, two glasses of water, one cup of hot tea, one cup of hot coffee, and some condiments. These are a lot of food for two people. Just one plate of that American breakfast would fill me more than enough. I'm sure Dante wouldn't eat a lot more than I, too. What should we do with the rest?
"You can take anything. I'll just eat the Danish pastries and the pancakes," I say as I point at the food.
"A few pieces of pastries and three pancakes? That's not enough. You should eat more. How about you take that plate and leave the rest untouched? A carbohydrate-only breakfast won't do you good," Dante says. I hate that he's right, but I just don't feel like eating anything more than some pastries. I guess it's better if I eat them anyway. I haven't eaten much since my mother's funeral, and I'm sure she'll be sad if she knows about how little I eat lately. The thought of her frowning at me from up there makes me a bit sad.
"You're right. Fine. I'll eat that," I say.
"Good. Also, get some of the salad, fruits, and perhaps yoghurt in your system. Fruits and vegetables matter too," Dante says. My face deadpans as I stare back at Dante. Seriously? How much stuff does he want me to eat for breakfast only? If I end up eating all the things on this table, I might actually skip lunch from how full my stomach is.
"Dude. Are you trying to get me fat?" I say.
"Nope. Just trying to get your daily nutrition intake met," Dante says. He has a point, but all these for breakfast? We still have lunch and dinner to fulfil my daily nutrition intake, so yeah, I'd rather skip eating too much for breakfast.
"But they're a lot. If I keep doing this every day, I might actually get fat," I say.
"Adding one or two kilos to your weight is nothing bad. All that matters is being healthy," Dante says. "Well, just eat those first. After that, it's yours to decide if you want to eat more or not."
Thank goodness. I'll end up only eating this plate of potatoes, sausages, bacon, and omelette anyway. There's no way I can eat more than this.
"Alright," I say.
"Good. Now eat your breakfast."
Half an hour later, my stomach feels like it's about to explode from how much I've eaten. Other than the plate of American breakfast, I ended up eating two Danish pastries, half of the salad bowl, and some fruit slices. Dante keeps handing me all the food, and I actually end up eating them without any second thoughts. Did he hypnotise me or something? Because I just realised now how much I've eaten, and it's quite a lot. Right now, there's only the scones and croissants left on the table. The rest already went down my stomach as well as Dante's.
"See? I know you can handle more than just one plate," Dante says with a grin.
"Yeah, but now I'm fucking full. I think I'll skip lunch later," I sigh as I lean back into the chair. I feel like I can't breathe from how much food is in my stomach right now.
"We'll see about that later," Dante says. Later? Fuck. Is he planning to make me eat more at lunch too? Hell no. I'm not letting him do that anymore. I've had enough nutrition for the day after what I've eaten so that means I can eat whatever the fuck I want later.
"If you keep making me eat a lot of food, I'm going to start to think you're trying to kill me slowly," I say.
"What if I do?" Dante asks with a grin.
"Then I'll haunt you after I die," I say with my eyes squinted.
"Oooh, I'm scared," Dante says mockingly. I shake my head and roll my eyes playfully at his response. I swear this man will be the death of me.
"Oh shut up," I say.
"It's almost ten now. You should get ready. Your father said we're leaving at 11," Dante says.
"Okay."
After I clean myself up and get myself ready to go back home, Dante and I go to the lobby. My father is already there waiting for us. Just as I expected, my father looks worried about me. Dante shouldn't have told my father I'm not feeling well, but if he didn't, then I'll have to force myself to go to the restaurant and walk around to get food with my injured ankle. Besides having to deal with my father's concern, I'm glad I got to rest my legs a bit so I can pretend that I can walk perfectly fine in front of my father.
"Are you okay? How are you feeling? I visited your room earlier, and you were still asleep. Dante said you weren't feeling well since last night," my father says.
"Yeah. I was a bit dizzy, but I'm fine now. It's probably because of the wine," I say.
"Right. Your alcohol tolerance is low since you barely drink alcoholic beverages. I shouldn't have let you drink the wine," my father says.
Yes, you heard that right. I barely drink alcoholic beverages. I only drink some on special occasions. I'd rather not drink anything with alcohol in it than have to deal with the hangovers and headaches the next morning.
"It's nothing. It's just a little headache. I don't really think it's from the wine, though," I say.
"Do you want to go to the hospital?" my father asks.
"No need. Some headache medicine at home will suffice," I say.
"Alright. Then let's go back home," my father says.
We're finally going back. It's kinda sad that we have to go back now. I wish we could spend more time here, but without my mother and brothers, going everywhere feels empty. I wish I could turn back time to prevent their deaths, but unfortunately, it's only wishful thinking. For now, all I can do is avenge their deaths by making the Romanos pay.