Chapter 21 Chapter 21
Damn, I should really be concentrating on filing the books instead of thinking about how this boy has gotten hard under me. The door opens without me turning around. “If you don't start knocking, I'll shoot your hand at some point,” I mutter. I slowly turn to face him and see him standing in the middle of my study with his smug grin. He just shrugs as if I hadn't just threatened him. “Maybe it would be more interesting for you to know why I'm here!” I sigh. This guy is going to be the death of me one day, and if he weren't my best friend and right-hand man, I would have rewarded him for his behavior with a bullet between the eyes long ago. “So? Why are you disturbing me while I'm working?” I ask him dryly. “Do you know how long it's been since Selena died?” "Is that why you're barging in here? No idea, a few days, I guess!“ I sigh irritably, my thoughts wandering back to Nicolai, but I'm immediately snapped back to reality by a loud, annoyed groan from Antonio, who plops down on the couch in my sitting area. ”Three, almost four days since she died! Unfortunately," I go to the cabinet and pour myself a glass of Scotch. “Get to the point,” I snap at him, but he just shakes his head. “Your husband hasn't eaten anything since then, and I'm not sure how much he's drunk! I don't think Viktor will be very happy about that! A starving groom looks terrible in family photos!” There is silence for a moment. Only the dull thumping of my heart, which I would love to ignore. “Bring him something to eat,” I finally say. “He refuses to eat. What do you think it would do to put it in his room?” “Then make sure he eats it!” Antonio raises an eyebrow. “How? Feed him like a puppy?” “If I have to,” I reply and walk to the door while Antonio is still lounging on my couch.
Four days later
I sit at the table like every evening, waiting for Nicolai to join me and finally eat something. Antonio has come to see me every day for the last four days. He has tried everything to get Nicolai to eat, but all he has managed to achieve is to get him to drink at least a little. Every day it's the same routine: he gets up early, trains until his body can't take it anymore and he almost collapses, and he refuses every meal Antonio brings him. Once he even tried to force him to eat something, and Antonio still has a black eye from it. It's not that I'm worried about the boy. My father forced me to marry him, and now I'm stuck here with this stubborn guy just because my father has some plan for him that he won't tell me about. “I've had enough.” I get up from the table, take two plates of food and the cutlery, and go to Nicolai's room. I go in without knocking. He's sitting on that damn windowsill again, and the last rays of sunlight gently fall on his face, bathing his pale features in a golden glow. He's nothing like he was five days ago when I stood opposite him at the altar. I put the tray on the table and clear my throat, but he ignores me. He hasn't given me a glance, no reaction since I came in. He just sits there and looks outside. “If you ignore me, Nicolai,” I say calmly, “you're going to sit down here and eat something with me, like a good husband!” He repeats, his voice quiet, almost fragile, but the smile that follows is sharp as glass. “For that, you'd have to be human first, Alessandro!” I lean forward a little, so close that our shadows overlap on the floor. “I'm human enough not to let you starve!” “Not out of kindness,” he hisses. “Only because you follow orders!” I exhale through my nose. He wants to provoke me. And he's damn good at it. “Maybe,” I say calmly. “But at least I'm doing something. You, on the other hand, are sitting here waiting for someone else to decide whether you live or die.” A brief flicker crosses his face, a mixture of pain and anger. “I decide. I have decided. I don't want this.” “This?” I point to the plate on the table. “Or life?” He stands up. Slowly, controlled, but I can see his body trembling. “Both,” he whispers. I take a step closer until he almost bumps into me. “Then you have a problem, Petrovich. I won't let you die. And I won't let you decide!” He laughs. Quietly. Bitterly. “Of course not. Control is the only thing you have, after all!” “And you're the only thing I can't control right now,” I reply. “So do me a favor and eat before I figure out how to change that!” He holds my gaze, much longer than I'd like. Then he turns away without a word, walks to the table, and sits down. He reaches for the fork, lifts it, pauses. “I hope you choke on your own power, De Luca,” he mutters. I lean against the wall, cross my arms, and watch him take his first bite. “If you're going to curse me,” I say quietly, “at least do it on a full stomach!” He eats three bites. Slowly. Compulsively. Each one seems to demand more effort from him than any blow I have ever dealt. Then he puts down his fork, so quietly that the sound still cuts through the room. “Satisfied?” he asks tonelessly. I cross my arms and watch him. “Not even close!” I take the fork with some of the mashed potatoes on it and hold it out to him. “You have a choice: either you continue eating on your own, or I feed you!” He looks at me as if horns are growing out of my head. I wait a moment, and when he doesn't move, I do it. “Open your mouth, Nicolai!” To my surprise, he actually opens his mouth. What the hell is wrong with me, feeding him? This isn't me.