She’s so close to cracking and letting me back in, and I fucking love it.
But I don’t want to ruin it. I can’t push too hard.
I take a step back. “If you can put that bra back, I don’t really feel like picking up my mother’s underwear. Then come downstairs. I brought food since you never ordered lunch.”
Val doesn’t say anything as I exit the room, and I consider it a victory.
It doesn’t take her long to come downstairs and find me in the kitchen. But she’s looking at the takeout containers on the counter, not meeting my eyes.
“Gyros and fries,” I tell her as she nears the island. “They’re both the same so grab either one.”
Val pulls a stool out, but she’s a little short for it, so she has to use the bar across the bottom to climb on.
I don’t laugh.
“What do you want to drink?” I open the fridge. “I got root beer.”
She finally looks up at me. “What kind?”
I pull one of the glass bottles out and show her the label of her favorite brand.
“How… Is this another thing you asked me on our wedding night?”
Her attitude is understandable, but it still pisses me off that it’s her first assumption.
“No.” I shut the refrigerator. “You mentioned it to me once on the phone.” I twist the cap off and set it in front of her.
She’s quiet for a long moment, and when she rolls her shoulders back, I think she’s going to start eating. But she asks a question instead.
“Is there a room I can use for some privacy?”
My spine stiffens. “For what?”
“If you must know, I have a therapy appointment that starts in fifteen minutes, and I’d like some privacy for it.”
“Oh.” I don’t even know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.
She reads my reaction wrong and balls her hands into fists. “This is my monthly session, and I want to keep it. I need to talk to someone. And she’s already told me that she’ll be out of office for the month of December.”
“Valentine—”
“I won’t tell her anything about you, so you don’t have to worry—”
She cut me off, so I return the favor. “Shorty.” That shuts her up. “You can always talk to me.” I can see her retort building, but I keep talking. “But of course you can have your therapy. If you’d told me sooner, we could’ve flown back so you could go in person.”
“It’s always been virtual,” she murmurs, uncurling her fists. “You don’t care?”
“If being fucked in the head wasn’t part of my job requirement, I’d go myself.” I grab the root beer she hasn’t touched and take a sip. “You can use my office down here if you want, but the one upstairs is fair game. You can set up shop in there for work or therapy or whatever you want. And if you need anything else, like screens or a standing desk, just ask.”
“Um, thank you.” She slides off the stool. “I’ll go set up, then.”
She stacks one of the boxes of food on top of her laptop, then grabs the bottle of root beer I took a sip out of and heads upstairs.
When I hear the upstairs office door close, I walk down to my office and retrieve my own laptop.
Back in the kitchen, I sit where Val just was and launch my security system.
As I take the first bite of my gyro, the camera feed comes to life. And I watch as Valentine sits behind the desk, readying herself for therapy.
