Chapter 14 #2
Fia sat at my side on the sofa with another huff and pulled out a clipboard from her rucksack, opening up a folder and revealing some very messed-up paperwork.
There were scribbles and arrows all over the shot.
Not all of her markings were in English.
Some Hungarian. Some Portuguese. But the written report was all in Hungarian.
Interesting.
What I would give to be in her head for even a minute.
“Might as well get started,” she said and clicked her pen, pulling out some lined paper. I hated how formal she sounded. No nonsense. All business. “Tell me everything you remember.”
I was still sweating from the petals, it seemed.
“What specifically do you want to know?”
“As much as you can tell me. Let’s start with the last thing you remember.”
Somehow, this wasn’t how I imagined this going. A beautiful backdrop, maybe out on the lake, dragonflies passing us by. A home-cooked meal by candlelight. Watching TV while I rubbed her feet.
Anything more casual than this.
But she needed the distraction.
And if my trauma was what she wanted, she could have it.
I swallowed, trying to cast my mind back, fighting through the thick, high, black walls I had entrusted with helping me block out that time of my life.
“I don’t remember much,” I told her. “I don’t remember anything after I threw myself off the bike until a couple of weeks after I woke up from the coma.”
She looked down at the papers, nodding. “What did they tell you?”
I rolled my shoulders and tried to relax my ticking jaw. “It was a mechanical failure. Brake fluid leaked, and it gave out on the worst turn. I threw myself off the bike — as trained — when I knew we were going too fast towards a wall. Good thing I did.”
Because the bike had exploded on impact.
Fia nodded. Anyone who was in the motor racing world had seen my crash.
“And about you?”
I told her what I was sure she already knew — the way my brain swelled, the broken ribs, spine, and collarbone. The surgery.
She took it all in, writing down nothing.
Because whatever I told her, she already knew.
“Okay,” she said, clicking her pen again. “Now the mental side.”
I laughed. “I’m fine.”
Her glare was cute. “You told me you get too into your head.”
“Dr. Sannier wants to know about my physical health, that’s all.”
She went to speak and stopped because she knew I was right.
“Anyway, I’m going to get ready for our guest,” I told her and stood.
“Guest?” she called after me. “I thought we were going to be alone.”
Ah fuck. It sounded like she wanted to be alone — maybe she wanted all of my attention, which was silly, because we could be anywhere and she would be all I thought about.
“I promise you it’s a nice guest.”
She frowned, but I wasn’t willing to spoil my surprise any more than that.
When she came back downstairs, she was in a summer dress that made me look away, because if I looked too long, I’d start breaking rules.
Bodri licked her legs, and I was jealous.
She crouched down to give him and the others her attention, and again, I was jealous.
I wanted her to smile at me like that. Run her hands through my hair. Pat me.
Do anything.
But she drew my attention back to her by cocking her hip and placing a hand there, glaring at me. “We said no flirting.”
“I haven’t said a thing,” I said, palms up.
“But leaving my favourite sweets, my favourite perfume, and not just a silk dressing gown but a fluffy one too, isn’t flirting?”
“I’m just an incredible host,” I told her.
But I was smirking because I had been right — they were her favourites.
And when the doorbell went, her glare shifted to wide eyes. They only widened further when her nagyi was at the door, looking as petite and smiley as ever.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” I said and bent to hug her.
We exchanged pleasantries as Fia stared, open-mouthed, at her nan. And then she launched herself at her tiny frame, squeezing tight.
“You planned this?” Fia said on a breath as her nagyi went to the toilet.
I shrugged, trying not to show just how cocky I was feeling. “I told you it was a nice guest.”
And Fia hugged me.
She wrapped her arms around me and held me just as tight, like I was her anchor.
“Thank you,” she said, and I hoped her voice was breaking with pure delight. “And thank you for the turul.”
She lifted her hand to show me the bracelet I’d bought her.
God, I wanted to kiss her.
Nagyi returned, and Fia pulled back, clearing her throat. Soon, she wouldn’t care about people seeing us.
Fia led her to the garden, and I snuck away to arrange the second part of my plan.
I boiled the kettle, cut up strawberries, cut the scones, and whipped up the clotted cream and raspberry jam, trying to make it presentable on a tray.
As soon as she’d slid that list under my door, I’d had a wank — partly excitement, partly because that wasn’t going to be happening for a week — and researched what an ‘afternoon tea’ was.
I did not put the clotted cream or jam on because apparently that was incredibly controversial. The English seemed to have very strong opinions on what smothered the scone first. There were even personality quizzes based on it.
Personally, I eyed the clotted cream with concern. Its gloopy texture made me suspicious. If I were on either team, it would be jam and a dollop of clotted cream at most.
I carried it out to the patio, where Fia and her nan were looking at her phone scrolling through plants. I frowned as they were still waiting.
“What’s going on?” I asked, and Fia jumped so far back she nearly bashed her head into my tray, covering herself in jam and clotted cream.
I might not be ecstatic about eating it off the scone, but licking it off her skin? I was craving it hard.
Craving her.
“What’s this?” she asked, looking down at my goodies. The edible kind.
“A little treat,” I said with a shrug and placed my hand on her shoulder, pretending I was super interested in plants and not giddy with her excited reaction. “What are you looking at?”
“Nagyi’s garden is amazing,” she told me. “We were looking at some plants we could add when I come next time.”
Next time.
I squeezed her shoulder, and she smiled up at me.
And my whole world was her and those plants.
If she wanted a maze of rose bushes, I was shovelling dirt.
If she wanted my garden relandscaped, I was hiring a team. Right now.
Her smile froze, she cleared her throat again, and I withdrew my hand. She refreshed the page, and the little blue line at the bottom of her screen crawled.
“One second,” I said.
I returned with the pot of tea that Anna had bought for me yesterday, three mugs balancing on top of each other, and a strip of paper wrapped around my finger.
Before, I would have just taken her phone and put the WiFi password in. But that might not be polite. And it would be helpful, but I wanted to be helpful on her terms.
She was loading her scone with the cream, Nagyi following her lead. So when I offered her the slip, she gave me her phone and offered to make my scones too.
“We could definitely plant some chillies,” Fia said, placing my plate before me as I handed her phone back. “Remember when the bell peppers were nearly as big as my head?”
Nagyi smiled but didn’t say anything, and I felt Fia’s energy dissipate.
Her nan couldn’t agree because she didn’t have her garden anymore.
“You could do it here,” I offered. “I could do with saving some money on vegetables. Dog-friendly ones.”
Fia snorted, but she was still off, staring at the mug in front of her.
Until Bodri walked out, his whole body rolling with excitement at seeing her. She shuffled to the edge of her chair to stroke him. “Whose a little wigglebutt, huh?”
“A what?” I asked.
“A wigglebutt,” she said before translating it into Hungarian for me.
“Wigglebutt,” I repeated, trying to sound the odd nickname correctly. Did she make that up? Was that a common word in English?
She was so knowledgeable, I was sure she knew every word of every language.
We ate the scones as she caught up with her nagyi, and I left them to bond. I fed the dogs and unpacked my suitcase before pretending to read my book on the sofa, the patio doors open, so I could hear her laughter.
Not her words. Because, as desperate as I was to hear every thought she had, she deserved alone time with her nagyi.
That was why I had arranged this. So her father — Imre — couldn’t interfere.
And I ate the rest of the scones when they said they didn’t want any more. Damn, they were good.
Fia made them better, though. She had the jam and cream ratio just right.
I was scoffing the last of the strawberries, lying on the sofa, when they came through, and I realised it was dark out.
Vincent, the largest of my dogs, was curled up beside me, his head on my feet, so I couldn’t move.
Not because I couldn’t physically, but because it was wrong to wake a dog.
“Nagyi’s taxi is here,” Fia said.
I sat up as carefully as I could, careful not to disturb Vincent. “Oh. I could have driven you or arranged—”
Nagyi shook her head. She was always so quiet around me. I hadn’t heard her at all when she was out on the patio with Fia. Maybe she was generally quiet anyway.
Fia saw her out, and as the door closed, Vincent jumped down anyway.
Of course.
“Now, no more of that,” Fia scolded, standing over the sofa. “No more distractions. We need to work on your report.”
I grunted and stood. “Did you not enjoy yourself?”
She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Determination flared in her eyes, and she snapped, “Did you not want to race next week?”
“I do. But I believe in you. We’re a dream team, we’ll get it done in no time.”
She scowled, and I wanted to wrap her up in my arms.
But there were boundaries.
“I’m going to bed.” She closed the patio doors, and Bodri followed her up the stairs.
I had to stop myself from calling out to her about whether she was going to lock the door or not.
The second I was out of the shower, there was a knock at the guest bedroom door. I answered it, and she stood there in the silk dressing gown and fully covering pyjamas.
Bodri was at her feet.
She looked down at him. “He, er, I think he wants to stay in there with me.”
Traitor.
“Does he now?” I gave him an incredulous look and sighed. “Bodri, I’m your dad. You already a mummy’s boy?”
She choked and started coughing so much that I stepped forward to get her a glass of water, but she waved her hands at me. “Don’t,” she wheezed. “I’m not his mummy.”
“He’s adopting you as his mum,” I said. “I’m sorry, Bodri makes the rules.”
She exhaled deeply, the last of the cough gone, but I still wanted to get her something to drink it down.
“I’m only telling you because I don’t want him to feel trapped,” she continued. “So I’m keeping my door ajar. But I didn’t want you to get any ideas.”
“What ideas might I have?”
Her brows shot up, and she gave me a knowing look. “No funny business.”
“I am very funny.”
She groaned. “I’m just letting you know.”
“No funny business,” I agreed as she turned on her heel. “But I’m good at cuddling. And I smell better than a dog.”
“Debatable,” she argued. “And statistically, women sleep better next to a dog than a man.”
She went to her room then, Bodri plodding after her, and waved her fingers at me through the gap of her door.
Worrying for her throat in the night, I went downstairs to grab her a glass of water, and by the time I got back to her door, she had ignored my knock. I whispered her name, but the only response was a disgruntled tiny dog pushing the door open further, as if to let me in.
She was asleep, her perfect face resting on her palm, the sheet covering her from the neck down.
I placed her water on my bedside table as Bodri got back into position, cuddled into her side, and I left her to her dreams.