Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Emilia
Zac and I have barely talked since Sam and Heidi left.
He clatters around the kitchen, a pan dinging as it collides with the hob, plates slamming onto the counter. Soon, a portion of cheesy tomato pasta is shoved at me with a gruff, “Eat this,” before he disappears back into the kitchen.
Once I finish, I force myself off the couch and shuffle into the bland kitchen. Zac stands at the back door, staring out into the courtyard, his hands stuffed in his black jean pockets. I drop my dish into the sink and reach for the soap. His head snaps towards me.
“You’re not doing that.” He strides over, wrenching the bottle from my hands.
“I want to,” I say.
“Don’t care,” he mutters, grabbing the plate and squirting soap onto it. He drags the sponge across it before I can protest. “Go sit back down. Rest.”
“I’ve been sitting all day.”
“Alright. Go to bed instead. Lie down.”
“Zac—” The plate clatters, clean, onto the draining board.
“You’ll be back at work tomorrow. You need to make the most of every second of rest you can get.”
“You didn’t go to work today,” I note, tilting my head.
He nods. “I’ve got a double shift tomorrow. Have to be at the depot at two a.m. ready for an eight-hour drive. Then a different route; five hours.”
“Fucking hell,” I murmur. “Is that safe?”
“Not at all,” he replies. “They let you miss today?” I manage a nod. “And tomorrow you’ll be back doing…” he trails off, curious.
“Digging. Planting. Picking.” I shrug. “I work on the farms. In the fields.”
He leans back against the counter, dragging a hand down his face. “Manual labour. Physical fucking labour,” he mutters, more to himself than me. “Fuck,” he whispers, and I catch the edge of guilt and worry as his jaw tightens.
“It’ll be okay—”
“I’m so sorry, Emilia.” I swallow the lump in my throat, leaning back against the wall.
“I know.” It’s all I can bring myself to say. My eyes refuse to meet his, dropping instead to the singular plate on the draining board.
“Have you washed yours?” I ask. “Honestly, I can do it.”
“I didn’t eat,” he says, gaze never leaving me.
“Oh…” I murmur. “Well, thank you for making me dinner.”
He just nods.
“Are you not hungry?”
His jaw clenches. Once. Twice.
“I agreed to dinner elsewhere,” he says, eyes on the kitchen side. “Before I knew you… were…”
My resolve wobbles, my spine flattening against the wall. A sliver of something that I refuse to acknowledge as disappointment and confusion flickers beneath my lungs.
Of course.
He’s only stayed here all day because he feels guilty. I never should have expected anything else. I don’t know why I let myself think that anything might have changed.
“You’re a class act,” I mutter, forcing a small, bitter smirk and turning away, limping slowly into the living room.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“No, come on,” he snaps. “You clearly have something to say.”
Turning to face him, I scowl. “Nope. In fact, I have absolutely fuck all to say to you, Zac. Leave me alone.”
His jaw grinds. “You’ve changed your tune. Just five hours ago, you were practically stuck to my side.”
“Look, neither of us wants this, okay?” I say, voice sharp. “Us being paired up was a mistake. So let’s just pretend we’re together in public. Behind closed doors, you can see whoever you want and fuck whoever you want.”
“That’s what this is about?” Zac smirks, stepping closer. I counter his movements, taking my own step back. The backs of my knees hit the sofa. “Because I’m having dinner elsewhere? My friend wants me to try the sourdough she’s made.”
I should be listening closer to what he’s saying. Instead, all I hear is one word.
She.
She.
“What happened to being goddamn discreet?” I snap, hands clenching into fists, frustration and something hotter bubbling through me. His brow hikes and he pauses, slowly leaning sideways against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.
“I’m not fucking her.”
“You think the State will believe that?”
He glowers, brows dropping. “I’ll be back before nine,” he chooses to say. “But I’ll be leaving at half one for work—”
“Ah,” I mock, glancing at the clock above the mantelpiece. “That gives you three hours to be discreet with her.”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face this time. “I get it. You don’t like the idea of me fucking someone else.”
I roll my eyes. “I couldn’t care less. But wherever you’re going, meeting up with a girl isn’t smart,” I pause, letting my words sink in. “But I think you know that.”
He tilts his head, eyes still locked on mine. The corners of his lips twitch, as though fighting back a grin, like what I’m saying is funny.
Absolute fucking prick—
“I’ll be back by nine,” he says, then straightens and strides for the door, hand hooking around the handle.
“Zac—”
“Would you prefer that I fuck you?” Zac asks, glancing back over his shoulder. His question is so unexpected, so out of nowhere, that it renders me speechless. My lips part before my brain catches up, and his gaze flicks towards them.
“No!”
Flecks of amber are visible in his eyes as they return to mine. “Are you sure?”
“I’d rather fuck Elissa Germain.”
“Alright. And that’s exactly how my friend feels, too,” he says. “Rest easy, Mils.”
Before I can respond, his leather jacket is in his hand, front door slamming behind him.
Asshole.