Arik
Chapter Thirteen
The feeling of Claire awakening tickled at my senses.
Even being in the kitchen, the sound of her mind powering through the fog of sleep and the toss of her legs under the sheets shot through my senses with such clarity.
I felt her as I flipped the bacon on the hot stainless-steel pan.
She was blissful and content. Perfection.
I could not ask for more. Today…today was my day to show her my life, and what our life could be like.
The soft patter of her toes on the stone floor echoed into my eardrums as I heard the click of the chamber open.
I tried, with quite a struggle, to focus on cooking.
It had been ages since I cooked, given all the staff that scurried through the villa daily.
But I wanted to cook for her. I wanted to give her something I made. I wanted to blanket her in devotion.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I stated as I heard the kitchen door swing open, turning to look at her in the beauty of morning sunlight.
“You’re cooking?” she asked, her face puzzled as I stared at her disheveled hair until a chuckle fell from my lips.
Claire quickly brushed her hands through her hair with a huff. “I am a girl. We need things in the morning to make us pretty, you know.”
“You are a woman…and you are beautiful—with or without your things,” I said with a smirk as I flipped the bacon in the pan once more. “How did you sleep?” I asked as she pulled out a bar stool from under the kitchen island.
“Surprisingly…amazing. I love your bed. It is my new favorite place,” she cooed softly.
“Oh, is that so?” I questioned, looking her in the eyes with a smirk and devilish wink.
Claire proceeded to blush, turning away from me as her eyes began to search the kitchen.
Despite our moments of ferality the prior evening, this is what made her blush? Okay.
“Are you looking for something, love?” I asked as I used tongs to remove the bacon from the grease and onto a lined plate.
“Coffee…” she said in a pensive way, as if she would die soon without it.
“Ah. The always-important, morning jolt. I have you covered,” I said as I sat a white porcelain cup beneath the prepped espresso machine and pressed the button to make her a steaming double espresso. “How do you like it, my love?”
I could feel her heart fluttering. Calling her love really did something to her. Maybe it was the accent? But whatever it was, she melted. Little did she know, I meant it.
“Ideally, in an IV bag,” she said coldly.
Such a dry sense of humor, this one.
“Well, I do not have an IV bag at my disposal. But what I do have is all the necessities to make lattes, cappuccinos, and any other espresso beverage that you probably know by some strange Starbucks translation that makes little sense,” I quipped, returning the dry humor in my own response.
Claire’s eyes analyzed the kitchen, scanning the gleaming stainless steel and marble surfaces. “This kitchen is gorgeous. It’s like, straight from a magazine.”
“Claire. Love. Focus. The espresso. Tell me what I can do to be your new favorite barista,” I questioned, snapping my fingers to pull her back to me.
“Oh.” she said as her shoulders slumped, and lips pursed with thought. “A latte. Caramel, if you have it. And iced!” she said with enthusiasm.
“Ugh. You Americans and your ice.” I laughed, moving my way through the kitchen to concoct her morning addiction.
I sat the glass down in front of her with pride as she quickly grasped the edges and brought it to her lips.
“Mm.” She moaned softly as her eyes closed.
“So, did I do it?” I questioned, moving back to the stove to carefully arrange the breakfast selection I had so lovingly prepared for her highness.
“Did you do what?” she responded, setting down her glass and jumping down from the barstool.
“Become your new favorite barista?” I questioned; the spatula pointed in her direction as if I were asking her a very loaded question.
“Absolutely!” she said with a smile as her body neared mine.
I took the opportunity to pull her in. My lips pressing firmly against hers until I could taste the rich espresso and caramel dancing onto my tongue. I pulled back from her, my eyes locking into hers as I brushed the back of her head gently with my fingers.
“You taste delicious.”
Claire blushed, pulling away from me and turning her attention to the food. “So, what do we have here? I am starving. Absolutely famished.”
“Ah. So here we have just a little spread of morning deliciousness. Eggs Benedict, bacon, eggs, French toast, fruit…a little indulgence. Think of it as a choose-your-own decadence.” I laughed, realizing quickly that I had made enough food to feed a small army.
“Uh. So, I am hungry, but not hungry enough to eat all this,” Claire said, her eyes wide as the pools of honey shot back and forth between the serving trays and pans that scattered across the stove and surrounding countertop.
“Do not worry, dear. I have staff, remember. What we do not eat will just go in the fridge for whoever wants it. Maybe us…in bed…in the wee hours of the night.” I laughed, hoping to cover her round cheeks in pink blush all over again.
“Here, take a plate.”
I slid the plate into her hands and watched as she scooped, speared, ladled, and lifted each item onto her plate until a suitable breakfast appeared before her.
The girl has taste; I can give her that.
Upon her plate sat Eggs Benedict with extra hollandaise dripping down from the poached egg, alongside bacon, and an assortment of fruit.
Claire stood silently as I filled my plate. I could feel her mind racing. I looked toward her as I ladled hollandaise.
“Something on your mind, love?”
Claire sat her plate on the counter and exhaled. “Have you heard anything about Jennifer?”
“Ah,” I said with an exhale. “Unfortunately, no. The authorities are all over the hotel looking for…anything really…anything that could help piece together where she went.”
Claire nodded silently, biting her lip as her mind continued to race.
I continued, “I spoke to them this morning. They had questions about our exchange in the lobby.”
Claire’s eyes shot to me, her voice filled with concern. “What does that mean?”
I gathered our plates in my hands and faced her directly, my tone reassuring as I spoke. “It means nothing. They checked the security cameras and saw what happened. They saw Jennifer looking upset and wanted to know what was happening. I told them. And that’s that.”
Claire’s eyes widened as she whispered, “Do they think we had something to do with it?”
A laughed softly, trying not to offend her curiosity. “God, no. They just wanted to know what her mental state was.”
Claire’s shoulders dropped as she exhaled.
“So, do we take our breakfast al fresco on the terrace or at the dining table?” I asked as I steadily carried the heaping plates through the kitchen “Or…in bed?”
Claire’s eyes narrowed at my advance. “Oh, al fresco,” she proclaimed with certainty as we walked together from the kitchen and into the living quarters.
The sea breeze gently blew into us as I opened the glass doors to the terrace.
I looked back at Claire, admiring the way she took in the view.
Every time she saw it, her eyes lit up as if it was the first time.
After so many years, I had come to not appreciate the beauty that surrounded the villa.
But Claire? She found beauty in everything, and was helping me see the beauty again, as well.
With our plates sat, espresso in reach, and our bodies squeezed tightly around a bistro table on the terrace, we ate. Mostly in silence. Mostly taking in the view. And definitely enjoying every bite. Her emotions were calm, though on occasion I could feel her look at me with curiosity.
“Would you like to lie on the loungers for a while, love?” I asked as I stood to take her hand, our licked-clean plates sitting atop the table and giving me a profound sense of satisfaction.
Claire looked at my outstretched hand and then at me. Her eyes scanned the view again as a smile crept up her lips. “Absolutely. But…”
My eyes widened as I cocked my head.
She smirked, her voice laced with satisfaction. “Remember our deal? It is Monday now.”
I rolled my eyes, my arms crossing my chest.
“You said I was only yours for the weekend,” she said mockingly.
I nodded and smiled toward the sky before responding, “Actually, what I said was that as soon as you had a meeting scheduled, I would let you focus on that.” I paused, watching her smile fall. “Now, did you get a meeting with Antonio?”
Claire’s eyes narrowed. “Sneaky…. But I did email the winery. Just waiting to hear back.”
“Splendid. So once that meeting is set, you can go handle it,” I replied as a satisfied smile curled across my lips. “Now, we lounge.”
Claire rolled her eyes again, practically huffing as she nodded her head.
And with that agreement, I pulled her up from her seat.
Together we walked to the lounger that sat along the glass partition with a perfectly unobstructed view of the sea.
I sat down first, the white plush cushions giving way under my form.
Claire—sweet, sweet Claire—began to sit at the edge, near my feet.
“Absolutely not.” I chuckled as I grabbed her by the waist.
Laughter escaped her lips as I pulled her body up against mine, my legs parted around her form, and her back rested against my chest. She radiated warmth, not just physically but mentally; the kind of warmth that melts me.
She had a way of turning my ice-cold demeanor—built from years of duty and longing—into a puddle of admiration, devotion, and what I was sure was obsession.