Page 9 of Scorch

I laugh. “Timur, you ordered an exit instead of an appetizer. I was hardly correcting you, just making sure?—”

His hand reaches out and snatches my wrist. “Are you talking back to me now, too?”

I blink in surprise. “No.”

Sometimes, he reminds me of my father, and I hate that. Though Timur is handsome and polished and treats me well, he occasionally has a bit of a cold streak when stressed.

“What is it, Timur? You seem troubled,” I say gently. I lay my hand on his. “What’s going on?”

He shakes his head. “I’m guessing you haven’t spoken with your mother.”

I blink. “No. Why?”

He looks away, his jaw taut. “Oh, you’ll see. Have you ordered yet?”

Why does my belly dip to my toes?

“Timur. What is it? What do you need to tell me?”

His gaze hardens. “I asked you if you ordered yet.”

I shake my head. “No, I was waiting for you.”

He blows out a breath. “Of course you were.”

I look at him in surprise. My phone buzzes and buzzes in my purse. When Timur scowls at me, I silence it.

“What is wrong?” I ask, my anger rising. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on, and it seems like he’s lying to me.

He only shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Order. Something light, Lydia.”

My cheeks color, and I suddenly lose my appetite. We’ve only known each other for a few months. Not long before my father’s sudden and tragic death, he arranged for our wedding. Timur has been the perfect gentleman, attentive and generous, even if a bit cold sometimes. But he’s never been like this before. He’s definitely never commented on my food choices.

I look down at my full figure, my bust spilling out of the dress I wore to accentuate my curves.

I thought he liked my curves.

“You want me to choose something light?”

He smiles, but his eyes remain cold. “I’m teasing. Choose whatever you want. You know that.” He mutters something under his breath.

What the hell?

“Timur,” I say in a little voice. Who is this man, and what’s become of the man I’d actually grown used to and was looking forward to marrying?

The waiter comes back with a wine menu.

“I worry about you, you know,” Timur says as he butters a roll and places half of it on my plate. It’s a lot less butter than I would use and only half the bread, but the gesture seems almost sweet.

“Oh?” I take a bite even as my stomach clenches. The food tastes like ash in my mouth. “Why?”

“We’re getting married soon, and the weight of responsibility will fall heavily on you to manage our home, our social engagements, and eventually, our children. And the little hobbies you have aren’t becoming of the wife I know you could be.”

My little hobbies?

I drop the bread, my appetite gone. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I snap.

“There you go again,” he says, his eyes on me heated. “Losing your temper.” He leans in and rests his chin in his hand. “I’m going to be your husband. I’m only expressing concern for you, Lydia. There’s no need to lose your temper.” He gives a casual shrug, but his tone is anything but. “I’d hate to have to lose mine.”

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