Page 59 of Mistaken

However, he had to admit she did not seem the type of woman to show her emotions in such an unseemly way. Everything about her was a little controlled, a discipline he guessed she had gained during all those years of intense vocal training, all those hours of practice.

Unfortunate that she hadn’t been somewhat more controlled when she lost her balance in the garden.

But no, that was unfair. He had known deep within that this day, this moment, would come sooner or later. What he hadn’t known was how she would react to it…and how he would react to her reaction.

Some part of him wanted to knock on the door, to go to her and try to explain. However, he guessed such a gesture would be futile. He had given his explanations, such as they were, and there was little else he could do.

For while he had his reasons, he knew there was no excuse for his acts. Not really.

Only the survival of this world,he thought, but he couldn’t say for sure whether even that was enough.

Lacking anything else to do, he went back outside to the garden and made his way to the row where Sarah had suffered her fateful stumble. The basket she’d been carrying lay on the ground, with the lettuce and grape tomatoes it had been holding now scattered here and there, and he bent to retrieve all of it, then went ahead and selected one of the eggplants as well before he added it to the other vegetables in the basket.

Sarah could remain in her room for as long as she wanted, but sooner or later, she would need to eat.

At some point, she’d picked up the iPad and returned to her book, since she didn’t know what else to do. The clock on the table told her that lunchtime had come and gone, and even though the world stayed light for a long while at this time of the year, she knew dinner was approaching as well.

Earlier this morning, she would have thought she could never eat again, but now she knew she was hungry. There had been a pitcher of water and a glass in her room, so she hadn’t been too thirsty, and yet she found herself wondering if Abdul intended to let her sit in here without food as a sort of punishment for walking away from him.

That didn’t seem like something he would do, though. Even though he’d committed the worst crime that anyone could possibly commit, she still couldn’t quite believe that he was all right with letting her starve.

Then a soft knock came at the door, and she heard his voice.

“Sarah? I was hoping you might come out and have something to eat.”

Well, the invitation settled that question. The one that immediately followed, though, was whether she had the strength to sit down at a table with him, knowing what she knew. From the way he’d just spoken, it seemed obvious enough that he didn’t intend to bring a tray to her bedroom.

And although she knew she’d survive tonight without eating anything — and for quite a while longer than that, as long as she had water — she also knew she couldn’t hide in here forever.

“Just a minute,” she replied, relieved to hear that her voice sounded quite steady.

“I will meet you in the dining room.”

Just like that. But she had to admit she was glad he wasn’t going to loiter outside, waiting for her to appear.

That would have been a little creepy.

She went into the bathroom and brushed her hair, then put on some lip gloss. Mostly, she told herself, because she still looked way too pale, and she didn’t want to let him know how much his revelation had devastated her.

Oh, who was she kidding? He already knew, because otherwise, she would have emerged from her room long before this.

Still, that minor bit of primping gave her some much-needed courage, and she thought she looked composed enough as she opened her bedroom door and made her way to the dining room. The table was already set, with a green salad studded with tomatoes waiting there, along with a basket of luscious little crusty rolls and a bottle of chianti already opened and ready to go.

Did he really think she was going to drink with him after what had happened earlier today?

Then again, a little wine might be just what the doctor ordered.

Luckily, his back was to her, since he’d been bending to remove something from the oven when she arrived. She took advantage of his distraction to seat herself right away, and when he turned back toward the table, face once again concealed by his hood and a heavy casserole dish in his hands, she already had her napkin in her lap and had done her best to steel herself for the meal ahead.

“Sarah,” he said as he came over to the table. “I’m so glad you felt able to join me.”

“I was hungry,” she said shortly, lest he get the idea she’d emerged for dinner because she wanted the pleasure of his company.

“Not so surprising, since you did not have any lunch. I did not wish to disturb you then, but I thought it better for you to have something for your evening meal.”

He set down the casserole dish, which, as she’d already guessed, contained the eggplant parmesan they’d discussed making earlier, in a time that now felt as though it had been a century ago.

Sarah had to admit the parmesan looked delicious, bubbling with cheese and with a layer of tomato sauce covering the breaded slices of eggplant.

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