Page 93 of Silenced

“Wiki it,” I grouse, knowing that he won’t. I punctuate that with a dismissive flick of my hand, bubbly foam surging high and landing on his expensive pants.

The pleasure I take in that is asinine and ridiculously childish.

So, I do it again for good measure.

Ignoring my tantrum, seeming not to give a damn that I may have ruined his pants, he gets out his phone and starts reading.

He. Starts. Reading.

Mouth gaping harder than ever, I watch as his fingers fly on the screen. The way it’s angled down, I can see him shift between Wikipedia and move on to articles. But he’s not skimming. I watch the flickering of his eyes as he moves from left to right.

Speed reading?

God, I tried to explain how painful a period could be to Harvey and he zoned out within a second. He sure as fuck didn’t study an article from the University of Cambridge on PCOS to understand my symptoms.

Once he’s done, he peers at me. “Rundel suffered with impotence issues?”

For a moment, I hesitate.

I’ve been conditioned to believe that those impotence issues are ameproblem.

My mouth works for a handful of seconds as I try to figure out how to reply to him.

Rationally, I know Harvey’s full of shit.

But when that shit is pounded into you with fists, it’s difficult to break the habit of a decade.

Nikolai waves a hand in my face.

Blinking, I slouch under the water again, oddly enough feeling the need to hide beneath the bubbles.

“We had issues,” is what I settle on as an answer.

“He left you in that motel room to go and get Viagra.”

My cheeks flush with mortification. “He could never… We… I…” I close my eyes. “Can we go back to me being mad at you, please?”

A soft sound escapes him, one that has my eyes popping open.

And I’m gaping again.

It’s hard and croaky. Husky and hoarse. But that wasdefinitelya laugh.

Amusement makes his beautiful eyes gleam with a light I’ve not experienced before and out of nowhere, the urge to make that light appear more often assimilates in my chest.

I need to pull that apart later when I’m alone, especially as his amusement fades.

Which is when I find that I miss it.

He’s always so impossible to draw a reaction from that whenever hedoesreact, my catalog of his responses grows.

Then, he stuns me again by breaching the water’s surface with his hand. I brace myself for his touch, but those fingers of his grab mine, and, wet or not, he places them over his crotch.

Face burning with heat, I know there’s no denying what that thick bulge means. No misinterpreting what he’s trying to say.

When he lets go of my hand, he signs, “You’re a beautiful woman.”

I’m not—I’m fat and PCOS means that losing the weight is impossible. It also means that I’m a little hairy. One of my boobs is wonky, too, while the other is smaller. Unsymmetrical.

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