Page 21 of The Pakhan's Forced Bride
She’s sitting opposite me in annoyed silence.
I notice that she braided her hair, pinned it over her shoulder, and put on a light shade of pink lipstick. She dressed up for dinner. How sweet.
“Do you like lamb?” I ask her as the chef carries our food in, steaming hot and filling the dining room with a rich aroma.
“Miss Belle loves lamb,” Rio answers on her behalf.
“Did you make that creamy mushroom sauce you told me about?” Belle asks him, smiling widely as he puts her plate in front of her.
“Of course, I did. And when you taste this lamb, you will have to guess what my secret ingredient is.” He grins, nods politely at me, and leaves.
Even the chef gets along with her.
Belle looks excited as she picks up her knife and fork, swinging her legs beneath the table, doing a little dance.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, smirking.
“A girl is allowed to be excited about good food,” she says defensively.
“I’m just glad that someone else can enjoy the luxury of Rio’s cooking with me. He’s brilliant.” I pick up the roastpotatoes and hold the dish towards her. “Do you want potatoes, or would you prefer some salad?”
Her eyes rise up and she stares at me as though she’s waiting for me to say something else. I cock my head to the side, waiting for her answer.
She pouts and then blurts out, “There is nothing wrong with wanting potatoes. I don’t have to survive off salad. All you men are the same.” She stands up and grabs the potatoes from me, putting two wedges on her plate.
I’m a little stunned by her outburst, not fully understanding what it means.
When she shoves the bowl back into my hand and sits down with a huff, I find that I can’t look away.
After a while, I lift another roast potato wedge and put it on her plate as well. “Rio will be offended if you only have two. His roast potatoes were featured in one of the top food magazines once. He’ll tell you all about it if you let him.” I chuckle. “Salt?”
She narrows her eyes at me.
“Yes, please,” she says cautiously.
“Wait till you see what he made for dessert. I asked for it specifically because I knew you’d be joining me tonight. I’d have it for breakfast if I could. Do you have a sweet tooth?”
She pulls her mouth to the side and raises her brows at me. “Obviously,” she huffs, gesturing over her body.
I chuckle, enjoying her humor.
“I have a bit of a chocolate addiction,” I remark, as my knife slides through the lamb and it falls from the bone.
“Are you taunting me?” she snaps.
“How wouldmychocolate addiction be a taunt towards you?”
“Men have found all sorts of ways to make comments about my weight.” She looks upset, angry even. Is it just that she really doesn’t like me, or is this a topic that genuinely bothers her?
“About your weight? Why would men have a right to comment on your body?” I ask, confused, trying to understand where she’s coming from.
“Oh, please, I’m not the stereotype of what men want. They like to remind me of that.”
Anger sears through me at the audacity of whoever dared to make her feel like she wasn’t the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.
“Fuck them,” I growl, looking away from her to hide the flare of rage in my eyes.
“What?” she asks, shocked at my response.
