Page 42 of Invisible Bars
Imanio’s eyes didn’t challenge me. “Mm-hmm.”
He simply nodded like he accepted it, but that flicker of knowing in his gaze told me he wasn’t fully convinced.
“Care to explain why you’re—” he glanced at his watch, “—five minutes late. Were you testing me or…”
“I… I would’ve been on time, but you got it—polar bears doing yoga in the kitchen!” The words shot out sharp and absurd before I could stop them, one of those outbursts I never asked for and couldn’t control. My cheeks burned instantly.
“I assume that means it’s a little too cold for your liking. Well, I like it cold… easier to remind people where they stand with me.”
Who hurt this man for him to be so damn arrogant and insensitive?I thought, biting my tongue before a real response slipped out.
“Lucille, could you adjust the temperature abitto accommodate our guest.”
Imanio never looked away from me as he spoke. Did he do that out of kindness—hard to believe—or just to remind me he controlled even the air I breathed?
“Yes, sir!” the lady, who looked to be the maid, replied sharply, scurrying off.
“T-Thank you,” I muttered, my voice small.
Imanio offered a simple nod.
“Come sit. Before you melt into the marble,” he instructed, motioning to the chair at his right.
I timidly strolled over and took my seat slowly. My eyes immediately scanned the food laid out.
The table was filled with scrambled eggs with herbs, Belgian waffles with berries and powdered sugar, turkey sausage links, grits, fruit platters, avocado toast, and croissants.
Once I was seated, my stomach growled like it hadn’t eaten in years—loud enough to make a few of the staff glance over. I pressed my hand to it like that’d somehow shut it up.
“You look… a bit renewed.”
It felt like he wanted to say more. Still, I didn’t know whether to thank him or run back to the shower. I just sat there, twitching before blurting out again—that time clearly from my Tourette’s.
“Hot damn ham hocks!”
The guy who I assumed was a butler coughed into a napkin to hide his laugh.
Imanio’s eyes stayed right on me like I was the most interesting thing in the room.
“I feel... better," I admitted once I composed myself. "Still a little uncomfortable, b-but cleaner.”
“Well, let’s see if that new look comes with conversation.”
Ms. Shirley approached, calm and motherly, and poured a steaming amber liquid into a mug that had been set in front of me.
“Wh-What is that?” I asked.
“It’s peppermint tea, sweetie.” She smiled kindly and then glanced at Imanio.
I turned to him, surprised. He didn’t meet my gaze.
“You d-drink peppermint tea?” I asked softly.
“I don’t drink tea at all,” he answered, still avoiding looking at me. “I had Ms. Shirley grab some during her grocery run after you mentioned it… that night.”
He remembered.
When I’d mentioned that I was heading down to get some tea before being yanked out of my routine—and my freedom. I couldn’t believe he’d remembered that random detail.
