Page 17 of Changeling
I huff. “Well then, you should be the first to know it’s a difficult feeling to just turn off. So why ask me to do the impossible?”
“Because itaffectsme.” He growls out the words while staring into his bowl.
If he’s trying to make me feel less eager, sexy growling isn’t the way to do it. Although it’s probably notmethat’s affecting him, only the lust I can’t seem to control in his presence. He doesn’t want me, just food.
“Should I leave?” I ask, then hurry to correct. “I mean the kitchen, not The Twig. I really have nowhere else to go.”
Dominus glances up from the dish. His eyes are so blue, like the sea. I could drown in them. I’m caught in his gaze like a fish on a hook. No amount of flailing will save me. If only his attitude were half as nice as the rest of him.
“It’s fine,” he says. “Just eat.”
I dip the bread into the stew and take another bite. Maybe if I focus on the meal, Dominus will keep talking to me.
When he doesn’t say anything, I try with, “It’s really good.”
“Rizpah is the best cook I know.”
“She’s nice.”
“She is.”
An awkward silence follows. All right, so small talk isn’t going to work. I change tactics. “Will you tell me more about magic?”
He jerks his head up. “No.”
I flinch, and he turns away. Bad move. Defeated, I sulk into my dish. I miss dinners with my family. Though I guess they were never really my family. It’s wild to think that somewhere out there in the world is a human boy—a man by now—with my real parents. Is he happy? Does he know we were switched? He must because he’d be the only one in his world with no magic. Perhaps he feels as alone as I do. A misfit, like me.
With a sigh, I plunk my spoon into the bowl, no longer hungry. At home, I’d scrape the leftovers into a slop bucket for the neighbor’s pigs, but here I don’t know what to do.
“Just leave it,” says Dominus.
“No, I’ll clean up. Where should I put the food?”
“In the trash.” He points to a bin.
I scrunch my nose. “That seems wasteful.”
Dominus shrugs. “Then eat the rest and don’t complain.”
“Rizpah said to be nice,” I remind him.
“Fine, give it to me. I’ll eat it.”
I slide my bowl in his direction. He’s definitely big enough to need the extra food. But it’s only a temporary solution. Surely, there’s a way to get leftovers out of the city to a local farm.
Can I just walk away without saying anything? Nothing about Dominus indicates he wants my pleasantries. So I head to the staircase in silence.
“Where are you going?” he asks around a mouthful of food, which should be obnoxious, but somehow he manages to make look cute. I hate him.
I stop. “Out.”
“Out where?”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
We stare at each other.
