Page 19 of August and the Night

"What?" I snap, my anger flaring. "You haven't eaten all day? Are you kidding me?"

"I was just caught up with everything that happened earlier, and I guess I forgot," she replies, looking down.

"That's not an excuse," I retort, my frustration evident in my voice. "You can't just neglect your own well-being like that."

She looks up at me, startled by my anger. "I know, I just... I wasn't thinking," she admits.

"Well, start thinking," I growl, my patience wearing thin. "You need to take care of yourself, Layla. Skipping meals is not an option."

Her eyes widen, and I can see surprise in her expression. I can tell that she is not used to people caring for her this much.

As I carry her in my arms to the kitchen, Layla remains quiet, seemingly taken aback by my anger. As I start preparing the ingredients, I can feel her gaze on me, but I don't soften my stance.

"You know, you don't have to do this," she says softly. "I can make something for myself."

"No, you can't," I reply firmly. "You need to eat, and I'm going to make sure you do."

Her eyes widen even further, and I can tell she's taken aback by my intensity. But I can't back down now. I'm too angry at the thought of her neglecting herself.

When I start to cook, the intensity of my anger begins to wane. I take a deep breath, trying to ease the tension that filled the room. "I'm sorry for snapping at you," I say, my voice softening. "I just don't like seeing you neglect yourself like that."

Layla watches me cautiously, her eyes still reflecting surprise at my outburst. "It's okay," she replies softly. "I understand, and I appreciate your concern."

As the aroma of the Spaghetti Alla Carbonara fills the kitchen, Layla's stomach grumbles again, but this time, she smiles sheepishly. "It smells amazing," she admits.

I return her smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction at her reaction. "I hope it tastes just as good," I say, trying to lighten the mood. "I own a restaurant in Italy, so I know my way around the kitchen."

Her eyes widen in surprise. "Really? You own a restaurant in Italy?" she asks.

"Yes," I reply, "and not just that. I also have a spa here, among other businesses in Europe. Running a security company is just one of my many ventures."

Layla seems genuinely intrigued, and I can see her curiosity sparking. "Wow, you're quite the entrepreneur," she remarks.

I chuckle, glad to see her mood lightening up as well. "I guess you could say that," I reply. "But enough about me. Let's focus on eating. You need to replenish your energy."

As we sit down to eat, Layla takes a bite of the dish I prepared, and a pleased expression crosses her face. "This is delicious," she says between bites. "You really are a master in the kitchen."

I grin, pleased with her compliment. "Thank you," I say. "I'm glad you like it."

As we continue to enjoy the meal, Layla looks at me thoughtfully and says, "You know, since you mentioned replenishing energy, I've been thinking about trying out your spa for a massage."

I pause for a moment, the idea of someone else touching her making me feel uneasy. "Hmm, I'm not so sure about that," I say, trying to mask my growing irritation.

Layla raises an eyebrow, sensing my change in demeanor. "Why not?" she asks, genuinely curious.

"I don't like the thought of anyone else putting their hands on you," I admit, my voice tinged with possessiveness. "You're mine, Layla, and I don't want anyone else touching you."

She looks at me, her eyes softening. "I understand, but it's just a massage," she says. "I promise I'll choose a female masseuse if that makes you feel better."

I shake my head, feeling frustrated by the whole idea. "It doesn't matter if it's a man or a woman," I say firmly. "You are mine, and that means my hands are the only ones that touch you."

Layla looks surprised by my words, but there's also a hint of something else in her expression. "Your hands?" she repeats softly.

"Yes, my hands," I reply, my tone laced with intensity. "I want to be the one to take care of you, to make you feel good, to touch you."

She blushes slightly, clearly affected by my words. "Okay," she whispers. "If that's what you want."

"It is," I say firmly. "You're important to me, Layla, and I want to protect and care for you in every way I can."

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