Her Reluctant Husband by Erica Marselas (summer beach reads txt) 📗

mood to work out. My phone beeps twice more with two more incoming messages. I throw my newly folded pants to my bed and pick up my phone to see three messages from Alex.

Alex: Dinner is ready.

Alex: And if you’re not down here

in five minutes. I will come and get you.

Alex: Caveman style.

 

I chuckle at his last texts. It appears playful Alex is in the house.

I check myself in the mirror and give my hair a quick fluff before heading downstairs. The aroma of celery, onions, and chicken broth hits me right away at the bottom of the staircase. It smells divine and has the familiar scent of Liz’s chicken stew. When I enter the kitchen, I stop dead in my tracks when I find Alex in front of the stove, stirring something in the large stockpot.

"Are you...cooking?" I gape at him, fascinated. But it’s the pink and ruffled fabric around his neck and waist that has me biting the inside of my cheek.

"I am.” He turns to me, grinning. “Since you wouldn’t let me buy you lunch, I figured I’d make you dinner.”

“Is that Liz’s apron?” I laugh, no longer able to control my amusement.

“Well, it’s definitely not mine.” He rolls his eyes as he goes to grab a couple of bowls from the cabinet.

“Pink ruffles look good on you. They bring out the softer side of you and the pink in your cheeks.” I giggle as he narrows his eyes at me. “But why are you playing dress up?”

“Just go sit down,” he grumbles as he dishes out a bowl of soup, ignoring my question. He really does pull off the apron though.

"I prefer to stand and watch the show, Betty Crocker.”

“I have a ladle in my hand, and I’m not afraid to smack it across your ass if you don’t sit.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to laugh at his threat. And honestly, I’m not sure if I want to sit down either hoping he’ll make good on it. I pull out a chair to the kitchen table and sit down, and he walks over to place a bowl in front of me. He slips off the ruffled apron, tossing it to one of the barstools, before coming over to join me.

Picking up my spoon, I spin around my noodles in the broth, mixing them with the carrots and celery. This looks good and I want to eat it, but my stomach instantly knots when I sense his cool stare pointed at me.

“Eat,” he demands.

“This looks great, but um…” I put my spoon down. “I’m not really hungry right now. Maybe in a few hours?”

He slams the table with his hand, making my soup splash out of my bowl and the silverware rattle. "Let’s try that again. Eat."

Damn. What the hell has come over him with wanting to feed me suddenly?

Come on, he did cook for you, June. The least you can do is try.

I scoop out a noodle and put it into my mouth. I chew, trying to ignore the tightening in my stomach as Alex stares at me.

“You're too thin. I could play with your ribs the last time I fucked you.”

I blink at him. "I'm just fine, Alex." I know I’m skinny, but I didn’t think I was that bad anymore. I don’t want to be where I was years ago when Liz found me twenty pounds skinnier and knocking on death's door. My hands move to my ribcage, trying to feel them while pretending to smooth out my shirt. I feel my bones under my cotton fabric, but it’s not that bad. I mean, it’s normal to feel them and it’s not like I’m a skeleton.

"There's no way Aunt Liz didn't make you eat."

"I eat," I defend myself. I hate having to argue over my eating habits and he’s the last person I thought would care.

"Funny thing. I haven't seen it."

“I didn’t know you were the food police.”

“Well, someone needs to be when it comes to you.” His eyes narrow and it’s like he’s dissecting me. I sink in my chair feeling small—judged. “You’re wasting away.”

"Where is this coming from? Wouldn't you be happy if I starved to death? Then you wouldn't have to worry about splitting the house when this is over," I mumble.

His spoon clamors to his bowl, and his chair scrapes across the hardwood as he stands. “Are you fucking serious right now?” he sneers, the frustration dripping off him. “You wanted actions and I’m giving you them now.” My chin drops to my chest as the regret of my words hits me. I mean he was wearing Liz’s apron for heaven’s sake. As my head lifts to apologize, I see him storming away towards the stairs. His firm back radiating his anger.

My head falls to the table and I feel like shit. He’s trying and I’m pushing him away. I resign with what I need to do—eat.

I push the food around in my bowl, and though my stomach is in a giant knot, I take a bite. It goes down like swallowing lead, but the flavor wakes up my taste buds. All those times Aunt Liz taught us to cook came in handy because this is actually good.

“Good girl,” Alex's raspy voice says startling me, making me jump in my seat.

I bite my lip, as his eyes smolder into me. “Hey, I’m sorry—”

He holds up his hand. “Don’t talk. Now, take another bite.”

I do as he tells me and try to focus on the taste and the heart that went into the meal instead of my tension. I find the bite slides down easier. “Are you coming back to eat?"

“Oh, I'm going to eat, alright.” He stalks towards me and falls to his knees