Page 78 of The Spare
He refused to tell me what we were doing until we got to the building and the elevator doors opened to a demonstration kitchen.
“I thought a cooking class might be fun.” We walked in to find Izan Decasta, chef and owner of the three-Michelin-star Spanish restaurant of the same name. He was there to teach us a private lesson.
“I love it.” The things this man did to my heart. And every other part of my body. I pulled him down for a kiss. “Who knew Marcus Sutton was so good at planning dates?”
Every few nights, I would think of something I wanted to cook, and we would spend the night in the kitchen making it, occasionally getting distracted with other pursuits. It was a nice pattern we were falling into.
“I’m not. You’re the exception,” he whispered in my ear before the chef began to walk us through the recipe. We were making paella.
The whole endeavor took about two hours, and we punctuated the time with tapas and wine. Once it was done, Chef Decasta left us to enjoy the meal we had made together.
“I have to be in Zurich in a couple weeks,” Marcus said. His arm rested along on my shoulders, and his fingers played with my earring.
“Really?” My heart picked up with excitement. I loved Switzerland. My grandmother and I used to visit Henry at boarding school there all the time when I was a kid.
“I’ll be there a few days, maybe a week.”
My hopes crashed. He was telling me he’d be away, not inviting me on a trip. It was a silly thought; it wasn’t like I’d be able to go for a whole week anyway. I hated that I felt disappointed for no real reason.
His eyes moved away from me to the table. “It’s the week Xander visits,” he continued.
I tilted my head away from his hand. “You’re going to miss Xander’s visit?”
“No, I’ll see him when he arrives. Besides he’s coming here to see you.”
The last few weeks had been blissful; they felt like a dream. The reminder that Sutton industries always came first for Marcus was a rude awakening. My irritation was more with that realization than his actual trip—the sudden realization that I was in second place again.
“Yeah, but I’m sure he wants to spend some time with you,” I snapped.
“He’ll be fine.” Marcus raked a hand through his hair.
“Well excuse me for looking out for him,” I retorted, feeling my blood begin to rush to my face.Don’t say it.“Someone should.”
I immediately regretted it.
He tensed. It was a shot I shouldn’t have taken. I knew how badly Marcus felt about abandoning Xander the last couple of years.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, taking his hand in mine. I wasn’t in the mood to get upset and argue. Besides, I couldn’t make him want to put us ahead of his work. It felt like he was finally doing that on his own, like he didn’t want to shut us out anymore. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I know,” he said, taking notice of my clearly deflated expression. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on my lips. “I’ll be back to spend some time with him before he leaves too, I’m sorry.”
I nodded and pushed past the foreboding feeling I couldn’t shake. We finished our dinner in an uncomfortable silence.
“You okay?” Marcus finally ended the quiet when he noticed me rubbing my left wrist for probably the hundredth time that night. It always seemed to get sore when I lifted a heavy pan poorly.
“Yeah, my wrist gets a little tight on occasion ever since that nigh—” I stopped with a noticeably sharp inhale, mentally kicking myself. Falling into being so comfortable around Marcus meant my defenses were down. Occasionally, things I hid for a reason bubbled up, and I would forget who I was talking to.
Marcus put down his wine. He released a controlled sigh. “That night.” He wasn’t asking a question but telling me he knew what I meant to say. The night at the bar, the story I didn’t tell him at Thanksgiving. Julian.
“Forget it. It’s nothing,” I said.
He agreed, but the mood shifted for the rest of the night, like a cloud lingering over us. The annoyance over the timing of his trip and my refusal to tell him about my wrist culminated to what was probably our first actual fight as a couple. Unlike arguments I had with past boyfriends, this was a war fought in silence.
The ride home in the car was uncomfortable. Marcus’s arm was draped around my shoulder, his thumb stroking it in a familiar pattern the whole way. His turbulent eyes were deep in thought. When we got back to his place, we changed and got ready for bed, all without a word to each other.
“I’ll tell you what happened.” I sat beside him on the couch. I didn’t want to play the game of who could ignore their issue the longest. In all my other relationships, I always felt myself rearing up for a fight. With Marcus, I wanted calm. I wanted this, us, to work. “You can’t do anything about it now. And please keep in mind I’m fine.”
He nodded in agreement, his hand rested on my thigh.
