Page 99 of Serenity
The timer for the lasagna went off. Shuffling the dish from the oven, I rested it atop the stove and sat my ass in the living room.
One episode of The Killdashians later, Duke came home.
“Bumble Bee! I smelled that shit outside the door, baby.”
Resting his briefcase near the door along with his shoes, he called out to me, creeping toward where I was sitting in the living room. With a flat, blank expression, I waited for his approach.
“It smells good in here. What’s that?” He asked, planting a kiss on my cheeks. Cupping my chin, he dragged my face toward him and pecked my lips. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Let’s eat.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, studying my expression. “I’ma go wash up, and you can tell me what’s wrong when we sit down.”
His hesitation was paramount, as was his scowl of scrutiny. Hiding my emotional deficiencies was an impossible task in his presence. I couldn’t hide from the Duke. Not the ruler of the vessel in my chest. He’d never acquire such a title if he didn’t know me and every inch of the organ beating inside me.
As he disappeared to the back room, I fixed our plates, marching them to the table. An hour passed since I’d located his stash, giving me time to cool down, but my anger, my jealousy, my shock all rose like a dormant disease. Absorbing deep breaths to calm myself, I sat at the table and waited.
Waited.
Waited.
Finally, he approached the dining table and sat down. Eyes affixed on me, he said nothing and did nothing as I said a silent grace and began to eat.
“You went through my things?”
Just like a nigga. Deflect.
Leisurely, my head rose as I chewed the first bite of lasagna. It was so good. Too good. Too bad it would be tainted by the bullshit of the evening. Stabbing another helping, I directed the fork to my mouth again. The indulgent spices were rendered unsavory by the bland look on his face. He scratched his beard, boring into me with those irresistible cinnamon eyes. Eyes I used to love marveling at. Eyes that used to set me on fire with lust. Eyes that used to touch every inch of me before he ever raised a finger. Eyes that had gone blank and bleak.
“I was just trying to make the bed.” Finally, I responded after my mouth was clear of food.
“How did making the bed turn into this box being on the table?”
“Why the fuck don’t you keep the linen in the goddammed linen closet?” I sneered. His patience and deceptively calm demeanor riled me. I was expecting anger. I was expecting him to elevate his voice. For once, I was expecting him to break his usual cool and collected conduct. He didn’t.
“Serenity.”
“Don’t. I was grabbing the blanket from the top shelf when your collection came crashing to the floor.”
“Hmm,” he said, finger-combing his goatee. “So, why didn’t you put it back? Why is that shit sitting between us?” Plainly, he issued the double entendre as if inquiring about the weather.
“Seriously, Duke?”
“What the fuck would you like for me to say, Bee? You sat that shit here for a reason. Now, I’m compelled to believe you did so to drive a wedge where it doesn’t belong. State your purpose or put it back where you got it from. This passive-aggressive shit isn’t you. Or is it?” He squinted.
I scoffed. Crossed my arms. Braced myself in my seat.
“Don’t turn this on me.”
“I’m not turning anything, baby. I just want to know what’s wrong. I asked you when I came in, and you said nothing. I assume I’m about to enjoy a delicious dinner with you only to find I’m walking into—what the fuck is this?”
He motioned to the box of tapes.
“I was hoping you could tell me. I didn’t go through your shit, Duke. I’d never. But I’d be remiss not to ask why you have dozens of sex tapes of women.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Shifting slightly, my lips puckered, and my eyes rolled.