Secret Feelings

Chapter Ten- Difficult times

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I was at loss for words, how would I explain my snooping around to him.

"You're not suppose to be in here." He yelled again. "This door was locked, how did you get in?"
He sighed.
"What the hell were you doing in my room? Just get out." He asked raising his voice.

I froze, not knowing if I should step down or continue staring like he was joking. It was when he began to tug on my arm that I knew he was serious about me leaving.

I stared at his extremely pissed face then got off the chair.
"My apologies master." I mocked teasingly. "You can't blame me for what I did. It'll really do good for you to tell me why I'm here?"
I raised my brows.
"But I'm not being told anything and I need answers so I'm finding them myself." I shot back.
I knew I was proving a point.

He glared at me.
"That doesn't give you the right to invade my privacy. This room was locked for a purpose and you just defied it."

He gritted his teeth.
"Now, get out." He commanded pointing towards the door.

Like I didn't know where it was.

Without another glance at him I walked out.
Yeah I know I lied and what I did wasn't right but anyone as desperate as me would probably do the same.

As I flopped back in bed my mind couldn't help but wander to that framed picture that was covered. Why didn't he want it opened?
Pictures were meant to be seen but sadly Dante's covering them up.
Then again there's always a reason behind everything.

                                 ****
Mornings had not always been my things.
I actually wondered how I'm able to get to work every morning.
I bolted from bed when I heard something crashed and it came from downstairs.
I found Ricardo in the kitchen with us back turned to me, he was looking for something in the cabinets.

"Why do you always seem to appear and disappear? Don't you live here?" I asked, startling him a bit.

"Morning Kira." He replied ignoring my questions. "I don't live here actually but I do come around. Sometimes, sleep on the couch."

I looked at the crate of eggs on the counter.
"Okay. Now what are you doing?" I asked again, seeing him bringing out a glass bowl.

"Making breakfast. You like pancakes right?" He answered cheerfully. His smile was reminding me of my Dad, when he's doing the thing he loves the most. Cooking.

I let out a laugh at this statement, it was hard to believe.
"Don't tell me you cook."

He began to bring out the ingredients for the pancake.
"Sometimes, just some dishes though. I do have the genes of a chef in me."
He has a humorous side that I liked.

"I never did picture you as someone who could prepare a meal."

He shrugged, pouring some flour into the bowl.
"From what I know my Dad was a chef."

"Really?" I questioned, surprised. "Mine too, I got my skills for him."

"I didn't learn from my Dad. I've never met my Dad actually. He said sadly. "My Mom talks a lot about him when I was younger but I've never seen him, not even a picture."

"Hmm. But why are you the one cooking? I thought making the meal here had become my thing."

He tore his gaze from the batter he was stirring frequently to me.
"Wait. I hope you aren't thinking you're meant to be a maid here." He questioned me.