Forbidden Pleasures

[7.]

I wake up at 5 the next morning, feeling even more tired than the previous day. I'll need to get used getting 4 to 5 hours of sleep a night, although it's going to be difficult.

I drag my body out of the bed and into the bathroom, still having my eyes half closed when I get myself ready. I remember I need to put on my outfit and when I do, I feel even worse. God, I despise this thing.

I walk down into the kitchen, feeling like I could fall asleep standing, but I get myself together enough to make Mr Welch a breakfast.

I have everything on the table just at the right time this morning and I'm happy with that. I'm cleaning the kitchen when I hear Mr Welch's angry yelling my name.

My heart drops and I quickly run into the dining room, still holding the towel in my hands. "Yes, Mr Welch?" I ask almost fearfully.

His eyes come to rest on me, going down and up my body for a second. It makes me feel self-conscious and it takes a lot not to shuffle on my feet. "Why are there strawberries on the plate?"

"I ..." I start, my voice shaking. "It states in that book that you eat fruit with your breakfast. Any kind of food," I say quietly.

"Uh-huh," Mr Welch counters. "It also states that I'm allergic to strawberries."

"I -" Mierda. "Uh, I didn't ... I didn't know that, I'll bring you another fruit right away," I tell him quickly, my voice high.

Mr Welch looks at me for long moments before he sighs and gives me a nod. I hurry out of the dining room, my stomach in knots. I bring him peaches, cutting them in half, hoping that he's not allergic to them, too.

When I put it down on the table, holding my breath, Mr Welch nods. "Thank you, Cassandra."

I'm momentarily stunned. Is he not going to say anything further? No reminding me of my mistake? Or saying that he won't allow me any more slips? Or even worse, firing me?

I hold my tongue, though, not bringing any more attention to me. I want to leave the dining room, but his voice stops me again. "Stay."

I close my eyes as my brain whines, what for? I'm humiliated enough by wearing this dress, I humiliated myself yet again and made another mistake, I'm sleepy and I have a kitchen to clean. "Come sit down," Mr Welch invites.

I bite the inside of my cheek and sit down where I sat the previous night - on his right. I'm rigid, keeping my posture straight. I don't know where to look because looking at him eating might be awkward for the both of us, not only him. So I keep my look on the table.

"So, Cassandra," he starts and I hate how much I like it when he calls me by my full name. Rarely anyone does, people mostly call me Cassie, but hearing Mr Welch saying my full name ... I'm starting to love it and that's a dangerous thing. "How come you came to London to study?"

Jesus. Are we really going to involve in deep conversations and 6 in the morning? "Well, I've always wanted to at least visit London and I got the chance to live here so I took it." I shrug. "And here I am."

"And how glad I am," Mr Welch mutters and I look at him in question. His attention is on his plate, but I see his mouth is turned up into a secretive smile that I don't understand. I let my eyes roam over his perfectly sculpted face, admiring his long and dark eyelashes while he's looking down and how naturally messy his hair is and how it suits him.

He's dressed in yet another suit and he always looks so polished and so elegant. So powerful. It makes me nervous. "Are you here on your own?" he asks while lifting his gaze up and catching me staring.