I glance briefly at the kitchen, seeing there’s no food, so I ask, “Should we go out to dinner?”
“No.” She turns to glance at me over her shoulder, then she pats the couch, inviting me to sit.
A little uncertainly, I take a seat on the couch beside her. I do a double take when I realize she’s wearing lingerie. I don’t know why she owns lingerie at all, but she’s wearing this slip of powder blue satin, lace trim, and it’s damn distracting. I want to double check the time. Elise typically doesn’t change into pajamas until right before bed, and right now I’m dreading going to bed if that’s what she’s going to wear.
Jesus, did the air stop working? Why is it so hot in here?
I tug at the collar of my shirt, shifting uncomfortably. I don’t look at her, because… well, she’s not wearing enough clothing to be looked at.
“Everything okay?” I ask, glancing at the blank television, since that seems safest.
She scoots forward, inching a little closer to me. Her book is still between us, thank God, but I have to physically force myself not to move away as she advances. What is she doing?
“How was your interview?” she asks.
“Uh, good. It went well.”
“Good,” she says pleasantly.
I nod, still staring at the television. “So, you didn’t cook today. Do you want to put some—Uh, change clothes and we could go grab something? I’m kind of hungry.” And also desperate to get clothing on her body, which will be necessary if we leave. “We could make a whole night of it,” I add, since she doesn’t immediately respond. “We could grab a drink, maybe catch a show. There’s a comedy show thing—I saw a flyer. Do you like comedy shows?”
“If that’s what you want,” she replies.
I finally force myself to look at her, but I focus only on her face, no matter how tempted my eyes are to drop lower. “Do you want to?”
“I just said I did,” she says.
“You said if it’s what I want. That’s not the same thing.”
“Well, fine, then it’s what I want. Will you wear one of your suits?”
I can’t hold back a faint smile. “Do you like when I wear my suits?”
Blushing a little as she smiles, she nods her head. “I miss those.”
Since we’re living in the real world again, I haven’t been dressing the way I did when I worked for Mateo. “I can wear more suits,” I tell her.
“We should dress up for dinner.”
“To go out? Yeah, sure.”
“No, every night.”
My pleasure wilts, just a bit. She wants to establish yet another Morelli tradition—the stupid formal dinners.
My hand moves to the back of my neck, rubbing it. I try to reclaim the pleasant smile I had a moment ago, but it’s strained. “Sure, if you want to, I guess we could.”
“I mean, I don’t have a lot of pretty dresses, but Mateo bought me a few before we left.”
Of course he did.
I’m losing enthusiasm about going out tonight.
“We could just stay in, if you’d rather,” I say, watching her reaction to see if she actually wants to go out or she’s just going along with whatever I say.
The expression on her face doesn’t change—not even a little. It’s like she literally has no preference. Nodding, she says, “Sure, we could do that.”
Pushing up off the couch, I look around this tiny ass apartment, suddenly feeling caged. “I don’t want to stay in.”
She misses a beat—not because she’s disappointed, but because I’ve just changed my mind so many times she doesn’t know what to get behind. “Okay, we can go out.”
“Goddammit, Elise.” I go to run a hand through my hair, but it’s all gone. Dammit, I regret that haircut.
She stands, frowning at me. “What did I do now?”
“Stop agreeing with everything I say,” I say, even hearing how ridiculous I sound.
She stares at me for a second, blinking several times, then she glares at me. “I’m trying to make you happy!”
“I am happy,” I all but scream.
Eyes bulging, she says, “Clearly! All happy people scream at their… their… whatever the fuck I am.”
I rear back, never having heard Elise swear. The sound of that word falling from her lips suddenly drains the aggravation right out of me, but apparently hers is just picking up.
Her arm flies off to the left, like she’s angrily pointing at some invisible thing. “You tell me nothing. You drag me out of my home, out of my life, you drag me to this strange new place and you give me no direction. I have no idea what you want from me! I don’t know why I’m here. I try to do the things I’m accustomed to, but it doesn’t please you—you don’t like when I cook and clean, you hate that I have the audacity to enjoy it. I have no routine. I have no purpose in this life, Adrian. I have no place in your life, and every day I wait for you to give me one, or for me to somehow figure it out, but I don’t know. I don’t know, and you won’t tell me. I try everything I can think of to please you, and I’m out of ideas. I don’t know how to make you happy, so if you know what you want, maybe you should clue me in, because I do not know.”