I got home late, soaked from a downpour. Nathaniel was there. I didn't spare him a glance, heading straight for the stairs.
A bath towel wrapped around me from behind. His voice carried worry. "Why didn't you call me to pick you up? You're drenched."
Would you have come? I shot him a mocking look, shook off his hands, and went upstairs.
After a shower, I stepped out to find Nathaniel cooling a bowl of mushroom soup for me. He was dutiful—years of caring for me had blurred the line between duty and love in my mind.
Noticing me, he pulled me to the bed, spoon-feeding me. "Too hot? Drink up. The binding ceremony's soon—you can't get sick now."
I drank in silence, staring at his back as he left. My heart was a barren wasteland. Nathaniel, there won't be a ceremony, just like you wanted.
