8
Chloe
I’m about to consume the forkful of scrambled eggs Nikolai is holding to my mouth when I hear voices in the hallway, followed by a knock on the door. My gaze jumps to Nikolai’s face, and my cheeks flame at the amused gleam in his eyes.
We both know I’m not incapacitated enough for him to be spoon-feeding me; it’s just a peculiar, slightly kinky dynamic we’ve fallen into. I didn’t even try to eat with my left hand this morning when he brought me breakfast—he just started feeding me and I let him.
Even his four-year-old eats without help, yet here I am, with one arm completely functional, acting as if I can’t hold a fork on my own.
My embarrassment deepening, I snatch the fork from Nikolai and set it down on the tray sitting on the nightstand. “Come in!”
I was expecting Pavel o
