Rice is life but oh, holy crap!
1213 Words
The servants placed dish after dish onto the intimate table as though feeding royalty.
Freshly baked pirozhki steamed from woven baskets, their buttery crusts hiding rich fillings of smoked beef, mushrooms, and melted cheese.
Thick slices of dark rye bread sat beside small crystal bowls overflowing with imported berry jams and golden Siberian honey. At the center was a porcelain tureen of creamy kasha—buckwheat porridge cooked in heavy cream instead of water, topped with roasted walnuts and expensive blackberries flown in from somewhere warmer than this frozen hell.
There were delicate blinis folded beside chilled smoked salmon, thin as silk, with tiny mountains of black caviar glistening under the chandelier light. Soft scrambled eggs rested beside truffle shavings and fresh herbs, the scent rich enough to make anyone hungry.
Anyone but her.
A silver teapot released curls of fragrant steam—wild Siberian herbs, pine needles, and calming chamomile. Beside it stood a glass pitcher of freshly pressed pomegranate juice so vividly red it looked almost like blood.
The meal was extravagant. Luxurious. But July could barely breathe. Her throat still ached from her hysteria, and her chest felt hollowed out. The artificial warmth of the room simply could not reach the deep, terrifying cold lodged inside her bones.
Then, heavy footsteps echoed across the marble floor. Slow. Unhurried. Powerful.
And suddenly, despite the heat of the fireplace, July felt a freezing shiver run down her spine as the giant reclaimed his presence in the room.
The man had jus came back from a phone call.
July startled as the man pulled out the chair directly across from her. Her stomach was completely knotted; she just couldn't bring herself to swallow the alien, ultra-luxurious food laid out in front of her.
"Eat," the man commanded softly.
Her insides churned at the order. Trembling, and absolutely loathing the rich food in that exact moment, she forced a forkful of eggs into her mouth, chewing mechanically while tears streamed down her face. She looked pathetic, choking back sobs over truffles and caviar.
The man watched her for a tense beat before his hand shot out, catching her wrist to stop her fork mid-air. "Stop," he said, his voice dropping into a flat rumble. "If you don't like the food, don't eat it."
July froze, looking up at him through blurry, wet lashes. A million questions raced through her mind. What is he really up to? Why is he being patient with a piece of 'scrap' he bought at an auction?
"You don't like the food, do you?" he asked, his predatory eyes locked onto her face.
July nodded weakly, her voice finally finding a sound. "I-I'm just not used to it yet."
"What do you want to eat then?"
She swallowed hard, her mind scrambling.
"R-rice... because rice is life."
The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to dissolve into the floor. She mentally cursed herself into oblivion. Great. You have a degree in English Education, you are trained to teach literature, yet here you are, completely unable to form a single, grammatically sophisticated sentence in front of a dangerous billionaire.
The man actually scoffed, a tiny, dark sound of amusement escaping his throat. He raised a hand and snapped his fingers, instantly summoning the butler. "Get her rice."
July noticed, with a small jolt of surprise, how oddly considerate he was when he turned back to her. "What kind? How do you want it cooked?"
"Plain," she whispered.
The man immediately averted his gaze, his lips twitching slightly. He clearly found it incredibly weird, if not mildly amusing, for someone to demand the plainest carb on earth in a room filled with black caviar.
"A-and warm water... and salt. Table salt, please," July added quickly, her voice hushed. She was terrifyingly careful not to offend the butler or sound bossy in a house where people got shot for looking at someone wrong.
The man sat back, his arms crossed over his massive chest, looking at her intently. He was studying her, trying to decipher why this small, plus-size girl was still acting like a wounded animal when he had already promised not to kill her.
Ten minutes later, the butler returned seamlessly, carrying a silver tray. On it sat a bowl of steaming hot white rice, a glass of warm water, and a small shaker of table salt. The man didn't miss the sudden, genuine flicker of light and happiness that sparked in July's eyes the moment the tray was set down.
July leaned in and inhaled the steam from the bowl. Suddenly, her forehead curled up.
Something smelled... off. But she didn't dare complain. Keeping her mouth shut, she picked up the glass of warm water, poured a generous splash directly into the rice bowl, and shook a heavy layer of table salt over it to taste.
Compared to her sluggish movements from a few minutes ago, she was practically enthusiastic as she scooped up a spoonful and shoved it into her mouth.
Across the table, the stoic giant watched her, his mind working through the bizarre scene. Why the hell would she pour water into a bowl of rice? It looked like a poor man's porridge, but her expression suggested she had tasted something wrong with the grain itself. He cut his sharp eyes toward the butler.
The butler instantly read the silent, dangerous question on his master's face and bowed his head. "Shirataki rice, sir. We don't usually keep rice in the pantry, so I had to use the low-carb alternative. I will have the shopper purchase authentic jasmine or white rice later today."
The man gave a casual flick of his fingers, and Jacques exited without another word.
July kept eating, lifting spoonful after watery spoonful to her lips. It's better this way, the man thought to himself as he watched her. He could still hear a ragged sob escape her throat once in a while, but the color was returning to her face. She was calming down.
Then, disaster struck.
A grain of the rubbery shirataki rice caught the back of her throat. July choked. Terrified of making a scene, she slammed her hand over her mouth, trying with all her might to suppress the cough building in her lungs. But her body revolted. She couldn't hold it anymore.
Like an absolute explosion, July coughed violently.
The rice flew out from between her fingers, spraying wildly across the pristine mahogany table. The sheer terror on her face became blindingly visible as her lungs emptied. When the havoc finally ended, July’s breath completely stopped.
Time froze.
Right there, clinging to the sharp, aristocratic cheekbone of the King of Hell, were three distinct, watery pieces of shirataki rice. Another piece was slowly sliding down his forehead.
July stared at his face, her eyes stretching so wide they threatened to pop out of her skull. The absolute shock on his lethal, dangerous face was unparalleled.
I'm dead, July thought, her heart completely stopping. I am so, completely dead.
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- Writer
