But finally, with obvious reluctance, he set me down like I was the most fragile glass. I huffed, stomping back toward the food tray with all the dignity I could salvage.
He followed, of course, slipping into the chair beside me like he hadn't just manhandled me. We ate in silence after that, though I could feel his eyes flick toward me every few minutes, as if daring me to look back.
When I was full, I collapsed against the pillows with a groan. "I'm not moving again."
"Ever?" he asked dryly.
"Ever."
And true to my word, I didn't. The entire afternoon blurred into soft, lazy hours where I refused to leave the bed and he disappeared to do whatever shady Roman business occupied his time, only to return at intervals, once with water, another time just to lean over and press his lips to my forehead, pretending it was practical but really just to bother me.
By evening, though, he'd had enough. He yanked back the covers with a smirk that made me want to slap him.
"Up."
"No."
