Their Wife

Twenty-Four

I knocked on the door lightly. My fingers were crossed behind my back, hoping that the door would remain unanswered. But that was wishful thinking born of someone who liked to avoid her issues. I had avoided him successfully for the last few days, it would go against nature for my luck to continue.

The door swung open and there stood Ezra dripping water. I shifted from foot to foot. It was strange being face to face with him in a setting that wasn't his workshop. He usually wasn't here when I had to clean his room. I was pretty sure he wasn't in his room all that often in general.

He was shirtless and had a towel wrapped around his neck. His brown hair appeared darker from the water that dripped from the saturated tips. Water beaded on his skin before trailing down the lines and crevices of his body.

I swallowed as my eyes collided with his narrowed gaze. He had a hand resting on the doorknob and the other holding the doorframe that he was leaning on.

"Can I help you?" His words were clipped. It seemed the anger from a few days ago hadn't dimmed.

I opened and closed my mouth. For some odd reason, I was not expecting to be faced with hostility. It threw me off.

My own eyes narrowed in return. I was starting to feel rising anger of my own. My business was my own. He had no right to be angry that I didn't want to share my personal matters. 

"You're an asshole," I blurted out, my eyes narrowed.

He looked dumbstruck, not able to process my words. "What?"

"An asshole. A big one."

His lips twitched.

"Am I, now?" His eyebrow raised.

I gritted my teeth. I could see the amusement showing in his eyes.

"Yes, you are."

He wasn't able to stop a laugh from bubbling out. All signs of his anger had seemed to vanish. He stepped back and moved his arm. "Come in."

Using the towel from around his neck, he dried his hair ruffly as he walked towards his washroom. The muscles in his upper back moved and flexed as he used his arms.

I entered and closed the door slightly, leaving it open. It gave the illusion of privacy and the false reassurance of an escape.

Ezra tossed the towel into a hamper inside the bathroom. Turning towards me, he leaned a muscled shoulder against the door frame. The anger from earlier had returned, not as intense, but it was clear.

"Come to apologize to the asshole?"

I blinked at him. "What?"

His steady eyes didn't waver from me. "You. Apologize."

I looked at him, flabbergasted. "I don't need to apologize for anything. If anyone needs to apologize, it's the man who exposed me by force and then left me alone!"

I was breathing heavily in outrage by the end of my words. My anger grew with each word I spoke, verbalising it made it even more obvious how outrageous it was that I was being asked to apologize.

He straightened in the door frame and stepped towards me. "You lied about your health."

"I didn't share personal information." And might have told a few white lies.

"You said he didn't hurt you." He continued to stalk towards me.

There were only a few. White lies.

"I was fine." I stepped forward, not backing down.

He stepped up to me, toe to toe, and looked down at me intimidatingly. He leaned down towards me with each word. "You. Lied."