Sweetly Isolated (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 1)

The Maharaja and A Chicken

By dinner time her mood hadn't improved, so when he knocked, she told him she wasn't hungry. She edited all through the evening, vengefully chopping and weeding the text. She could hear him cook, then the kettle whistled. Half an hour later the noises told her he was putting left-overs to the fridge. Then the dishwasher's door banged. She continued working, until she heard him take a shower, and then everything went quiet. She brushed her teeth, valiantly ignoring the smell of his shower gel in the air, and went to bed.

***

Fool me once, and so on, Tina thought. This time she knew for sure this was a dream. To think of it, the lavish dining hall that surrounded her looked exactly like Pankot Palace from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Not the worst, to think of it. And she thankfully wasn't served any eye soup or monkey brains. There was a lovely platter of pilaf, and a tureen of curry, and even a bowl of avocado salsa. For some reason, all the food was served cold, but Tina didn't particularly mind. She was peckish. She plated some pilaf and started chewing. There seemed to be only one other person in the room, sitting at the head of the table. The vague figure seemed to be dressed in a cartoonish Maharaja outfit, mostly reminiscent of the Sultan from 1992 Aladdin. Tina felt utterly disinterested in them, enjoying her nosh.

"Clementine," they called to her, and she giggled.

"Your Highness," she said.

She'd once had to research how one formally addressed maharajas, emirs, and sultans. She'd never ended up using it in her writing; all this sort of otherworldly rubbish just wasn't her cup of tea. She enjoyed reading it in Olivia Dane's novels, though. Mmm, that fake raja in her novel The Battle for Her Heart was scrumptious!

"You sound like my teddy bear, Mr. Tickles," Tina announced and scooped another forkful of pilaf.

"Blimey, you're sleepwalking again," the person said.

Tina finally looked up and gawked at Holyoake in a Maharaja clobber. Oh wow. The mind races, in the words of Our Goddess River Song. Who'd think that stark white harem trousers and eyeliner would suit the man so much?

"And you're... eating," Maharaja Holyoake pointed out.

Tina giggled again. "Am I? I haven't noticed."

She gave him a wink and picked up a piece of avocado. She popped it in her mouth and licked her fingers.

"Alright, give me a mo," the Maharaja muttered and pulled out his mobile from the pocket of his salwar. "Let me google this."

Tina lost all interest in him and tucked in. A few minutes later she finally felt full and pushed an empty bowl away from her. Maharaja Holyoake had been waiting for her apparently, sitting and drumming his fingers on the table. Tina blissfully smiled at him - and conked out, dropping her head on the table with a dull thud.

***

Day 4

"Bollocks, it's becoming repetitive," Holyoake announced and sat up.

"Sorry, sorry! I'm so sorry!" Tina muttered and leaned down off the bed, grabbing his hand. "I don't know why I have this mental reaction. It's just–" She tugged at his arm, both her hands wrapped around his wrist. "Just some sort of an instinct." She tugged again. "I get scared, or surprised, and I just–"

"Push me on the floor?" he asked.

He wasn't moving, and she of course wouldn't be able to shift him. The man was massive!

"I'm sorry," she exclaimed again - and then saw that he was grinning. "Oh shut up," she muttered and let go of his hand. "Did I come to your sofa again?"