SEBASTIAN'S POV
“Sebastian, I don’t want this,” Ava said, scrunching her nose at the tray of soup I’d just brought her. She shoved it away like it offended her.
I sighed, already feeling my patience slipping. “What’s wrong with it now? You said you wanted soup.”
“This isn’t right,” she snapped, tossing her head back against the pillow. “It’s too salty. And the bread? It’s dry. Stale, probably. I can’t eat this.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to stay calm. “What do you want, Ava?”
She made a big show of thinking, tapping her chin and staring up at the ceiling. I knew she already had something in mind, she just loved making me jump through hoops as always. “A fruit parfait,” she said finally. “But it has to be fresh. Like, with real berries. Not the frozen kind.”
“Got it,” I muttered, already moving the tray away and bringing another flask closer.
Ava had always been particular and picky about everything, but her demands had only grown more exhausting since she’d been admitted to the hospital.
