Chapter 5: Honeymoon phase

-SIENNA-

The weekend passed in a blur. I haven't talked much to Matt since I explained that the only shower in the apartment was inside my in-suite bathroom. He'd need to go into my bedroom to take a shower. For other stuff, he could use the two-piece bathroom. I spent most of Saturday catching up on work I missed on Friday because of the wedding. On Sunday morning, when I was leaving the apartment for my yoga class in the park, Mark entered the apartment. He went out for a run. We had a brief conversation. I offered him breakfast. He refused again (he hadn't eaten a single thing that I offered him) and asked if he could shower.

"Of course. This is your home too, you know?" I answered, avoiding looking at his t-shirt plastered on his broad chest. The guy is all sweaty, and instead of disgusting me, I find him incredibly hot. "I'm heading out for my yoga class, but I'll be back later. Do you want to grab lunch then?"

"No, thanks. You don't have to tell me what you're going to do. And about lunch, no, thanks. I'm not going to stay home all day. I have a thing"

A thing? Are we in high school now? Is this a code for a date? "Right, bye". I don't waste any more time with Mr. Grumpy. If he wants to get the award for the worst fake husband, that is his problem. I'll go to my class and elevate my spirits.

That is the thing that I love about yoga. Even if I am feeling too lazy to get out of bed, I know that the practice will improve my mood. I started because of my back problems. Growing up tall was not an easy task. The cute girls were always the little ones, the petite, like Harper. I was never one of them, and I was always trying to sink into the ground. It didn't happen, but hunching my shoulders made my posture horrible and gave me back pain afterward. Yoga has helped me a lot, and I don't care if people say it's just because it's trendy. I'm happy, I have better posture and no back pain. Haters are going to hate, and I'm in my warrior pose.

Much later, I was starting to eat the Spanish tortilla I had made for dinner when Matt came back into the apartment. Since college, I have consistently tried to cook at home. Back when we were living together, the four of us, Nina was the one who cooked the most. She is Italian, and her food tastes amazing. I learned from her how to make good pasta, but other than that, the food that I make tastes horrible. This Spanish tortilla is no exception. The potatoes are raw, and the eggs are spongy.

I lifted my eyes to Matt as I was about to lift my fork. "Want some?" He’s going to decline anyway. I don't know why I bothered. I take a bite and wince. It tastes worse than it looks.

"No, thanks. I've already eaten." Surprise, surprise. He comes closer to the kitchen island and takes a seat. "Why the face? Don't you like tortillas?

"No, I love them. Not the ones that I make, though. I don't seem to get it right."

He surprises me when he picks up a fork and takes a bite. "It´s not bad. You just put in too many potatoes and too few eggs. You need to cut the potatoes thinner, adjust the proportions, and you'll be fine".

"You cook?" Between him eating something from my plate and giving me cooking advice, I was speechless.

"A little. My parents like to cook all the time. They met in France at a cooking school. My father is Canadian, my mother is French. They fell in love and got married. I was born four months later. After a while, they decided to move back to Canada. They discovered how much work it takes to be a chef and quit cooking school. They didn't like serving people, they just liked the cooking part. My dad is a lawyer now, and my mom is a speech therapist. They still cook together most of the time, though, and I grew up eating home-made meals."

"That must’ve been nice". I can't help feeling jealous of him. It was mostly my mom and me, and cheap take-outs or frozen food.

"Yes, it was." He looked down for a while and caught my eye again. "Anyway, I have something for you". He stands up and fishes something out of his front pocket. "Here. I bought this for you today."

He gave me a small ring box. I opened it and I found a golden ring. It consisted of two tall, narrow gold rings with a lower center ring filled with diamonds. It was elegant without being over the top. Exactly what I would choose if I were to buy it.

"It's beautiful. Is it a wedding band?" I smiled softly. "I wasn't expecting you to give me one. After all, you said that you wanted to keep our marriage a secret".

"I want to keep it a secret from the media. The last thing that we need is to bring attention to ourselves, right? He has a good point. "Look, I bought one for myself too." He shows me his hand with a ring similar to the one that he gave me, but without the diamonds. He takes the band from his hand and gives it to me.

He let me examine both rings for a while and attempted to take them back from my hand, but I refused. "Wait, let's do this properly."

Matt looked confused for a moment, but quickly understood because I made a move to take his hand and place his band on his finger. He has big, calloused hands. My hands were not small, but next to his, they looked delicate. He then took my hand and slid the band onto my finger. He looked softly at my hand for a moment and then his eyes met mine. Time seems to pause, and there is something special in the air. Sacred even. His strong hands still held mine, and it felt like warmth was spreading from inside my body. I smiled tenderly, and it seemed to wake him from his trance.

Abruptly letting go of my hand, he said, "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I have an early workout tomorrow, and I'm going to bed now. Good night."

He turned to his bedroom, and I was left alone with my spongy tortilla, wondering what the hell happened.