Interrupted

NESSA'S POV

I would have let out a laugh, but I was so taken aback at this point that I could not even bring myself to crack a smile. The three morons and their lackeys had left me alone in the kitchen with the ingredients they had piled on the counter, and for the first five minutes I simply stood there staring at everything in front of me, wondering if I should really allow myself to deal with this kind of treatment. The kitchen was large and well-equipped, with plenty of space to cook whatever I wanted, but that did not change the fact that they had just ordered me to cook for them like I was some kind of hired help instead of the trainer the coach had officially brought in. 

I kept looking at the food and asking myself whether it was worth staying and putting up with their attitude or if I should just walk out and find another way to survive. Unfortunately, the only other option waiting for me if I left this house was going back and agreeing to marry Gerald, and I would much rather have to clean floors for the rest of my life than marry a madman like him. The memory of how controlling he had been, how he had always needed to know where I was and who I was with, made my chest tighten. My parents had chosen him because his family had money and because they thought it would help them keep up appearances by marrying an even more powerful family, but they had never cared that I did not love him and never would. 

When I realized once again that I did not have that many options left, I made up my mind to indulge and endure these morons until I found a way to take control of the situation. I was not about to let a bunch of overgrown boys mess with me in the slightest. If they thought for one second that I could be bullied into leaving or into doing whatever they wanted just because they were bigger and louder, they were about to find out just how much crazier I could get compared to them.

I stared at the ingredients for a while longer and started to wonder what I could actually whip up with them in the time they had given me. There was a pack of boneless chicken breasts, a large head of broccoli, two red bell peppers and one yellow one, a couple of zucchini, a bag of fresh spinach, several cloves of garlic, one onion, a bottle of olive oil, a box of quinoa, a lemon, and some dried herbs like rosemary and thyme. Nothing with eggs, which was fine because I did not need them for what I had in mind. Thankfully, besides being a student in nutrition and dietetics, I had also spent my gap year before college in cooking school, so I was not useless in the kitchen. I knew how to work with simple ingredients and turn them into something healthy that would actually fill people up and taste decent. 

I decided on a chicken and vegetable stir-fry served over quinoa because it was something I could finish in under an hour if I moved quickly and did not waste time. I found myself an apron hanging on a hook near the stove, tied it around my waist so I would not ruin my clothes, and started to get to work. First I measured out the quinoa, rinsed it thoroughly under cold water until the water ran clear, and set it to cook in a pot with the right amount of water and a pinch of salt. While that simmered on the back burner, I washed all the vegetables in the sink, shaking off the extra water before I began chopping. I cut the broccoli into small, even florets so they would cook at the same speed, sliced the bell peppers into thin strips, and cut the zucchini into half-moons that were not too thick. I minced the garlic finely and chopped the onion into small pieces so they would blend into the dish instead of standing out. 

The whole time I worked, I kept one eye on the clock, knowing I had to stay on schedule if I wanted to finish before their hour was up. The whole kitchen smelled like garlic, lemon, and cooked chicken, and even though I was tired from the long day, I felt a small sense of satisfaction that I was actually doing something useful instead of standing and arguing with those idiots.

While I was still stirring the pan, my phone in my pocket started to ring. I reluctantly pulled it out, already knowing I did not want to deal with whoever it was, and saw that it was a call from my mother. The second I recognized the number, I hissed under my breath and ended the call without even letting it go to voicemail. I already knew what my mother was about to say to me. She would start by asking if I had come to my senses yet, then she would tell me I was being ungrateful and stubborn, that my father had only wanted what was best for me, and that Gerald was a good man from a good family who could give me the kind of life I was used to. 

She would remind me that I had no money, no apartment, and no real plan and that I should stop being childish and come home before I ruined everything. I had no interest in hearing any of it. The same conversation had already happened more times than I could count, and it always ended with me feeling smaller and more trapped than before. I was honestly considering blocking both my parents so they could not reach me at all, but unfortunately I did not have the courage to do that just yet. 

Cutting them off completely still felt too final, even after they had taken everything away from me. I shoved the phone back into my pocket and went back to the stove, forcing myself to focus on the food instead of the anger that always came when I thought about my family.

After about forty to forty-five minutes of being in the kitchen, I heard footsteps entering behind me. The sound was slow and unhurried, like whoever it was had all the time in the world, and when I looked up to see who it was, it turned out to be the rude blonde with the buzz cut. He stopped just inside the doorway and took his time looking at me. As soon as he saw me standing there stirring the pan and wearing the apron, he let out a chuckle that was low and clearly meant to mock me. 

Then he raised both hands in front of his face and made a gesture like he was taking a picture, holding them up as if he were snapping a photo of the whole scene. Seeing him smile at me, even though I knew it was a mocking smile and not a kind one, made my heart skip a few too many beats. The same strange pull I had felt earlier when I first saw him and the other two came back without warning, warm and heavy in my chest, and I hated that my body still reacted to him after the way he had spoken to me downstairs and just earlier in the kitchen. 

I kept my expression as blank as possible and forced myself to keep stirring so I would not have to look at him for too long. “What do you want?” I asked, keeping my voice even. “An hour is not up yet as far as I'm concerned, so you shouldn't be here yet.”

He simply shrugged in that casual way of his, like nothing I said could bother him or change his plans. “I am here to watch you work,” he said in a nonchalant tone that I didn't think I'd ever get used to. “I had a feeling I would like the sight of you working hard to follow our instructions, and seeing you right now in that apron and stirring the pan, I can see that I was not wrong.”