About Last Night

A short time later, the door to the kitchen swung open. The chef appeared with a large serving cart carrying more silver trays. He spent several minutes laying the spread of food and drinks in front of us before excusing himself back to the kitchen.

Mr. Weston was right. I did need my energy today and right now, I was beyond starving. I hadn't eaten anything since my lunch on the plane the day before. I was absolutely famished and the food looked far too tempting.

But, again, the fear of “etiquette” came to mind. Were there rules for this kind of thing? Should I wait until Mr. Weston started eating? Was there an “appropriate amount” of food to take? Was there a system for the silverware? The questions were swimming around in my head, but my body betrayed me. A loud growl echoed from my stomach. Mr. Weston looked at me with a mixture of shock and horror.

"My god, Ms. Walton! Don't starve yourself on my account!” He said, pushing a plate towards me. “Eat."

"Sorry, Sir," I mumbled, embarrassed.

"And, please, don't apologize for something so ridiculous." He reached out and gently patted my hand. "I know I've already said this, but I do want you to feel at home here. Please, don't worry about any manners, or formalities, or any other act you feel you need to put on. Just be yourself. I'm sure I'd like the honest version of you much more than a ‘proper’ one anyway."

I nodded slightly and began helping myself to the food. It was delicious. Although I was still careful about my manners while eating, I followed Mr. Weston's advice and tried not to think too much about having a second serving. It was hard not to feel self-conscious though. 

Nearly every time I looked up, Mr. Weston was watching me. Only the occasional throat-clearing from Thomas seemed to remind him not to stare. As we finished, the chef came back and cleared the table before disappearing again.

"Well, Sir," Thomas said, wiping his mouth, "what would you like to do now? You seem to be yourself today. Does anything interest you?"

Mr. Weston’s eyes quickly flashed to me. He smiled and stared for a moment.

"Sir?" Thomas repeated.

He turned towards Thomas. "Actually, seeing as I'm having a good day, and Ms. Walton is my new caretaker, I was thinking you could have the day off. It would give the two of us a chance to get to know each other better."

My heart sank. Being alone with him now was the last thing I wanted. How could I possibly act normal around him? I was hoping Thomas would insist on staying, make an excuse about training me, but he merely nodded and stood to leave.

"If either of you should need me there is an intercom system in every bedroom, Ms. Walton. I leave Mr. Weston in your hands," he said, giving a brief bow.

With that, he left. We were alone. We sat in silence for a while. I glued my eyes to the table, not daring to look at him. Maybe if I kept my head down I could get through today without any more problems.

"Anna?" He said gently.

The sound of my first name made me blush deeply. How many times had he called it last night? Over and over again. Anna. Anna. It brought back all the shame and humiliation. But worse, it also brought back the heat between my legs.

"Anna," he said again, "do you dislike me?"

I looked up, surprised. Had I really given him that impression?

He gave a weak smile. "Well, based on how shocked you look, I’m guessing that’s not it. Is there another reason you're so distant towards me, then?"

I felt a lump in my throat. Should I tell him? If not then what excuse should I make? The last thing I wanted was to hurt him or give him the wrong impression, but what could I say?

"Is it because of last night?" He asked quietly.

Panic swept through me again. So he did know! What did that mean? Was he going to explain himself? Would he be upset I didn’t stop him? He sighed and looked down at the table.

"If it was a problem, I really wish you would have told me,” he mumbled. “I don't like upsetting you."

Tell him? How could I? He was fast asleep. Even if I had woken him up, what could I have said? The situation was embarrassing enough without us talking about it. I swallowed the lump in my throat and thought of my words carefully.

"Well, it's not as if it would be an easy thing to say to you, Mr. Weston. I'm not even sure how I would have explained it to you."

"I can be very dense at times, Ms. Walton. So, please, be as blunt as you need to make me understand.” He let out a frustrated sigh and ran his hand through his hair. "I’m sorry. I knew I should have just left things alone. I knew asking you to wear that was too much, I did, but... I couldn't help myself."

I sat there for a moment, not quite understanding him. Wear “that”? Wear what?

"I'm sorry, Sir?" I asked.

"I noticed it when Thomas was unpacking your things. I knew it was a more… personal item. One you probably had no intention of me ever seeing, but after seeing it I just couldn't think of anything else,” he explained, exasperated. “I had to see you wearing it or I thought I wouldn't have a moment’s rest all night. "

Wait, was he talking about my lingerie? Relief filled the place of panic. So he didn't know about last night. He thought I was upset over the lingerie. I couldn't help letting out a small giggle. He turned to me in surprise.

"While I'm glad to see you laughing, what's so funny?" He asked.

"Mr. Weston, you have it all wrong. I was never upset over the lingerie. It was an... uncomfortable request, but nothing to worry over," I said, giving a reassuring smile.

He sighed with relief. A smile spread across his face. His smile vanished as quickly as it came though. Confusion took its place.

"Wait. If that wasn't the issue, then what made you so upset, Ms. Walton?" 

I froze. I was so thrown off by his worries about my lingerie that I didn't even realize it would have been the perfect excuse to explain my discomfort. Had I simply said “yes” he would have apologized and we could have moved on from there. Now what could I say?

"Ms. Walton?" He prompted.

What to say? What to do? How could I explain letting the situation get so out of hand? How could I explain my reason for not saying anything?

"Anna?" He said nervously.

"You talk in your sleep, Sir!" I blurted out.

He looked at me with confusion. "Do I?"

"Yes, Sir," I said, searching for more of an explanation. "You... kept calling my name last night, a-and you held me to you tightly for quite a long time. I suppose I was just concerned with the dreams you might have been having. I'm sorry if I misinterpreted the situation."

His face went from confusion, to understanding, to shock, and finally settled on mortification.

"I-I..."

He couldn't even get the words out. He turned bright red and refused to look at me. I felt bad for making him feel this way, but nothing I said was untrue. If anything, I was saving him from more humiliation by not saying the full truth.

We sat in silence again for a long time before he regained his composure. Finally, he took a deep breath and let out a long sigh.

"Ms. Walton, I am so very sorry,” he said, still refusing to look at me. “I have no idea what came over me. I'm sure you understand that we have no control of what our brains dream up, but that still doesn’t excuse the actions of my body. No wonder you’ve been so distant today. I dare say I would be too in your situation. I’m so sorry I put you in such an uncomfortable position. If there is anything I can do to make this up to you, please, tell me.”

Although I knew I should just be happy that I had gotten out of that embarrassing mess without too much damage to my character, I couldn’t help the question that popped into my head. I shook it off immediately. No way. I was already pushing my luck as it was. The last thing I needed was for us to linger on this problem for any longer.

"No, Sir. It's alright, really," I insisted.

"Please, there must be something. I can see there is. Please, tell me,” he begged. “Is it money? I'll give as much as you like. Think of it as a bonus for putting up with my inappropriate behavior."

"No, Sir,” I said, waving off his offer. “You pay me more than enough. It's not that."

"Anna, please." His voice was desperate. "I won't be able to face you, or myself, if I don't make this right."

I felt the heat move from my cheeks and slowly creep between my legs. There were a million things I could have asked for. A million things I could have said to satisfy him. A million chances to choose literally anything other than the one thing I knew for a fact was a bad idea.  But there was really only one thing I wanted at that moment.

"You're sure it's alright, Sir?" I asked cautiously.

Relief came across his face. "Yes, anything. Just name it."

I mustered up my courage and met his eyes. "Well... the only thing I really want is to know what your dream was, Sir.”

His face went from relief to embarrassment. Yet again, he turned bright red and looked away from me. He stayed silent a few moments before speaking.

"Is that really the only thing you want?" He mumbled.

"Yes, Sir.” I nodded. “All I can think about is what you could have possibly been dreaming about to make you do those things, and I don't think my mind will have a moment's peace until I know."

His face looked beyond humiliated. I felt guilty asking him, but I meant what I said. All I’d been thinking about since last night was what could have possibly made him do those things. What in his dreams made him touch me so passionately? What made him call out my name with such lust? He stared at the table for a long time before sighing and nodding his head slowly.

"Alright," he said, standing suddenly. “Come with me.”