I Am Not A Prostitute

Liam’s POV:

It was around 8am, and I was busy making frittata for the lady in my bedroom. I couldn’t take her home because she refused to tell me her home password, and I also couldn’t leave her in a hotel. And I couldn’t catch a wink all night; I watched her press her face tight on the pillow and sob. She wasn’t just drunk talking… She really cried all night.

A call came in from Mother; I sighed and picked it up.

“Liam, will you come over for breakfast?” Mother asked without asking how I was, and I could tell she was upset because I shoved Jasmine away.

“No”

“Okay,” she replied, and I expected her to hang up, but she didn’t. The line was silent for a while before she smacked her lips. “What’s happening, Liam?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were gone for seventeen years, and you have been back for almost a month but still didn’t stop by to greet your old man.”

I sighed heavily and placed the phone on speaker mode before I proceeded to slice some fruit.

“You only came to see me once, so tell me, what’s going on?”

“I am busy, Mother.”

“The case you were dealing with is over, so I expected you to come over today. I even invited Jasmine,” she retorted, and another call came through.

Checked, and it was Julian, and I also didn’t want to have this conversation with Mother. “I will call you back, Mother.”

“No, we both know you won’t…” I hung up, and the call with Julian got connected.

“What the fuck, man? How could you send me 10,000?”

Why was everyone scolding this morning? “Tell me one reason I am supposed to send more.”

I decorated the fruit on a plate. “Because I got you that chick last night,” he spouted, and I thought for a while.

Hmm, yeah, that’s right.

Picked up my phone and sent him 10,000. “Hit me up whenever you want her, bro; I will invite her over,” he said excitedly, and I scoffed.

“This money is so you never bother her,” I explained and ended the call. He made it seem like I couldn’t get a woman if I wanted to.

Heard some footsteps from behind and turned to find Aria; she stood there dressed in my shirt, her hair all messy as she gripped it. “Where am I?”

I pulled the kitchen drawer and took out the hangover pills, shoving them to her with a glass and saying, “Drink this.”

Aria swallowed the pills before scanning her body, and her eyes widened in shock. “What…what am I wearing?”

“A shirt”

“I know… But why am I wearing a shirt? And this isn’t my home,” she kept saying to herself. I shoved the tray at her, and she frowned.

“What’s this?”

“Breakfast, eat and freshen up.”

“You are not answering my questions, Liam.” She smacked her lips and scanned the place. “Where are my clothes?”

I pointed at the door down the hallway; she dashed off and stopped on her path, staring at me with a suspicious look before she got into the room.

After ten minutes she walked out, dressed in her black gown, and her hair was now straightened.

“I…I, umm, remember vomiting.” She fiddled with the hem of her gown, and her gaze was on the floor.

“I…I am sorry for the trouble,” she added and turned to walk to the door when I grabbed her hand and pulled her back.

“Have breakfast, and you can go.”

“I already caused you much trouble.”

“And you will pay for it,” I said, and her gaze shot to me. I raised a questioning brow. “What? Don’t you want to pay me for letting you sleep on my bed?”

Aria cleared her throat. “You could have just let me sleep in my car.”

“And won’t that make me look like a jerk?”

“You are already a jerk,” she muttered under her breath, but I heard her clearly, so I was a jerk to her?

“Eat breakfast, and you can leave Burgundy.”

She contemplated for a while before pulling the kitchen stool and sitting down; she stared at the food for a while before digging in, and she ate so carefully… afraid to spill anything.

Why does she have to be so reserved even when eating?

I poured a glass of juice and shoved it at her. “Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me if you don’t want to,” I sneered and walked to the couch; my house wasn’t that big. I had a mini kitchen connected to the sitting room.

I picked a book and kept reading when I noticed Aria’s gaze on me. “What’s wrong, Burgundy?”

“You still haven’t unpacked your stuff.” She said, pointing at the boxes piled up at the side, “I could help; that could be my payment.”

I chuckled. “No need; I don’t plan to stay here for long.”

“Oh… Are you moving to another house?” 

I shook my head in denial. “I don’t plan to stay in America for long,” I added. I only came here for Salmon’s case and thought of storing my stuff here so I could come back home whenever I wanted.

But I still had a lot of things to take care of in Italy, so it was time to leave.

“Oh,” Aria muttered and returned her attention to her food.

I noticed she took the plate to the sink to clean it up, and I diverted my gaze back to my book, thinking she would leave immediately, but she walked to the couch and sat opposite me.

“So…uhm, when are you leaving?” Her gaze was still on the floor, and I wondered why she found it normal to keep staring at the floor while having a normal conversation with someone.

“Tomorrow,” I answered, and she stared at me in disbelief. I slightly closed my book and studied her expressions. She looked a little sad, and it was something I didn’t expect; I didn’t expect her to be sad that I am leaving.

“So that’s it?” She questioned, and I raised a brow. “I am not a prostitute, you know,” she added, and I frowned. When did I ever refer to her as one?

“Safe journey, Liam.” She stood up and picked up her bag before dashing out of my house.

I heard her car drive out and smacked my lips. Why was she so angry when she left? When did I ever refer to her as a prostitute?