A Word of Praise

"Wait, you are an orphan?" Chris was stunned and didn't want to say something so harsh. But it came out anyway and he had to wait until she chewed on a piece of poultry for a whole minute of awkward silence. "People are not orphans after they turn 18, Chris."

"You didn't know your girlfriend's parents passed, Christopher?" His mother chastised, but Kiara spoke before he could.

"I didn't tell him. The subject never came up."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm glad we can host you during this period." Patricia's use of sweetheart was annoying Kiara, but he had to praise her for not letting it show. The only clue he had was the whitening of her knuckles from clenching her hand too tight.

Dinner was already close to the end, so Chris used their flight as an excuse for them to leave. When they reached the bedroom, Kiara stood in front of him as if she knew he had something to say. He did, but the words were failing to come out. A rare occasion, but it was her fault for dropping that bomb.

"Just say something already."

"You didn't tell me your parents were dead." He didn't know how to feel about it, her attitude always made it seem like the biggest problem in her life was the existence of rich people. Not even jail threw her off.

"Well, I didn't know your parents hated your dog. Now can I take a shower?"

"What the fuck Kiara! Why are you like that?"

"Maybe because my parents are dead." Her voice was but a crooked whisper.

"Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Jesus Chris, you are too easy to play with." She laughed, drying fake tears from the corner of her eyes, and pointing to his concerned expression. It soon turned into a grimace and with a quick move she grabbed a few clothes from her bag and locked up in the bathroom.

Chris began to pace around the room, trying to concoct a retort to her little stunt. It was pathetic how he found himself mad at her so many times in such a short period. To make things worse, she took her sweet time in the shower. By the time she left, his anger had receded to a mild annoyance, making it impossible to carry the speech he had prepared.

He opted instead to shoot her a murdering glare and stride into the bathroom. His shower was short, and he hoped to convey a message on adequate water usage. But by the time he got out, there was a huge pile of pillows dividing the bed and a laying figure on one side.

He approached her to confirm she was sleeping and almost instigated Batman to bark just for the fun of waking her up. But then he noticed her face was contorted in an uneasy expression. It didn't seem like she was crying, her eyes weren't puffy or anything. But she looked sad.

He laid on the other side of the pillow fort and turned off the lights, thinking about the aggravating day they had. She would be on the next flight home if it were up to him, but for his career's sake, he would have to endure another four days. Chris woke up to a staring figure hovering over him. Instinctively, he darted his elbow up barely missing her eye but striking the side of her cheek instead.

"What the fuck, Chris!" Kiara's hands were up to her face, covering the part he hit with a pained look.

"What the hell? You were lurking over me!"

"Shit, sorry I just wanted to see if you were up" So she knew how to apologize. Now, that was a surprise. Her hand was still hiding her left side, so he got closer to check on it.

Just a heads up: FindNovel.net is the only place to read the complete version of this book for free. Don't miss out on the next chapter-visit us now and continue your journey!

"Is it bad?"

"Not really, far from the worse face hit I've taken." She laughed, but he got worried. Now she had dead parents and was hit in the face? He could feel the disgusting idea of domestic violence crawling under his skin and it must have shown in his face.

"No, nothing like that! The lyra is actually my assaulter" He was back at simply confused. "Lyra?"

"Oh, sorry. The aerial hoops? You know, that circus instrument that looks like a metal hula hoop and spins?"

"I have no fucking idea what you are talking about." He didn't, but the enthusiasm in her eyes when she spoke about the whole thing was fascinating. It probably meant she was telling the truth, so he relaxed a bit. He leaned against the headboard and she grabbed a pillow from the barrier to put on her lap while sitting cross-legged.

"Damn Chris, if I knew you were so distant from the performing arts I wouldn't have slept in your bed."

"What does that have to do with anything? And why did you agree to sleep here?"

He didn't fail to notice they were talking in bed without the usual back-and-forth of sarcastic comments. It was their least aggravating conversation so far, and it felt different. Nice.

"Well, I'm used to sharing bedrooms and even beds with other artists. Sleeping is not a sexual act; I don't know why people make it out to be. I wouldn't even put the pillows if I were sure you weren't a night kicker."

She had a playful smile on her lips that was familiar by now, but for the first time, she wasn't using it to annoy him. More like laughing together if that was possible.

"Are you telling me you artists are not promiscuous degenerates and actually sleep when put in the same room?" He joked around the common stereotype and heard her laughing legitimately for once, not sarcastically like he was used to. "Well, it's not a convent either. We are allowed a little bit of fun too, don't you think?" She wiggled her brows and Chris began to worry their laugh would be heard wake the house up.

"That is a story you better not share with the guests today." He teased, almost expecting the pillow that was thrown in his face.

"You didn't tell me the schedule for the holiday. What's the plan?"

"Right. Thanksgiving lunch is today, I think we'll have around ten or fifteen people tops. Just the closest business associates. Then at night is the big party, but I have no idea how many people are coming. Tomorrow begins the actual fun, my parents will leave early, and I'll have a few friends coming over."

"Wait, what about family?" Chris knew the question might come; he was aware the Wrights didn't have a typical family holiday.

"It's just the three of us, Edgar, Patricia, and me. And you, of course. You'll be in the spotlight, that's for sure"

He noticed how her expression darkened a bit with his statement and realized it was not the first time it happened. At the restaurant, she was also uncomfortable by the public stare, which was odd considering her job. If they were friends, he would ask, but he knew better than to think a lighthearted morning chat changed the status of their business arrangement.