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– "It’s fine," – I snapped, placing the pot on a trivet to avoid burning the table. Grabbing a ladle, I tried not to look in his direction. Inside, everything was boiling – not from the stew, but from irritation. This damn Polish language, this familiarity, this "Polya"... I wanted, at the very least, to hurl the pot at his smug face.
– "Are you sure?" – he drawled, lazily rubbing his cheek. – "It’s just that you’re usually so…" – he paused as though searching for the right words. – "Calm. And today you’re like… on edge."
"Because I’m a bloody guy, and you’re kissing me, hugging me, and acting like we’re in some damn wedding 24/7!" I wanted to scream but held back, reminding myself of the cameras. Instead, I forced a strained smile that, honestly, looked more like a grimace.
– "I just… had a tough day," – I lied, serving the stew onto a plate. My voice sounded almost convincing, aside from the hint of irritation I couldn’t suppress. I placed the plate in front of him, noticing the curious look he gave me.
– "A tough day?" – he repeated, leaning over the table and sniffing the stew. – "Hmm. But you weren’t working today. Did something happen?"
– "Nothing," – I snapped, feeling his questions irritate me more and more. Sitting down across from him, I folded my hands on my lap, hoping to keep them from betraying my state.
Marek leaned his bulky face on his hand, resting his elbow on the table, and studied me. His gaze was too attentive, as if he were searching for something or waiting for me to slip.
My heart pounded wildly. I didn’t like how he looked at me, how his gaze seemed to pierce under my skin. I wanted to turn away but couldn’t. The damned situation had me trapped. My stomach growled pathetically, adding to the awkwardness.
– "Hungry, Polya?" – he asked suddenly, smirking and nodding toward the pot. – "Why are you sitting there like a mouse? Eat. You made it yourself."
He spoke calmly, but his tone made me shiver. Yeah, I made it. Following the instructions. For the first time in my life! And this might’ve been the first time I’d ever stood by a stove.
My eyes instinctively searched the table. The instructions… Where were they? They’d been right here. I remembered that clearly! But they were gone. In their place was only a faint trace of ash. "Self-destructed?!" The thought hit me so vividly I almost yelped. Those bastards had thought of everything.
Marek noticed my glance and leaned forward slightly:
– "Did you lose something?" – his voice carried a hint of suspicion.
– "N-no, nothing," – I stammered, trying to maintain a neutral expression. But my voice came out too sharp, too tense.
He continued to study me for a moment, then just snorted:
– "Alright, Polya. You’re acting strange today. Maybe we did have a tough day? But your cooking is always good. That’s what I love about you," – he suddenly smiled, almost warmly. – "You can be strange, you can grumble, but when it comes to cooking – no one’s better."
My lips pressed into a thin line. His words, which might’ve sounded like a compliment in another situation, now felt irritating and degrading. As if he wasn’t talking to me but to… some Apolonia. Like I didn’t exist anymore.
Silently, I picked up a spoon and started eating, more to occupy myself than out of hunger. The dish turned out… unexpectedly good. It was confusing. I knew I’d never cooked anything like this before, but it tasted surprisingly delicious. How did that happen? I tried not to dwell on it too much. Only one thought echoed in my mind: "Eat and get out of here."
Marek, chewing the stew leisurely, suddenly looked at me with a faint smile.
– "You know, Polya, I’ve been thinking… Maybe we should have kids after all?" – he said as if discussing something completely mundane. His voice was calm, but there was a hidden determination in it that made me shudder.
The spoon froze mid-air, stopping just short of my lips. I felt blood rush to my face as my heart skipped a beat.
– "W-what?" – I exhaled, the words catching in my throat. My voice sounded so startled I instantly regretted not reacting more neutrally. – "Kids? What kids?"
– "Why not?" – he continued, as if oblivious to my reaction. – "We’ve been married a year now, my job is stable. Sure, everything’s not perfect, but I think we can manage. You always wanted kids, right?"
He leaned closer, his deep gaze practically drilling into me. I tried to say something, but all I managed was a vague noise, something between a grunt and a mumble. My head felt like it would explode from the chaos of thoughts: "Kids?! Is he joking? I’m a bloody guy! And I’m not even… Damn! Just thinking about this makes me sick! How can this even… No, damn it, this can’t be real!"
– "Why are you so quiet?" – his eyebrows arched slightly, and the corners of his lips twitched in a warm smile. – "You always said you wanted at least two. A boy and a girl. You even picked names. Remember? Mateusz and Sophia."
– "I… I…" – I began, my voice trembling treacherously. Inside, I was boiling with outrage, but one fact screamed louder than anything: the cameras. If I caused a scene now, it would immediately go into the curators’ reports. And then the fine… 1.2 million dollars. I clammed up, avoiding his gaze.
Marek frowned, clearly not expecting this reaction. Setting his fork aside, he leaned forward on his elbows and looked at me intently.
– "Polya, what’s wrong?" – he asked gently, though confusion was evident in his tone. – "You always said kids were what you wanted most. We talked about this. Or have you changed your mind?"
Changed my mind? I never even started thinking about it! I screamed internally. I’m Mike O’Connor, for crying out loud, not this damned Apolonia! Kids?! What kids?! Panic began to swell within me. Outwardly, I tried to maintain a neutral expression, though my hands trembled slightly.