“You were already eating?” Ansgar asked as he followed into the kitchen and sniffed around, his eyes finding the pizza that was still hot enough to expel a little steam.
“It's just a frozen pizza, I can reheat it later,” I said as I opened a drawer to find aluminium foil to cover the plate and save it for dinner. I did not want to waste food, but I couldn’t refuse a reason to spend more time with this man either. As I ripped in the foil, stretching it enough to cover the plate, I noticed that his sight lingered on the countertop, a lustful expression accompanying a barely perceptible bite of his lips.
“Would you like some?” I asked, discovering how the plate had his full attention.
He nodded, possibly an involuntary gesture, then immediately added. “No, thank you. I shouldn’t.”
“Are you worried about the calories?” I chuckled. “Through a happy coincidence, it’s a mushroom pizza, so not as many.”
“No...thank you,” he confirmed, eyes still lost on the plate.
“Do you have dietary restrictions?” From my experience, guys were all over carbs, it helped them build muscle. Erik always had about three servings of pasta with every meal. I did not know what kind of carbs, only that everyone I ever met at the university gym was ‘bulking up’ and all the boys ate every few hours. Judging by Ansgar’s physique, he must need at least three or four thousand calories a day, especially if he was working out to maintain that fully toned body of his, so a pizza shouldn’t present any inconvenience for a man of his stature.
“I don’t know if I would like it,” he continued, staring at the plate as if the pizza would grow legs and start running around the kitchen.
“What kind of pizza do you enjoy? This is just sauce, cheese and some kind of mushroom, I didn’t add any dips to it.”
He remained silent, his gaze shifting to face me and I stared at him, expecting an answer. He looked tense, shoulders raised in discomfort. At last, he confessed, “I never had a pizza before,” and frowned a little when my mouth dropped to the floor.
“How is that possible?” I exclaimed in disbelief.
“My family prefers more natural food,” he clarified quickly, though it didn’t seem like a subject he wanted to get into.
“Oh, gluten free, no preserves and all that?” I remarked while opening another drawer to find the pizza cutter.
“Sure…” I heard him say while slicing the delicious plate in eight fairly even portions.
“I promise, you are going to be having the time of your life with this,” I announced and placed the plate on the kitchen table, close to where Ansgar leaned against one of the cupboards.
At first, he looked at it wearily as if considering his choice but the smell must have overpowered his indecision because he stood straight and his hand reached a slice, holding it and gently moved it towards his mouth. He sniffed it a few times and looked back at me for confirmation, then took the world’s tiniest bite, chewing only with his front teeth.
One moment he was his normal self, as far as I knew from our little time spent together, and the next his eyes were wide, scanning the food with rapid movements to help his brain process the taste. Then he took another bite, this time, his mouth opening fully as he got as much of the slice in as possible and chewed eagerly.
“Good, huh?” I said with satisfaction while Ansgar smiled at me widely, proud of this new achievement. Letting him enjoy a second slice, I went to the fridge and brought more sauces. If I was the one to make him lose his pizza-virginity, I might as well do it right. It turned out that we had the same preference, first garlic dip, then barbeque, with ketchup and mayo on the third and fourth place, not as relevant in the life of a pizza. I also wanted a slice, so I poured on a generous amount of dip and shoved it into my mouth.
“That is delicious,” he smiled at me widely. “Thank you. I will look into getting some for myself.”
“You can take anything you wish from my fridge, I get a delivery every week so I am always fully stocked,” I offered as curiosity about his living arrangements popped into my head. How was this man getting his food? How did he find the house where I first woke up? Was he sneaking around town and popping back in past the guards every time he felt like it?
“Now it’s my turn,” he announced and grabbed the mushroom basket he had brought, walking towards the sink and opening the tap to wash them. He asked for a bowl, a knife and a cutting board, which I provided wordlessly, then started to take each mushroom out of the basket and wash it, placing it in the big wooden bowl I had set by the side of the sink.
“Tell me more about yourself?” I tried to push the question directly but casually, making it sound like it just popped into my head and wanted to make small talk while I searched through the spice cabinet without even knowing what we needed. I figured salt and pepper at least, so I tried to appear busy searching for them.
“What do you wish to know?” he asked with the same casual tone, turning from his task at the kitchen sink. The way he towered over the sink, how his sleeves were raised on his massive forearms and his stance made him look like a diamond in a pile of coal. He had such a commanding presence, as though he was born to be regal, every single movement he made elegant, spreading drops of flair all around him.
Anything, everything,I thought but said, “When did you come here? How? Where are you from? What is your full name? Why are you studying the plants here? Where do you work and live when you are not foraging for mushrooms? You know, just the general things.”
He turned his head in my direction, then raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Are those general things or an interrogation?” he glared, his eyes scanning mine inquisitively.
I blushed, yet pushed. “Excuse me for wanting to make sure you are not a serial killer,” I defended myself.
“Especially since we already ruled out that I am not a rapist,” he added, not taking his eyes off me. Heat exploded in my cheeks and could not take it any longer, so I turned back to the spice cabinet, trying to hide as much of my face behind the door.
“I come from further away, I was not born in this country,” I heard him speak and managed to escape a quick look to see that he had returned to his task washing the mushrooms in the sink. “I have two older brothers, Damaris and Vikram, the first one is married to a...doctor. My mother and father have important administrative duties over a lot of...beings.”
It was evident that he measured his words, sometimes stopping to find the most appropriate ones. I did not dare interrupt him, not when he was opening up to me. I assumed he was translating in his head from whatever his native language was, even though most of the time he spoke perfect English. I knew better than to ask about his nationality, judging by his tanned skin he was not Swedish. So I continued to bang jars and glass containers, trying to look busy and listening to whatever information he offered. A lot more than I ever told him about myself.
“Both my brothers are soldiers, but I love plants. I have studied them since childhood and I am very good at it. So here I am, at my twenty-seven years of age, in a place far away from the world, peeling mushrooms for a stranger living in the house of a queen.”
