Vessara stood in the kitchen doorway, staring. The room was larger than any kitchen she had ever seen—a central island. Marble countertops, built-in appliances hidden behind sleek cabinets, and soft lighting under shelves and counters. There was also a long, polished wooden table and chairs. The surface was covered with plates. Eggs. Bacon. Sausages. Fresh bread. A bowl of fruit. A jug of juice. A pot of coffee. Small dishes of butter and jam. A plate of pastries. Another plate with sliced cheese and meats.
She had never seen so much food prepared for a single person. When he said she was going to stay for three days, she hadn't given a feeding concern. Even though she did, Vessara assumed she would need to do the cooking and cleaning. That was how things worked in her life. All she has ever done is wake up, make food for the family, and clean the whole space. No one has ever really done those things for her.
