The Man hunt

Ama's POV

"Oh, common now," Pierre yells in frustration. "I told you before? I'm not ready for any commitment now. I'm not in the right state to. I don't know where you're dragging this matter, but it will be better if you don't start a fight with me. I'm comfortable being alone. For all I care, I want to stay focused on my dreams, okay?"

"I don't want to leave the kind of life you and your wife are living now. Can you allow me to choose a part for myself for once? I'm not an apparatus to your selfish benefit." He hung up, and he clenched the phone in anger.

"Pierre...?" I called, standing at the front of my bedroom door, still in my yellow robe. He looks frustrated at me, but his eyes lessen from the worries.

"Sorry for the disturbance, Ama," He walks closer to me with a generated smile on his cheek. His dark eyes, a few seconds again was then brightened. "You can go back inside and rest a little more," He reassured.

He turns to walk away. "Pierre!" I called, making him halt; with a quick start, he turned to look at me.

"Hmmm?" He hummed.

"Are you okay?" I asked, worried.

"Yes, I'm okay," He said. "You can go back to sleep. It's morning now, but it's too early for you. It's just five o'clock, and you still have to relax; I'll take a quick bath and prepare your favorite rib sauce beef. And also, we'll be leaving today; today is our last day here in Madrid, so I'll make the food taste super delicious!"

"Oh...okay!" I sadly replied, watching him walk back into his room.

I slowly get back inside my room and close the door slightly. I felt my hard sting. I rest faintly on the door as I slowly glide down with my back with my palm to my face.

'Why was he shouting on the phone? Who called him? Is it his father? Or his mother? I've been staying with them for over five to six years now, and I don't intend to add to his already created problems. I don't even dare to confess my feeling to Pierre.

I wonder what his late brother was like, and he must be a lovely person from the looks of things. I don't have to remind him anything about his brother at all, he has so much on his plate already, but I'm scared that Pierre might get married to someone else. I felt my heart ravaged by the thought of it.

I got up slightly from the floor and went straight to the bed, and lay on it. I should absorb everything. With a woman like that, every man we are drooling to have a taste of her. I didn't know when tears found their way down my cheeks.

In less than minutes, I dozed off in my tears. Who am I to cry over my savior? Silly me.

—

Two hours later, I lazily opened my eyes to embrace the ray of sunlight that was peeping through the white hotel curtain of my room. I stretched out my legs and arm, tiredly. I slowly stood up on my feet from the nerve rocking aroma that erupted through my door.

'I think he's cooking. He said something about cooking some hours ago.' I thought.

Still, on my yellow robe, I tiredly strolled out and walked straight into the bathroom. I screamed at my reflection in the mirror; my eyes were so swollen I cried myself to sleep. What if he saw my eyes like this? What am I going to tell him caused it?

That 'Pierre, you broke my heart, and I cried for you will night, I can't seem to bear seeing you with a layer that is twenty times hotter than me?' I thought I laughed at the thought of it.

'Foolish girl!' My subconscious cusses at me.

I washed my face with warm water and decided to brush my teeth, but his brush was resting gorgeously closer to mine, and the thought of it slowly melted my heart. I wish we could be like our toothbrushes, with no one to judge at them, just the both of them here, enjoying each other's touch. Is This Love?

I shook the thought out of my head because I thought I was going insane over a man. What Love can cause in a human's heart is like a disastrous consequence that can never be healed.

Should I be angry at him? Or ignore him? I surely can't do that; I can't take it, not even in a million years. I can't hurt my Pierre. I've to act normal at all costs.

Stepping out from the bathroom, I put on a fake, wry smile, walking into the fancy kitchen. "Hello, Good morning chef Pierre! What's cooking?" I asked.

He looks up at me. The sign of shock was evident on his face. "What happened to you?" He asked. "Did you cry?"

"Oh, Nnoooooooooo, why will I cry? I'd merely say it's because I slept late; that's why I woke up with swollen eyes."

"And what kept you up at night?" He asked, chopping the veggies.

"Erm, I was...Erm, I was actually—"

"Chatting with your crush? The guy you told me about?"

What a fool, Pierre; I told you about the guy I had a crush on, but you didn't know that you were that man, and you're still that man, Pierre.

"Him, Nahhhh," I threw my hand lazily in the air. "Nah, not him; we don't chat much, though." I grinned, a kind that didn't touch my eyes.

"And can I at least know we kept you up all night?" He drops the knife, facing me, his moonlike gray eyes so sharp and intense. I twitched down my cookies.

Pierre owns everything, my heart, my thought; I can't stop fantasizing about him at all. Why is he so severe in knowing who kept me up all night?

Goodness. He did; he was the one; the thought about the picture of his woman came flushing back, freshly in my head. I shook it off immediately. What should I reply to him know? I don't know how to lie because somehow, Pierre always seems to catch me on the verge of lying; without thinking much, I voiced out.

"Hugo. Yes, Hugo, he kept me up all night," I voiced out.

The flame in his eyes was evident in his eyes. A sting of anger peeps through his long lashes. "Leroy?" He fumes.

"Ye...Yeah!" I stuttered.

"Hugo Leroy?" He asked again.

"Yes!" I replied for the second time.

He grid his teeth angrily, picking up the knife as he stabs the veggies. "And what were you both talking about so late at night?"

I didn't even think of that, of the fact that he might ask me what our conversation was. I'm such doom. What if he calls Hugo and tells him everything about me, asking him if he had a girlfriend.

"Erm, nothing much, but I guess that's supposed to be my problem and not yours." I smiled at him innocently. "Can you continue with your cooking? Here is the salt; I'm starving!" I said.

He isn't joking, he's madly angry, and the Pierre I knew won't just let it slide, he will surely want to get to the bottom of this, and I'm sure he'll do that right after our meal.

He smiles greasily at me. "Okay!"

Two seconds passed, and it was silent in the kitchen, apart from the sound of plated and knife slapping the chopping board. I wouldn't say I like this silence; it's giving me the creep. I've to say something to kill this silence.

I cleared my Throat. "Pierre..." I called.

"Yes!" He replied without looking up at me. He was so focused on chopping the rest of the veggies.

"Erm...when you were in America, have you ever cooked for anyone?"

"Yes!" He replied swiftly on.

The thought of that American lady came flushing back at me.

"During my stay in America, a lot of my company interns come to my house during weekends, both male and female, so I cook for everyone,"

Cold modafoka. How cruel. Must he emphasize the genders? Because he cooks now he thinks he's the boss; I've to teach him how to cook our traditional dish.

I looked up at him. " So, how many girls have you caught with your cuisine capabilities?"

"It was so tiring cooking free meals for those creepy interns. They even turned it into a habit, and it was all Hugo's fault; he always invited them whenever he was coming over on weekends."

It's evidence enough that he's purposely skipping my questions—childish man.

"You are attractive; many ladies will be dying to talk to you or to gain your attention. Don't you know?" I fake a smile.

He frowns. "And how will I know that?"

I rolled my eyes at him. "Why are you so prude? You don't even realize it when someone gets a kick out of you!"

Immediately, his eyes turned into dark gray, his friend tightened. "And what do I care if they find me attractive or like me? It has nothing to do with me,"

Suddenly, I wish for the ground to open and swallow me upright in this instance. I felt stupid; even if I tried, it was still up to no use.

"Go freshen up; food is ready; I'll prepare the table waiting for you. So, hurry up," He said and walked away, removing the brown apron from his body.

Douchbag! My subconscious cusses.