The Price of Inertia (The Seven Sins #4) - Lily Zante Page 0,16
I used my initiative.
The fruit bowl is full and I cut up some fruit for him. Just as I finish arranging the blueberries in a bowl along with the strawberries and a small pot of yoghurt, I hear footsteps. I look up as he walks in. For a moment there is a flicker of surprise on his face, as if he’s forgotten all about me. He’s wearing that ridiculous dressing gown again. Satin, gray, and with socks.
It’s such an old-man’s look. “I’ve prepared some fruit.” I remind myself to speak in short sentences.
He blinks.
“I didn’t know what you wanted for breakfast.”
“Not that.” He throws an irritated glance at the bowl of fruit.
“You didn’t tell me what you want.”
“Coffee,” he growls, walking over to the coffee machin. “Make sure this is ready every morning.”
“If you had told me, I would—”
“I’m telling you now.”
I bite my tongue. “What do you want?” I ask, forcing myself to count slowly to ten, before I say or do something crazy. “For breakfast, and lunch, and dinner?”
“Just coffee.” He fills his cup up and disappears.
“That’s not helpful,” I hiss under my breath.
Chapter 7
WARD
“How about we do a few reps?” The trainer guy suggests. “Ten push ups first, then ten burpies, followed by a minute of mountain climbers? Just for a warm up.”
No way.
“What do you say?” He rubs his hands together as I stand there not moving.
I should be at my desk.
“Can’t we do something else?” Something simpler? Like ten minutes on the treadmill. I hate burpies as much as I hate push ups. Mountain climbers I can do. Used to be able to. There’s also the fact that getting down on the floor and jumping up then back down again is going to send my rotund belly jiggling even more.
“We’ve been talking about programs and fitness, Ward, but I think it’s time we made a start. Your abs aren’t going to magically appear.”
I resist the urge to bare my teeth. “I’m aware of that.” The smart ass is at least twenty years younger than me. I want to see what he’s going to be like when he’s in his forties. I hate the way he looks at me, as if I’m a huge mass of blubber. But seeing myself in the mirror, standing next to him, even I’m embarrassed.
“Ten push ups isn’t too hard. Try it, you’ll be surprised at what you can do.”
The contrast could not be more stark. My t-shirt hangs over my belly while trainer guy’s is flat, hugging his washboard abs. He is lean and toned and his arms have protruding veins and muscles. His t-shirt has no sleeves, in order to better show off his physique. Even the muscles on his legs are defined.
He makes me look like a loser. I take a step away so that I can’t see myself in the mirror because comparing our two physiques is the quickest way to depression.
Maybe I should have had that bowl of fruit the housekeeper had prepared. Although the two stale donuts in my study, washed down with my morning brew, tasted much better.
“How about we start with five then?” he suggests when I don’t move an inch.
He’s gone down from ten to five. Humiliation rips through me.
Good for nothing worthless piece of shit.
My step father’s voice whispers in my ear. Trevor hasn’t said it in those words, but the looks he gives me isn’t far off. “Five?” I can manage five push ups. I get on the floor and start.
Damn.
This is hard, but I’m determined not to give up.
“That’s it. You’ve got it!” He’s trying to motivate me but I find his tone patronizing.
I attempt my third one, but it’s killing my arms to lower my torso to the floor and get back up again. I can’t collapse in a heap on the floor, even though I want to. I’m determined to do ten.
I want to smack him. He, too, talks too much. I lower myself to the floor for number three, and I want to stay there.
“Come on, Ward. You’ve got this.”
I clench my teeth together. I can’t do this. I really can’t. I’m overweight and I’m struggling because of it.
Who the hell struggles with three push ups? I used to be fit. Once. I used to run and weightlift, a long, long time ago. Now I am riddled by the pressure to produce books, best sellers no less, because that’s what they eventually become. Producing something worthy has a weight that bears down on my spirit. Coupled