Married to him; The arranged marriage

ven sent a text message begging mom to at least give him the location I was being taken to. The nerves! Why does he even want the location, or does he want to finish off what he started? I

f the bed and calmly laid still. He didn't try to touch me or even ask me to please him in whatsoever way. I was stunned. He reached for the blanket and covered my bare body, then he turned around and laid quietly. Did this seven days away from him shape his character, or he's just pretending to be nice to me, or is he trying to play with me and my emotions? I've known Chris for about two years and a few months, but this new character development is what I haven't seen before. My alarm woke me up as usual. It was a Sunday morning. Chris was not in bed, I wondered where he must have gone to. I went downstairs, but he wasn't there. He wasn't in the toilet, neither was he in the bathroom nor dinning table. I was panicking. “Why are you even panicking, but I thought you didn't care about this man?” My subconsciousness questioned me. I crazily laughed it off then it dawned to me that he might be in the kitchen, but again, Chris never goes to the kitchen, especially in the morning. I went to the kitchen anyway and surprisingly, there he was, bending over and whisking eggs. “Good morning” Chris greeted with a half smile. “What are you doing?” I asked with a confused frown. “Making breakfast for us” He shrugged. I watched as he flexed his muscles, reached out for the frying pan and set it on fire. “See, I don't know where this is all coming from or what's going on exactly, but I still haven't forgiven you, so stop trying to get on my good side …” I said as he shrugged. “Okay. I'm making us breakfast, so can you go to the dinning table while you sit and wait for me?” He pleaded kindly, but I rolled my eyes. “No. I'm going back upstairs!” I retorted. “To the dinning table, Aria. This minute! Don't make me lose it! You’re sick, and it’s my responsibility to take care of you” He ordered. Fear gripped me. I tucked out my middle finger at him before leaving for the dinning table. His pancakes were good, but I make better pancakes, though. He added honey to my tea and asked me if it was enough, like I cared. I just gave him that “whatever” look. After breakfast, he insisted he ba