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“I decide,” Ilya repeats. “You do not have to worry about it. You do not have to think about what is enough and what is too much. You just have to eat what I tell you.”
“That’s crazy,” Shane says automatically. But his pupils are blown wide, his lips slightly parted.
Ilya gets abruptly to his feet. He takes Shane’s plate, heaps a large slice of lasagne on it, and moves around the table until he’s standing right next to Shane. He puts the plate down. Shane looks from him to the food and back again; Ilya almost imagines he can see the flutter of Shane’s pulse at his throat.
“Eat,” Ilya says.
Post-retirement, Shane finally lets Ilya take care of him. So what if he gets a little fat as a result? His husband certainly doesn’t seem to mind.
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