Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“Nope,” she replied, popping the “p.” “My agreement was with you, not your brother.”
I edged forward, somehow needing to be closer.
“What are you saying?”
“You want me to take your money. Open a bakery. Live in a decent apartment.”
“No. Yes. I mean yes.”
I wanted her here with me. But I couldn’t ask her to live her life in possible danger.
“Then I need to fulfill my end of the agreement. You get cakes, or I don’t take your money. I’ll go back to working for MaryJo. My old apartment is still empty. The landlord told me I can move back in anytime.”
I had to wrap my hands around the edge of the counter to stop myself from grabbing her.
“Not happening, Little Bee.”
“Then I’m here to bake your cakes. Get used to it.”
“How long?”
She spread some frosting on the top of a cake, the scent driving me wild. “Hmm? How long what?”
“To bake your cakes.”
“As long as it takes,” she replied, waving me off as if I were a pesky fly.
“Fine. Bake your cakes. As many a day as you can. Freeze them.”
“No. You insisted on fresh cakes. We’re sticking to that. And every third day.”
“You are trying my patience. I will have you removed.”
“Try it. I’ll come back. You won’t win this time.” She crossed her arms. “I’m just as stubborn as you, old man. Now, we can do this the hard way or the easy way.”
“What might those be?”
“The easy way is for you to kick me out. I’ll keep borrowing money and coming back.”
“I’ll sell the villa.”
“I’ll tell Paolo to buy it. You said anything I wanted. I’ll come to Naples. London. I know all your addresses.”
“If that is what you consider easy, what is the hard way?”
“For you to admit you love me and want me here,” she said softly. “As much as I love you and want to be here with you.”
I reared back, dumbstruck.
“I know you’re worried. We can face it together, Dante. Stop being Robin Hood. Stop avoiding life and live it. With me. You make me whole. You made me feel like I mattered, and I refuse to let you take that from me because you’re scared.” She lifted her chin.
“I’m not going anywhere, buddy, so get used to it.”
She was beautiful in her anger. Her eyes flashed, a veil of tears making them glisten. Her chest rose and fell in agitated pulls of air. Her voice deepened when she was mad, a lower, almost growly edge to it.
She was stunning.
And if I didn’t get away, she would be impossible to resist.
“Have it your way,” I said. “Bake your cakes. Stay. But it’s back to the original agreement. One a day. Then you are gone.”
I turned and walked away, everything in me screaming to turn back. To drag her into my arms and tell her she was right. I was scared. I did want her here. In my kitchen. Baking me cakes.
I’d almost made it to the hall when I heard it. She began to sing again, this time a tremor to her voice. I wrapped my hand around the doorknob, voices exploding in my head.
“She is the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“For whom, brother?”
“Sometimes love offers us that.”
I thought of the peace she gave me. The pure happiness I felt when she was around. The joy I got eating her cakes, listening to her sing. Holding her in my arms as we moved around the patio. The way she made me laugh. She had right from the start.
“…Live it. With me,” she said.
“You made me feel like I mattered, and I refuse to let you take that from me because you’re scared.”
She made me feel as if I mattered too. Dante—the man. Not for what I could do. The money I had. The knowledge I possessed. The power I could wield.
Just my love. That was all she wanted.
No one else could protect her the way I could. I had the resources, security, the house, the time. I could devote all of it to her.
I didn’t have to send her away.
I didn’t want to send her away.
I spun on my heel and headed back to the kitchen. She was still standing there, her shoulders hunched. Her voice had dropped, barely a whisper escaping. I cleared my throat. She looked up, the tears on her cheeks slamming into me, breaking me open.
“Your time away hasn’t taught you any respect. You referred to my age twice already. We talked about that.”
She wiped her eyes on her apron like a child, the action endearing her to me all over again.
“Then stop acting like you’re sixty.”
“Stop being so damn sexy.”
“That is impossible. I know someone who thinks I am.”
I nodded. “He does. He thinks you’re the most incredible, vexing, stubborn, sexy, wonderful woman he knows. He loves you very much, but he is afraid to admit it. Worried that loving you will put you in danger. Terrified to admit to needing someone. Worried you don’t need him the same way.”