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“Something kinky?”
“Nah, some family friends.” The lies roll like second nature.
“I can come over and join forces.”
I’m about to say no, but if these were normal circumstances, I wouldn’t. Of course, now I’m not home, so . . . shit. “I’m at Nadia’s, actually. You can come here.”
“Oh, you’re not home?”
“This is closer to you, so come on over.”
I ignore the hard stare from Nadia and rattle off the address. “You can help us bake. See you soon, Laura.”
“You should have asked,” she says without censure.
I shrug and return to measuring and weighing out the dry ingredients for the cake. “Tizio has scales? The man is weird.” Then I flick my eyes at Nadia, who’s texting the weirdo, if I’m not mistaken. “She would have thought it weird I didn’t want to hang out.”
“If I had my way,” Nadia says as Avah reaches past me to grab the chopped butter, “I’d let you have a party.”
“But Tizio’s a killjoy.”
“Have a cookie. And save a couple for Mr. Killjoy,” she says, and I laugh.
When Laura arrives, we’re still mixing the batter for the cake by hand. There’s no escort, so I’m guessing Tizio deemed it okay for her to go through. That’s one suspect off the list.
“Have I gone back in time?” Laura takes in everything, including the mess, and makes a beeline for the cookies. “Mmm, these would be great with bourbon.”
“It’s eleven in the morning.” Avah hands the bowl to Nadia, who starts creaming the butter and sugar.
This has to be the least effective way to make a cake, but I suspect it’s a great way to involve everyone.
“It’s cocktail hour somewhere,” Laura says.
Avah takes back the bowl, beats in the other ingredients, pours it into the tin, and then slides it into the oven.
“When this is done, we should all go and do something,” I say.
Laura nods. “Lunch and drinks.”
“Fine, I’ll check with Tizio,” mutters Nadia.
Laura looks at me. “Your watcher?”
“Yes, my personal enemy and enemy of fun.”
Avah leans forward on the kitchen island. “For someone who doesn’t like him, you sure talk about him a lot.”
“Lies.” I cross my arms. “But I do want to annoy him.”
“How?” asks Laura.
“Tattoos. Lots of them. Today.”
Behind me, Nadia groans.
Chapter Seven
TIZIO
