Page 79 of Unholy Tsar

His brows shoot up at my unusual question. “Not really. Why?”

“Fuck, forget it then.” I pull out my phone and search ‘easy breakfast recipe for a beginner.’ Dante makes a choked sound, and I glance up to see he’s peering over my shoulder at the screen.

He shakes his head slowly. “Don’t tell me you want to cook. Like, actually cook? When’s the last time you did that?”

“Don’t look so shocked,” I grunt, calling down to the lobby with a list of the ingredients I need. That piques the interest of the rest of the men. Slowly, they start to filter into the kitchen, staring at me as I’ve suddenly grown a second or third head.

I roll my eyes and lean against the counter, studying the cooking instructions diligently while I wait for the ingredients to be brought up.

It hardly takes an hour before I have everything I need.

“Thank you,” I tell the hotel staff at the door as I check the bags to make sure it’s all there. When I’m done, he’s still there, hovering hesitantly. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“N–no, I just—I–Do you perhaps need us to send up one of our chefs? They’d be more than willing to help with anything, sir.”

“No, that’s okay. You may go.”

“Are you sure about this?” Dante asks as I dump the contents onto the counter and start preparing.

“It’s just omelet and toast. I doubt I can fuck it up too badly.”

He’s still watching me closely while I crack the first egg. The man is less cautious when I’m killing a man than he is now. What gives?

“That’s what I’m saying. Why cook an ordinary breakfast of eggs and toast when you can just call down to the restaurant and have a gourmet meal delivered instantly?”

Right. I could do that. But that wouldn’t be special. Cecilia deserves something special. And as bad as this might turn out, it’s something I haven’t done in a long, long time. That makes it special. For me and for her.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I reply simply.

“My God. You’re even worse than Rian,” he murmurs under his breath. “Whipped.”

I throw him a glare, and he quickly backs away with his hands up. “Just don’t burn the hotel down.”

With Dante gone, I try to concentrate on my task, but I can feel the eyes of my men on me. “See something interesting?” I ask casually as I chop some onions for the eggs. I have to sniff and blink rapidly to hold the tears in. Fuck, this is terrible.

They clear their throats and finally look away.

I turn on the toaster for it to warm up while I slice the bread, generously slathering it with butter before popping it in. While the bread is toasting, I start frying the egg. But wait, dammit, is that a shell? I use a fork to fish it out.

“Shit, I think something’s burning, Maksim,” Dante calls.

Fuck, the bread.

I abandon the eggs to deal with the toast, but that shit is already burned beyond salvaging. I let out a string of curses. How’s this even possible? I only left it in for like six minutes. Frowning, I dispose of the burnt food and slice up new pieces of bread.

It’s hard to tell how long I’ve been at it when the bedroom door finally swings open, and Cecilia walks out, looking ravishing in one of my oversized shirts. She yawns, blindly making her way to the kitchen. When she rubs the last bit of sleep from her eyes, though, it’s just in time to see the chaos unfolding before her.

Those pretty eyes go wide with shock, and suddenly, she’s running. I spread my arms out, but she runs right past me.

I spin around, completely baffled. Oh, the fucking eggs. I smack my forehead with my palm as she turns off the stove—something I thought I already did.

“What are you trying to do? Burn this hotel down?” Cecilia asks, hands on her hips.

“I wanted to make you breakfast,” I shoot back. “Who knew something as simple as toast and egg could be so fucking hard?”

The concern melts from her face. “Really? You were trying to cook for me?”

“I’m certainly not doing it for those losers.” I tilt a thumb at the men sitting a few feet away from us in the living room, pretending not to watch us.