Neither of them looked away.
Through the connection, his hunger pressed against her: carefully controlled, rigidly contained, but unmistakable. He wanted her. Had wanted her for days. Maybe longer.
And her wanting echoed his own.
The moment stretched.
“Marina—” he started.
The bell over the door chimed.
“GOOD MORNING, LOVEBIRDS!”
Bea’s voice cut through like a knife. Marina jerked back, nearly knocking over the flour bin. Alessandro’s expression shuttered so fast she might have imagined the vulnerability beneath.
“You have the worst timing,” Marina muttered as Bea swept into the kitchen.
“On the contrary, my timing is excellent. I prevented something you’d regret.”
“I wouldn’t have…”
“Your aura was so pink it was practically fuchsia.” Bea helped herself to yesterday’s leftover scones. “And his was gold. Do you know how rare gold is? It means he’s completely besotted.”
“Besotted isn’t a real…”
“It’s absolutely a real word and a real condition and you’re both suffering from it.” Bea bit into a scone with pointed satisfaction. “Speaking of which, you’re falling for him.”
“I am not.”
“Babe. Your aura is literally pink right now. It’s been pink for days. You’re about thirty seconds from full-on magenta.”
Alessandro, wisely, had retreated to the far side of the kitchen with his laptop. His acute discomfort radiated across the kitchen, tangled with a genuine curiosity about where this conversation was going.
“The bond is affecting my aura,” Marina tried. “It’s not me. It’s the magic.”
“Sure.” Bea didn’t sound convinced. “And the way you look at him when he’s not watching? That’s magic too?”
“I don’t look at him.”
“You look at him constantly. Estelle has a running tally. She’s up to forty-seven longing glances since Tuesday.”
“Estelle doesn’t even…”
“She has sources everywhere. You know this.” Bea polished off the scone. “Just admit you have feelings. It’s not a crime. He clearly has feelings too.”
A tug behind her sternum. Alessandro’s reaction: the emotional equivalent of leaning forward in his chair.
“Even if I did,” she said slowly, “this ends in sixteen days. The bond breaks. He goes back to Manhattan. I stay here. That’s how this works.”
“That’s how it has to work,” Bea corrected. “Not how it works. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
“Of course. One is fate. The other is choice.” Bea patted her cheek. “Something to think about. I’ll see you tonight for wine. We have much to discuss.”
She swept out as dramatically as she’d arrived.
In the silence that followed, Marina didn’t look at Alessandro.
