“You could apologize.”
“For what?”
She throws her hands up. “I don’t know, for not telling her you’d be stationing Teo here while you were gone? For immediately thinking the worst of her before considering all your options?”
“You overstep, Donatella.”
“You asked,” she snaps back. “If she doesn’t eat anything by this time tomorrow, I’ll hand in my resignation.”
Great. As if I didn’t already have enough on my plate.
Donatella leaves me to wallow in her ultimatum as I slump back into my chair.
The Guild is breathing down my throat to identify the potential rat. My father has remained eerily quiet. Lazzaro is being less than helpful, and I have no other leads right now.
As much as I hate to admit it, Cas’ plan was a good idea. If she could get him to slip up, even once…but we need to resolve this little tantrum of hers first.
Three days is too long to go without food; she must be ravenous right now. I still remember the way she attacked her food that first evening we ate together.
Struck by sudden inspiration, I leave my desk and make my way to the kitchen.
It’s been a long time since I’ve used the kitchen to make anything more than a coffee. Unless you counted when I slid Cas behind the counter to take her from behind.
My eyes linger on that particular spot a little too long.
But cooking is like riding a bike. Soon, pots are simmering on the stove as I chop and fry my way through the familiar recipe. I’m just grating the truffle to adorn the carbonara, when I sense someone behind me.
“I thought you were on a hunger strike,” I say without turning around.
“Is this some kind of cruel joke? Frying bacon with the doors open?”
I glance over my shoulder.
It’s almost startling to see her looking so small and thin again. It’s so similar to how she’d looked when she’d first arrived.
I had barely noticed the change over these last few weeks, but I realize it now. A month of steady food, regular exercise, and without the stress of an abusive asshole lingering over her had done wonders for her appearance.
But in the span of three short days, that progress seems to have faded. Her skin is grayer, her cheeks more taunt. Even her hair lies dully across her shoulders.
“It worked, didn’t it?” I say as I serve up two plates. The larger I push toward her. “Eat.”
I think she might deny me for a moment, but suddenly, she picks up the fork and begins eating ferociously.
At least Donatella will stick around now. I tuck into my own meal slowly—content to watch her consume every mouthful.
I can almost see the color returning to her cheeks as she sits back from her empty plate.
“I owe you an apology,” I begin cautiously. “I jumped to a conclusion I had no right to make.”
She points her nose in the air and looks away.
“And I’m sorry for making you feel like you were a prisoner here.” I take a deep breath. “But…”
She sighs. “But?”
“But what you did was reckless, despite your intentions. You should have told me what you were planning. I would have helped you.”
“And you would have just let me go? Willingly?” She challenges me with a hard glare. “Your sense of male pride wouldn’t have tried to stop me.”
