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“I disagree.”

His mouth curves. He walks to the bed and leans down, placing one hand beside my hip.

He kisses me once, slowly, as though he has every right.

I kiss him back before I can remind myself that he does not.

When he straightens, I tighten the comforter around me.

“You’re very casual about this.”

“About breakfast?”

“About waking up in my house.”

“I slept well.”

“I wasn't asking for a review of your stay.”

“I also enjoyed the accommodations.”

I throw a pillow at him.

He catches it and places it neatly back on the bed.

“Get dressed, Donatella.”

“Stop ordering me around.”

“Then remain naked. I have no objection. But be warned, I may not leave if that’s what you choose.”

He turns and walks out of the room.

I stare after him.

By the time I come downstairs in leggings and a loose shirt, he has found the coffee, the filters, and the mugs.

Mocha is sitting beside him.

Traitor.

Lorenzo looks over his shoulder as I enter the kitchen.

“Where do you keep the pans?”

I stop near the island. “Why?”

“I’m making breakfast.”

“You cook?”

He turns fully toward me.

“I’m Italian.”

“It's not a requirement.”

“It should be.” He opens the wrong cabinet, closes it, and tries the next one.