Page 81 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“I guess it can’t be easy, living like that. Always in the spotlight, having to pretend all the time.”

“It’s exhausting,” I admitted. “But fun. Don’t pity me. I want to get some makeup. You have to help me pick some stuff out. I need that photo stuff.”

“I will help you get what you need. Let’s hit that boutique on Seventh. They always have the most amazing makeup selection. It’s all the leftover designer stuff, but it works the same.”

She helped me pick out a few pallets and a new lipstick. They were a step above drugstore brands.

From there, we indulged in some retail therapy, trying on clothes we couldn’t afford and splurging on matching bracelets we both swore we’d wear every day.

By the time Anthony picked us up, the tension between us had completely melted away. We were back to being Kaira and Carla, best friends against the world.

“Come home with me,” I said.

She grimaced. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. Last time Roman came home and saw me there he didn’t look very happy.”

I waved my hand. “Who cares? He probably won’t be home until late. And trust me, I think he’ll be happy that you’re there. Things are a little awkward between us. It will be nice to have someone to break up the tension. He’ll probably just hide in his study or his room.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

When we got back to the mansion, the idea struck me as we walked into the kitchen. “Let’s cook dinner.”

Carla raised an eyebrow. “Here? In this kitchen? After we ate tapas?”

“Why not?” I grinned, pulling open a cabinet to inspect the contents. “We’ll make our famous mac and cheese.”

“Won’t the cook get mad at us messing around in his kitchen?”

I shrugged. “It’ll be fine. I am supposed to be the lady of the house.”

She looked around the massive space. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“The staff can help us find what we need.”

As if on cue, one of the kitchen staff appeared, eyeing us warily. “Miss Kaira, what are you doing?”

“We’re making dinner,” I announced cheerfully. “For everyone. Something nice and homey. No offense, but not every meal needs to be elaborate and fancy.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “I don’t think Mr. Roman⁠—”

“Don’t worry about Roman,” I said, waving her concerns away. “I’ll take the heat if he’s upset. Now, where do you keep the cheese?”

Carla and I led the charge, searching through the three refrigerators and huge walk-in pantry for everything we would need.

“I cannot believe people live like this,” Carla whispered. “Seriously, this kitchen is amazing. And it’s like a mini grocery store.”

“It is very impressive.”

We got to work grating cheese and boiling pasta while the staff offered tips and occasionally stepped in to fix our amateur mistakes. The stove wasn’t like the basic stove in our condo.

It had buttons and dials that seemed to require an engineering degree to operate properly. But soon, the aroma of melting cheese filled the air.

Carla turned on her playlist while we cooked. It felt like one of our dinners in. The massive house felt like a home instead of the cold, lifeless mausoleum.

“I think anyone could be a gourmet cook with all of the fancy gadgets and gizmos in here.” Carla laughed.

I stirred the bubbling pasta and looked around the kitchen. A couple of the staff had come in and were sitting at the kitchen island, watching us.