AllFreeNovel
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Once Fredster is gone, I get busy opening the parcels and… ‘sprucing’ up Dante’s house. I start with his bedroom, adding the red cashmere sweaters and ties into his wardrobe. All Italian brands, of course. Then I arrange a crimson bedspread and cushions on his bed. After that, I move through each room, adding red accents everywhere. Vases, throws, cushions, a rug for the living room, a standing mixer and a set of utensils for the kitchen. I even got a bunch of red sports bottles and towels for the gym. I’m nothing if not thorough.
Finally, happy with the results, I get back into the kitchen and start on part two of my plan. Honest moment here—I’m not a skilled cook. I mean, what I make is edible, but by no means is it Micheline chef standard. I cook to survive, not to impress. So you can imagine, with that ethos, baking was never a skill I dabbled with. Something I truly regret now as I look at the complicated recipe for red velvet cupcakes. Am I going overboard with all things red? Probably. But like I said, I’m very thorough.
Two hours later, the kitchen looks like a flour massacre took place in it, and I was the main victim, if the red food dye splotches are anything to go by.
Nevertheless, I remain positive as I grab the tray of red looking blobs, vaguely resembling cupcakes and head out of the kitchen.
“Oh, Freeeddyyy,” I call out cheerily, poking my head out the front door.
Not even thirty seconds go by before Fred jogs over, smiling, no doubt smelling the delightful homemade goods. “Hey, Alessa.”
“I baked some cupcakes, want some?” I push the tray in front of him.
“Cupcakes?” He looks sceptically between my face and the shapeless things on the tray before plucking one out and bringing it to his mouth. Just before it touches his lips, he hesitates. “You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”
I gasp, aghast. “Why, Frednando! How could you even think that? We’re practically best friends, you and I.” Thing is, I’m actually trying to make him love me. In a platonicway. And if there’s one thing I have learned from daytime TV, is that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Once Dante gets home and sees all the changes I have made, and all the money I’ve spent, I’ll need as many people in my corner as possible. Not that one person, or even a crowd, would be able to stop him from ending my life if he was so inclined. But maybe, just maybe, they could convince him to let me explain first.
Fred reluctantly takes a small bite of the cupcake. His eyes flutter closed as he stuffs the rest in his mouth, moaning appreciatively. “So good,” he murmurs, his mouth full.
Not gonna lie, I feel pride and a sense of accomplishment as I watch him reach for another cake. It’s most likely the sugar content in them. If we’re being all nitpicky, I’ll admit I might have misread the amount required in the recipe, but it’s all good.
“Something smells good. What do you have in there?”
I whip my head to the side from which the deep baritone came from and am met with yet another smiling, tanned, suited and way too handsome man.
“Why thank you.” I smile back. “It’s Chanel. Would you like a flatcake?” I’m not going to pretend that the things on the tray can be called anything else at this point. Bake Off material they are not.
He snorts, but unlike Freddyteddy, does not comment on my bake and just puts the whole thing in his mouth, humming with delight as he chews. This guy is quickly becoming my favourite. Fredkins better watch out.
Shortly, I’m surrounded by a group of tall and gorgeous looking men, all excited and fawning over my cupcake disaster. Seriously, have I been missing something? Are all of these guys Italian? Because I’ve clearly been living in the wrong country all these years.
“These are amazing, Alessa,” Antonio mumbles, blushing, as he snatches the last one of the tray.
“They look awful, though.” I bite my lip, squeezing my fingers around the tray. If I’m to paint Dante’s life red, I want to do it in style, not with flat as pancakes, sad excuses for red velvet cupcakes that contain ten times your daily allowance of sugar.
“Maybe you need to start with something easier?” Fred pipes up. “Chocolate chip cookies?” he adds hopefully.
All the faces around me nod enthusiastically.
“It’s got to be red, though,” I mumble.
“How about a cherry pie?” Mario asks.
“That could work,” I reply in thought. It would be a red surprise once he cuts into it. It could totally work. And I remember a recipe I saw when I was browsing for ideas.
“We could taste test.” Fred smiles.
I laugh. Of course they’re up for eating sweet food.
“Totally, just let us know, and we’ll be right here,” Mario says.
“It doesn’t even have to be dessert,” my sweet best friend Antonio adds. “We’re just a growing bunch of men, constantly hungry.”
“Growing sideways,” Lorenzo laughs.
“Don’t you all worry. I’ve got you. Can’t believe you have to stand around the property for hours on end and don’t get fed. Absolute disgrace. I’ll be sure to tell Dante what I think about it when he gets back.” I scowl.
About ten puppy dog eyes meet my eyes. Seriously. Whoever said guns are the worst weapon has yet to stand in front of ten handsome Italians while they make puppy dog eyes at you. Honestly. These guys know exactly how to make their good looks work to their advantage. My brain, which was all ‘Dante this’and ‘Dante that’, is currently going ‘Dantewho? I want to lick one of these tasty men, please’.
