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But at least Bree’s been following instructions with The Association still out there. Other than the masquerade she cleared with me beforehand, she’s rarely ventured outside her stateroom, much to Lana’s disappointment.

That’s why Lana announced we’re staying on board for the cooking class today. She thought that would be easier on Bree, who clearly didn’t want to go on the offshore excursions. And we can’t say no without rousing more suspicion from my sister, whom we’ve kept in the dark about the mission. No use in worrying her when she can’t do anything.

Bree grumbles, “But we’re in Tuscany. Shouldn’t you guys visit vineyards, drink wine or something?”

“Nah. I’ve been to Tuscany many times, but I haven’t gotten a private lesson from Chef Giacomo Valenti. Trust me, I’m staying for him. Hot and knows how to cook? Sign me up.”

I groan. “Don’t even try anything funny, Lana.”

Lana strides up and jabs her finger at my side. I bat her away. “Don’t you dare go all protective older brother with me. You and your parade of women. Me cleaning up your PR messes in the past. I’m single and ready to mingle, and Giacomo Valenti is a looker.”

Her eyes suddenly narrow.

Someone clears his throat, and I turn around, spotting a flash of black hair and a man in a navy suit disappearing around the corner. Then I hear the familiar click of a lighter.

Fucking Elias, hovering around like a ghost.

“Am I late? Is Chef Valenti here yet?” Olivia bursts into the room.

My head snaps up, my gaze colliding with hers, and she skids to a halt, her face flushing.

My blood heats as our eyes lock. I can’t look away.

A strange silence falls over the kitchen.

“Dr. Lin,” I murmur.

“Mr. Anderson.”

My little Olive blushes and scurries away to the corner where Bree is, and I grip the marble counter in front of me to restrain myself from chasing after her.

“Seriously?” Lana’s gaze pinballs between us, then she glares at me. “Really, Rex?” she whispers.

“Calm down. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“You and I are talking. Tonight. After class,” she growls under her breath.

Then something catches her attention. Her eyes widen, and she blinks.

“Signori e signore… Buonasera!”A dirty-blond man with curly hair and brown eyes strides into the kitchen. He’s dressed in chef whites, a red bandanna around his neck, his lips cocked in a flirtatious smile.

I look at Olivia, then at Lana, finding their eyes riveted on the handsome man.

Motherfucker. This must be Chef Valenti.

“Close your mouth. You’re drooling,” I mutter to my sister, who elbows me again, but I barely notice.

Because the modern day Casanova is going around the room, saying hello to the guests. He winks at the women, pats the men on the back, gives Bree one of those European cheek kisses, and I swear, she practically expires in front of him.

And when he smiles at Olivia and winks at her?

I see red.

My jaw tightens, and I grind my molars.

He’s saying some shit to her, in Italian no less, and I watch as she beams at him, starry-eyed.

Then the asshole touches her.