"I had no idea you could curse like that, Zia Rosa." Kurt, another guard, looks at her with new respect.
Marcello throws me another death glare and walks over to help Zia Rosa off the chair. "Felix will take care of them."
"Them?" Zia Rosa screeches.
"Alejandro will have someone over later today to…" he glares at me, "humanely dispose of whichever mice Felix doesn't catch."
"Well, he better hurry, because I'm not staying here until that… rodent problem is taken care of." Zia Rosa huffs. She waddles to the door where her purse is and grabs it, waiving her towel at the four bodyguards. "Which one of you boys is taking me home?"
"Fuck," Marcello runs his hand through his hair again while the bodyguards file out, to their credit, not saying a word.
Once we are alone, Marcello looks heavenward, before letting out another curse and massaging the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a headache.
"I'm sorry," I say, but my voice cracks, and he looks up sharply, shaking his head at me.
"Really," I try harder, but lose the battle. My mind runs through what just happened: Zia Rosa on the chair swinging her towel, and Felix under the table. I start to giggle louder.
"Violet," Marcello warns.
I bite my lips, but it doesn't help.
He curses.
And when I dare look up, the edges of his lips are trembling as he tries hard to hold in a chuckle, too. "This cat…" he starts, glaring at Felix, whose victim has once again escaped. Felix sits down unperturbed and begins licking—very ungentlemanly, with one of his hind legs in the air—his balls. Marcello's expression turns incredulous.
I sidle up to him, "Jealous?"
His head whips around to me. "Jealous?" He chuckles and pulls me against his chest. "No, but I'd like to think I've earned more of your attention than a cat licking his balls."
I snuggle into him, "You got it."
"Alright," he pulls me toward the kitchen area, "let's see what we have to eat, and then we need to talk."
He finds a stack of pancakes and bacon, but before he can grab them, I take the empty plates from his hands. "Let me."
I put the plates into the microwave while he takes a seat on one of the chairs by the counter, watching me look through the many doors and drawers to locate glasses, cups, silverware, syrup, and whatever else we might need.
"You look good in my kitchen," he says, leaning back in his chair.
My face turns a shade redder; I like his compliments. I put everything on the counter as I find the items, and in perfect timing, the microwave dings.
Unthinking, I open it and pull the first plate out. "Ouch!" I pull back, waving my hand to cool the fingers I just burned on the too-hot plate.
Marcello is instantly at my side, worried. He takes my hand and forces me to hold still. "Let me see."
"It's not bad. I'm just being a baby," I confess. The skin on my wrist where he's holding me burns more than the fingers. He scrutinizes them before he pulls me toward the sink, turning the cold water on.
"It's really not that bad," I protest while he holds my fingers under the lukewarm spray of the water.
Then he wraps them tenderly with a wet paper towel and directs me to one of the chairs. "Sit."
Using a dish towel, he takes the plate from the microwave, sending a pointed glance at me. I raise my hands in surrender. "What can I say, you distracted me."
"Right," he puts one plate in front of me, "remind me not to let you hold a knife when I'm around."
"Haha," I retort dryly and begin nibbling on a piece of bacon. "Still, thank you. It's been a while since someone doctoredme."
"You want to play doctor with me, Nurse Violet?" He leans forward, his gray eyes smoldering at me, and I nearly choke on the piece of bacon.
