Maybe I have.
Maybe that’s the only way to keep her alive.
Love doesn’t belong in this world.
But I’m already in too deep to pull it back out.
5
Sienna
The smell of paint and sugar shouldn’t mix, but somehow, it does.
The whole bakery smells like vanilla and fresh plaster, and if I close my eyes long enough, I can almost convince myself this is peace.
Almost.
I drag the roller up the last stretch of wall, watching pale pink paint smooth over the cracks.
My hand aches.
My back aches.
My heart aches the most.
My head aches from thinking about everything I did that landed me here.
I know he’s coming.
I turn, my roller still in hand, to find Benedikt leaning against the doorframe in a dark suit that doesn’t belong in a bakery at ten at night.
I jolt because he’s not supposed to be here. His tie’s gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his sleeves are rolled to the elbows. His forearms are tan, veined, and tense. His face is calm, but his eyes are hellfire.
He doesn’t speak, and it makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. He just looks at me like I’m a mess he’s tired of cleaning up.
“You could knock,” I say, trying to sound lighter than I feel. His silent treatment isn’t helping anything.
This time is no different.
Benedikt pushes off the doorframe and walks toward me as my chest tightens, and warning bells sound in my head.
“I didn’t realize I had to knock at my own property,” he says finally.
I put down the roller, my heart pounding as I bend over to make sure the paint doesn’t drip anywhere. “It’s my bakery.”
“No, princess. It’s the bakery I gave you.”
There it is.
I fold my arms, forcing myself to meet his gaze even though it feels like standing in front of a fire. “You said it was mine.”
He stops in front of me, close enough that I can smell the faint trace of smoke and cologne on his shirt. “And I said you were mine, too. You didn’t seem to understand that, either.”
His tone isn’t loud, but it’s full of control. Quiet, dangerous control that screams he’s furious but trying not to show it.
I look down because if I keep staring at him, I’ll either cry or do something reckless like kiss him. “You’re still mad.”
“Mad? No, mad was when I had to find you. This—” he gestures between us with his hand, “—this is me reminding you that I’m still your reality, Sienna.”
