When everyone’s gone, it’s just me, Marco, Ben, and the quiet hum of a well-used kitchen.
“Bedtime soon,piccola,” Marco says.
Ben nods, already yawning. “Can Jess do the bedtime story?”
“If she’s not too tired.”
They both look at me.
And I realize this is my life now. This weird, complicated, beautiful thing where I’m part nanny, part curriculum designer, part whatever Marco and I are becoming when no one’s watching.
We’re becoming nothing,I remind myself.We agreed what happened in the carriage house will never happen again.
I’m not quite sure I believe it.
“Never too tired for a story,” I tell Ben. “But we have to get back to the house, first.”
We head toward the exit. I grab my bag and deliberately don’t glance at Marco becauseif I do, I’ll remember the way he looked at me when he said he remembers everything.
But I feel his eyes on me anyway.
Following.
Wanting.
Knowing exactly how dangerous this is and doing it anyway.
Marco Fiore, you’re going to be the end of me.
15
Marco
The email from André my VP of service and training lands in my inbox at six forty-three in the morning while I’m watching Ben eat herconchiglie al burro.
Subject:Media Issue (Urgent)
Calder Kells spotted atPane e Boscodawn shift. Staff says he’s been there twice this week. He’s also been spotted at different locations. Always asking questions.
Fuck.
I open the attachment. Security stills from three different bakery locations. Same lanky bastard in each one. Calder Kells. Food critic forThe Metropolitan Ledger. The kind of writer who thinks destroying someone’s life’s work counts as journalism.
He’s nursing espressos at our counters like he’s got all the time in the world. Chatting up baristas. Takingnotes on his phone. Probably recording conversations without consent because he’s that kind of asshole.
“Daddy?” Ben’s looking at me. Her fork is suspended mid-air. “You’re making the angry face.”
I force my expression to soften. “Sorry,piccola. Work thing. Nothing to worry about.”
She goes back to her pasta. Rosa shoots me a look from the stove that sayshandle your shit away from the kid.
She’s not wrong.
But I tap out a reply to André anyway.
Conference call in twenty. Loop Gianna and Elena.
Then I text Valentina, my personal assistant.
