By the time they were layering the alternating strips of pasta, sauce, béchamel and cheese, she was so turned on she was ready to strip those damn sweatpants off and ride him on the kitchen floor. Judging by the way his dimple popped every time he caught her ogling him, the jerk knew it too.
Joel put on some music, and the soft lyrics playedthrough the apartment as they cooked, assembled the dish, then tidied up while the lasagna baked. This was why she called it her de-stress dish because every step required so much attention that it distracted her from whatever she’d been worrying about. Well, she was certainly distracted.
They dried off the last pot when there were still fifteen minutes of bake time left. The apartment smelled like an Italian restaurant, and she inhaled deeply. Her lasagna was the best, better even than her mother’s—not that she’d ever tell Maria that. Her secret was simple. She used homemade béchamel sauce instead of spinach and ricotta, and she never skimped on the Bolognese sauce, always laying it on thick between noodles, so they’d become saturated with the flavor while baking. It wasn’t calorie-wise, but not a soul had ever complained.
Joel slung the dishcloth over his shoulder as a new song started up. The melody filled the kitchen, slow and seductive, and memory flickered across her mind just as he said, “Dance with me.”
Three simple words, but Lucy knew they were game changers. How many times had they danced in their kitchen in San Francisco? How many times had he said those words before scooping her up in his arms? Each time they’d ended up naked somewhere in the penthouse, either burning dinner or working up an appetite for it.
Dancing with him now wouldn’t be a little spin around the kitchen because a good song was playing. It would be a surrender. An acceptance that this thing between them, this agreement, this farce, wasn’t that anymore.
She wasn’t sure she was ready to shift into the new version of what they could be. There was still so much they hadn’t spoken about. So much she wasn’t ready to speak about.
“Luciana,” he said as he held out his hand. “Please dance with me.”
The truth hit her hard as she stared at his outstretched hand. It didn’t matter whether they talked about the past or not. It didn’t matter if Vanessa knew their engagement started as a sham. It didn’t even matter if they went ahead with their fake wedding or didn’t. She would never not dance with this man.
Molding herself into his arms, he lifted her until she was on tiptoes, hugging her like he’d just found her after years apart. Which maybe wasn’t so far from the truth.
They didn’t dance so much as Joel crushed her to him and swayed while she buried her face against his shoulder. The sting of her tears were absorbed into the fabric of his shirt. And when the song ended, and another one started, he didn’t let go, not until the oven timer went off, and even then it was a gradual release, a peeling apart, as they realized it was either that or deal with the fire alarm going off.
They didn’t speak as Joel pulled the hot dish out of the oven and set it on the stove to cool. They didn’t speak as they laid the table, Joel filling their glasses with more wine, as Lucy carried out the salad and warmed bread. They didn’t speak when he pulled out a chair for her to sit.
The tension only broke when Joel took his seat across from her and lifted his glass. “Cheers.” His eyes sparkled like silver in the low lights overhead. “To celebrity sisters keeping their mouths shut.”
Lucy laughed, picking up her wine. “I’ll definitely cheers to that.”
They clinked glasses, then dug in.
“Fuck, this is so good,” Joel said through his first bite. “The best I’ve ever had.”
“I know.” She didn’t brag about much, but when it cameto her lasagna, there was no point in denying the truth. “I should open a restaurant and serve only this. I’d make millions.”
“Say the word, and I’ll make it happen.” The way he was devouring his first slice and reaching for another, she believed he might actually be serious.
“Okay, moneybags. I’ll start scoping out possible locations. We should probably open a chain. We’ll call it Gluttony, and the slogan can be ‘Come for a slice, stay for a pan.’”
They spent the next hour laughing, eating, drinking, and talking about everything from quack businesses they’d open to the custom dream homes they’d love to build for each of their relatives. A comfortable familiarity tugged on her muscle memory. The remembrance of the quiet months when it was just the two of them. Three if you counted the baby. And for the duration of dinner, everything between then and now was tucked out of her mind.
Finally, the need to move was greater than her desire for another bite of saucy, creamy deliciousness, and Lucy pushed away her plate with a groan. “That’s it. I tap out. Not another bite until leftovers tomorrow.”
Across from her, Joel stood, chuckling in that low way of his that sent fissures of pleasure directly to her core. It was a sound more delectable than the food she’d eaten. He moved with ease, as if he hadn’t devoured a quarter pan of lasagna, picking up their dishes as he went.
Begrudgingly, because she knew the fragile moment of peace between them was coming to an end, Lucy also got up, gathering napkins and the parmesan shaker.
From the speaker, a new song floated through the air. The lyrics haunting, painting a picture of a couple that separated and the longing that lasted long afterward.
Over the mess on the table, their gazes collided, and shefroze under his assessment. The melody rolled between them, Joel’s eyes never releasing her from the prison of his intensity.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
“Don’t what?” It was all she could breathe in return.
Was he talking about the way she was staring at him or the parmesan shaker she’d picked up? She’d never been hypnotized before, but she imagined this would be what it felt like. A magnetizing pull, outside of your own control, to do whatever was being asked of you.
“Don’t—”
She could practically see his mind racing. A silent movie played across his eyes.
