“Yes.” I give her a genuine smile.
“But.” She stares at me intently, trying to figure me out.
“I like to cook. The staff at home, erm, Father’s always made such heavy, rich food. I learnt to cook for myself. I… enjoy it.”
“Maybe next time.” She smiles. “It’s all ready.”
I nod, and her smile widens; genuine happiness fills her features.
“Marianne.” She nods.
“Thank you, Marianne.” I turn and leave, meeting a snarling Matteo in the hallway.
“What the fuck are you doin’ in there?” he barks at me, his hand resting on his gun at his hip. He stares me up and down, lingering on my bare feet before glaring back at my face. “Dining rooms through there.” He jabs his thumb in the direction, and I stride past him, going into the room and pulling up a chair.
The ladies bring the food out, and I sit and wait, but Arianna doesn’t show. Matteo and Luca sit opposite me, and Marianne and the girls leave the room. We just glare at each other until I reach over, grab a spoon, and pile the potatoes on my plate. Taking a piece of chicken and loading the vegetables, I dig in. I groan at the taste. It’s not rich or overly done like every meal I was used to before I learnt to cook. The chicken is tasty, tender, and juicy. The vegetables have a slight crunch to them without being raw or hard, and the potatoes are so creamy and buttery without being overladen.
I help myself to another spoon and then another. Once I’m stuffed, I flop back in the chair and rub my non-existent stomach.
“So what do you guys do around here for fun?” I take a sip of my water, resting the glass back down. My gaze settles back on theirs.
“Fun,” he scoffs. “This isn’t a holiday fucking camp.”
I nod. That tells me a lot about these guys. They’re tolerating me because they’ve been told to. But they don’t like me being here.
“Are you fucking her?” I stare them both in the eyes. The horror that spreads across each of their faces puts my mind at ease. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“Are you? Is that why you’re here?”
“No, and yes.”
Matteo frowns at me.
“We’re not fucking… yet. I will be marrying her, though.”
“Really? Does she know that?”
“She does.” Arianna’s strained voice breaks the tension as I jump up and pull a chair out for her.
“You should be in bed,” I snap.
She glares at me, grabs the chair from me and sits down, rolls her eyes, and starts loading up her plate. I don’t miss the tension in her face—the way she grips her ribs as she leans over, and the way she pants a little as she sits back for a breath before picking up her fork and taking a mouthful of food.
“How are you feeling?” I whisper out.
“Angry,” she spits. “Matteo, after dinner, can you lock down the house? I don’t want any retribution from today’s little piece of vengeance when the Costas realise I’ve wiped out all of their heirs.”
Matteo nods, wipes his mouth and stands. “I’ll do it now, Miss Bianchi.” He glares across at me. “I’m finished anyway.” He leaves the table, and the other one scowls at me as he strides after him.
“You really should be in bed, Arianna.”
“I’m halfway through my time, Vittorio. I need to keep on with the plan.” Her face softens. “I suppose I need to also plan a wedding?”
I smile at her. “I can do that.”
“You?”
“Yes, me.”
