"No."
"Then what is this?"
"Dinner." He watches me with those dark eyes that never give anything back. "You haven't eaten since yesterday. Yourhands are shaking from low blood sugar, not anger. Whatever you decide to do, you need to eat first."
Bastard. Observant, calculating bastard.
The first bite tastes like twelve years ago. Like the young woman who still trusted easily. Who thought love meant safety instead of surveillance.
The garlic and the fat and the slight bitterness of the greens. it's exactly right. Exactly the way he made it then.
Twelve years. He's been carrying this recipe for twelve years.
"It's perfect," I say, and hate how much I mean it.
"You sound surprised."
"I'm surprised you thought this would work."
His eyes meet mine. "Is it working?"
I should say no. I should throw the plate at his head and scream about everything. The seven years of cameras, what he did in my bathroom, how dare he weaponize my own history against me.
"Yes."
The word comes out quiet.
Cole doesn't smile. Doesn't gloat. Just watches me eat with an expression I can't read. Something between hunger and reverence and the particular patience of a man who's been waiting twelve years for this exact moment.
He stands and comes around the table with that measured grace that used to make me forget my own name in college. Still does, apparently, because I can't move when his fingers slide under my chin and tilt my face up.
My body goes rigid.Man. Close. Too close.The old wiring fires before I can stop it, but he doesn't push. Just waits. Thumb against my throat, feeling my heart slam.
"I told you. Seven years."
He kisses me.
Not asking. Not testing. Taking, like he has every right. Like I haven't spent all day processing the ways he's violated my trust.
I should shove him away. Everything Adrian taught me says to break contact, find distance, protect myself—
I kiss him back.
My fingers twist in his shirt, pulling him closer. He tastes like garlic and something I can't name, something that feels like coming home to a place I burned down years ago. Underneath, that scent I've been trying to ignore for days, saffron and cedar, warm and steady, nothing like Adrian's sharp cologne.
The kiss deepens. I let it, because Adrian never remembered anything and Cole remembered orecchiette from twelve years ago and I'm so tired of being the only one holding everything together.
When we break apart, his forehead rests against mine. Both of us breathing hard.
"This doesn't make it okay." The words scrape out of me. "The surveillance. Seven years of watching me." His body goes still against mine. "None of it."
"I know."
"I should throw you out. Call the police. Tell Uncle Sal to make you disappear."
"You should."
"But I'm not going to."
