His T-shirt is baby blue today. The color makes his eyes a million times prettier. I wipe my hands on my dress. All day I’ve tried not to ruin it, but I’m already covered in grime and my hair is a mess.
That doesn’t matter, I remind myself. You want to be a servant.
Doc folds his tattooed arms across his chest. “Is there a reason you’re playing housewife?”
“I just felt like doing something.”
“I don’t know if anyone told you, rich girl, but we have a gym. We have a pool. You don’t have to do Mrs. Hughes’ cosplay.”
I don’t know who that is, but I can tell Doc’s making fun of me. That even after last night, he still hates me. “I can’t help being a Whitehall any more than you can help being where you’re from. And I’m not trying to suck up to you guys, I just like cleaning.”
Doc hauls himself onto the counter. “Fair enough, Tits.” He looks me up and down. “You know, if you want to be our little maid, I can get you a uniform.”
I know he means a frilly apron and high heels. Stripper clothes. “No thank you.” I pick up my vegetable knife and return to my carrots. “How was your day?”
“Why?”
God, what is his problem? “I’m just trying to talk to you.”
“Oh yeah?” He shifts closer to me. “How about we talk about what me and Bobby did to you last night?”
I shave a tiny piece of skin off a carrot, refusing to look at him.
“You sigh, you know,” he says conversationally. “Whenever anyone kisses you. At first, I thought you were putting it on, but you’re just that horny, aren’t you?”
I ignore him, peeling another strip of skin from my carrot.
He shifts closer again. “Remember, Tesorina? Remember how I kissed you?”
All too well. His mouth soft and lazy on mine, the taste of liquor and rain and fresh cigarettes.
“It was a good kiss,” Doc says with a grin. “Don’t you agree?”
I bend my head, letting my sweaty hair swing between us. It was a perfect kiss, but that doesn’t make it any easier to peel vegetables. Doc has probably kissed a thousand girls. He doesn’t care about me.
“Gonna ignore me, Tits? After that nice orgasm I gave you?”
I carefully slice a potato into halves. We both know it was Bobby who gave me the orgasm. He just wants me to talk to him and I won’t.
Doc swings his long legs against the counter. “You gonna stay and cook once Morelli’s wife moves in?”
My mouth falls open. “Mr. Morelli’smarried?”
Doc laughs. “What’s wrong, Tits? Jealous Prince Elliot’s already taken?”
I drop my gaze to the potatoes, furious at myself for talking.
“Don’t worry. He’s not married yet. But he needs pure-blooded Italian babies to inherit his eighteenth-century wine glasses or whatever the fuck. He’ll have a wife by summer.”
I try to focus on cutting vegetables, but I can’t stop picturing an Italian goddess with golden skin and liquid brown eyes. Eli’s rubies around her neck. My plans to be a housemaid go up in smoke. There would be nothing more humiliating than waiting on Mr. and Mrs. Morelli.
“What are you making?” Doc asks. “Harvey said it was an ‘old family recipe’ but judging by what’s going on here, that’s bullshit. Unless you’re doing mayonnaise salad.”
I can’t help but smile. “I never said it wasmyfamily recipe.”
“Very clever, Tesorina. Another gift from your Zia Teresa?”
He remembered her name. A silly little thrill goes through me. “It is actually. Brodo is Zia’s favourite. And mine.”
