My head is still spinning when he walks out, my legs too shaky to hold me up, so I lean against the counter for support.
Christ, what was that? What just happened?
I must’ve been out of my mind to do something so bold. So reckless and dirty in the open. And with the last man I should have let touch me, no less. But my brain never seems to function well around Luca.
No more running or hiding, Matilde. I won't let you. You're mine now.
My hair has mostly fallen out of its messy bun, so I run a hand through it and grab a fistful, gnawing my lower lip as Luca’s last words race through my mind. The look on his face when he said those words left me no choice but to believe that he meant them. Was it a threat? A promise?
I spin around when the bell on top of the door rings and watch Sally strut in, headphones plugged in her ears with her bubble gum pink hair flipping around her face as she dances to whatever music is blasting through them. She stops when she notices the tall man standing by the door, and I notice a flush climb up her cheeks.
I think about the day I hired her, how nervous I’d been about bringing someone new into this space. This bakery belonged to my mother—her dream, her second home. She ran it for years before everything fell apart. After my parents died, Uncle Giovanni shut it down. Said it was “too painful” to keep open, but I think he just didn’t want the hassle of managing it.
He gutted the place—sold off the equipment, let the space sit empty for four years. By the time I turned eighteen and could access my inheritance, there was nothing left but bare walls and my mother’s old recipe box, which I found shoved in a storage closet. It sits on a shelf in the kitchen now, a place of honor among the new equipment waiting to be installed—her handwritten cards for biscotti, cannoli, and the sugar cookies that started it all.
Working to reopen this place was the first thing I did with my inheritance. It’s taken months of renovation—new equipment, new fixtures, bringing everything up to code—but it’s nearly complete. I can’t wait to stand in the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of butter and vanilla. I know I’ll feel closer to my mother than I have in years.
Arianna has supported me through all of it, even though baking was never her passion. She has her own dreams—her vlog, her adventures, her life that doesn’t revolve around flour and sugar. I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re twins, but we’ve never tried to be the same person.
And then I met Sally. A twenty-year-old accounting student in need of work to help with her college expenses. But she wasn't just good with numbers. Her bubbly personality appealed more to the customers than my shyness ever did. Hiring her was one of the best decisions I’ve made, and I can’t help but crack a smile as I watch her walk toward me. Her focus is on the tall man by the door.
“Good morning, Sally,” I call out, bending down to clean the mess Luca and I made earlier.
“Yeah, morning," she calls out, seemingly distracted and doesn't notice me on the floor. “So, Um…who’s the hunk?” she whispers, nodding toward the man. “I’ve never seen him before. Is he, like, a customer? Why’s he standing by the door?"
I chuckle, getting to my feet and disposing of the rag. “What question would you like me to answer first?”
“Okay, who is he?”
“One of Luca’s men. My new bodyguard…I think.”
“What happened to the other one? You know, the tall, handsome, and dangerous guy that gives mafia vibes,” she says, her eyes locked on the new guard. “You didn’t fire Luca, did you?”
“No,” I say, trying and failing not to think about Luca. Or the fact that I don’t have any panties on because the man took them with him. Christ, what was I thinking? “I didn't fire him.”
“Too bad I have a boyfriend. He's so hot," she says, not being even remotely quiet as she watches Luca's replacement.
“Hush,” I say, patting her shoulder when the door opens with our first customer. Sally puts her things away and turns to the customer. I excuse myself and head to the bathroom to clean up before coming back to help Sally.
The morning rush starts, and soon I’m too busy to think of Luca or of the ache between my legs—the memory of his touch still lingering. I shake off the thoughts as they come and focus on work. As the customers trickle down and the display case starts to look a little empty, I decide to leave Sally to man the ship and head upstairs to finish preparing more pastries to restock. Sally says she has everything under control.
“Sure, you go ahead,” she says, shooing me upstairs. I laugh as she keeps glancing at the new guard and make my escape. A few moments alone, surrounded by the familiar scent of vanilla, butter, and yeast should help distract me from thoughts of Luca.
It doesn’t.
For the first time in years, I burn a few things. The first two batches of chocolate cookies are an ugly shade of dark brown—charred—when I take them out. My heart wrenches painfully as I stare at the spoiled cookies.
It’s all his fault!
I’ve let you keep your distance for months, but the second you let me touch you again, you became mine!
Why can’t I get him or his words out of my mind? Why him? The last man on earth I should be with, and yet, he’s the one I want the most. The one whose touch my body craves. It’s him I want in my kitchen, tasting my pastries and telling me how much he likes them. It’s him I want guarding me, even when I pretend I don’t need him to.
He’s a drug, and I can’t quit him.
When my phone rings from somewhere in the living room, I welcome the distraction. I smile when I see my sister’s name flash on the screen, figuring she’s just what I need to stop thinking about Luca.
“Hey, Ari,” I say once the call connects. “Miss me already?”
