I sit mechanically, my actions robotic because everything hurts. And I don’t mean the welts on my sex or the ache between my legs.
The chef glares at us from his corner as Dante fits an oven glove and takes a plate with crispy bacon from the warming drawer. He serves me first and then Noah.
If my statement sounds a little accusing, it’s because it feels like another betrayal that Dante never told me this. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
He pushes the maple syrup toward me. “I don’t, but it’s not difficult to follow a recipe. Pancakes is one of the few things I learned to make. I acquired a few basic skills after moving into an apartment on my own.” From his relaxed and easy banter, you’d never say there’s a ton of bad history between us. “When I still had the luxury of time.”
Noah digs in, cutting a chunk of pancake off with a fork and shoving the big bite into his mouth.
I study Dante. “Do you have time now?”
“I wanted to have breakfast with Noah.”
And he just hijacked the hotel kitchen to do so. Surely, making pancakes could’ve waited until he got home.
Who am I kidding?
Dante has never waited for anything. If he wants something, he simply takes it.
Except for me, a voice says in the back of my head. For me, he waited. He waited until I was ready.
Ignoring those thoughts, I look at the chef. “How did you manage to arrange this? He doesn’t look happy.”
“I spoke to the hotel owner.”
The reach of his power still makes my head spin. “Just like that.”
He meets my gaze head-on. “Just like that.”
Unable to hold the intense look in his eyes, I lower mine, pretending to be occupied with eating.
It’s only when I’ve swallowed the first bite that I realize he’s still staring at me.
“What?” I wipe a finger over my lips. “Do I have something on my mouth?”
“No.” He follows the action of my finger with emotionless eyes, yet the amber color darkens to deep gold. “How’s the pancake?”
“Good,” I admit, smiling at Noah. “The two of you did a great job.”
Noah swallows with a bob of his head. “Yum. We did, Dante. They’re even better than the pancakes at the Pancake Stack.”
I frown at Dante, who’s not breaking eye contact with me.
“What?” I ask again. He’s making me even more uncomfortable than I already am.
He motions at the pancake on my plate. “You ate it.”
That’s when it hits me. He deceived me. Again. This was a ploy to get me to eat the food he’s made. It’s not as much about showing me that he won’t drug my drinks or meals than proving a point, which is that he’ll win again and again.
My appetite suddenly gone, I put down my fork.
“The pancakes are good.” Dante’s words hold a challenge. “You said so yourself. Go on and finish your breakfast. If you’re planning on working like yesterday, you’re going to need the energy.”
I want to get up and leave, but for Noah’s sake, I don’t. Why does everything Dante do always have to be about defeating me? Can’t I enjoy anything just for what it is without worrying about a hidden agenda? But no, Dante has never done anything for me without ulterior motives.
The bite I took pushes up in my throat. I think I’m going to be sick.
No longer able to stay put, I slip off the stool. My voice is shaky when I cup Noah’s face and kiss his forehead. “That was delicious, sweetheart. Thank you so much. Don’t forget to save some for Jazz. She’ll love them. I’m going to get ready for work.”
