But yes, we’re done.
I find my way back to the table somehow. Someone puts a glass in my hand, and I drink without tasting it. Ashlyn is talking to Giovanna about something; I have no idea what. Siena is watching me with an expression that has shifted from fury to pity.
Matti leans in slightly. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
The waiter materializes at my elbow. “Sir, the chef sends her apologies that your dish request could not be filled, but hopes you’ll enjoy the tagliatelle instead. It’s a house specialty.”
He sets a bowl down in front of me. Tagliatelle with half bolognese, half pesto. I stare at it for a long time, then pick up a fork. The first bite is exactly what I knew it would be: fucking amazing. Like her.
This is not over. No fucking way it’s over. Sophia Bellamorte is mine.
11
SOPHIE
The restaurant is finally quiet, the staff gone, every surface wiped clean. My opening night could not have gotten better, and everyone I loved was there to celebrate with me.
Everyone I love.
I blush, remembering the look on Vin’s face when he begged me to stay with him, to be with him. While I don’t love that he chose tonight of all nights to confront me in front of everyone—including his fiancée—I allow myself a private moment of vindication sitting at my desk in my office.
Then move on.
Grabbing the order sheets, I head back into the kitchen to double check what fresh produce remains and forget what I’m doinginstantly.
Vin is standing in the middle of the kitchen, his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, no tie, no jacket. His muscles bulge against the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt, as he glances down then looks up at me through his eyelashes. Frig. Those eyes. Dark and penetrating, like he knows everything I’m thinking. He probably does, even though at the moment, my mind is completely blank.
“Vin, I told you I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.”
He nods. “I heard you. I just wanted to check in with you and hear about your night.”
“You want to… talk?” I’m confused. This is confusing.
Vin moves toward me, keeping the kitchen counter between us. “I want to do anything you’ll agree to do with me. I just need to be near you.”
I don’t know how to process this. “Vin, I’m tired. I don’t want to talk.”
He grabs my wrists across the island, and the order sheets fly out of my hands and onto the floor. “So don’t talk. Let me take you upstairs. Put you in a bath. Rub your feet. Then tuck you in.”
Frig, that sounds amazing. My eyes almost droop just listening to him. But never has he taken care of me. In every situation, I have served him. So I’m not sure how to interpret this.
“Vin, that’s… nice of you, but I need to do these orders, and then I just want to go to bed.” I pull my wrists out of his grasp and bend to pick up the fallen sheets.
“You’re going to put in orders tonight? They’ll get filled when?” He comes around to my side of the counter and helps me pick them up.
“Monday.”
Vin raises an eyebrow. “It’s Friday, Soph.” He takes the order sheets out of my hand as we both stand and puts them on the kitchen counter. “Let’s go.”
“Vin, seriously, I just want to—”
Before I can get the words out, he scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder in one motion. I’m too tired to fight him as he carries me up the stairs. He rubs the back of my thighs as he carries me, and I groan, my eyes closing.
Vin sets me on the bathroom counter, pausing, his hands on my waist. His gaze drops to my mouth, and my heart stutters through a few beats. He doesn’t kiss me. He turns and starts the bath water then comes back, pulling my heels off my feet, rubbing each one for a moment, pushing his thumbs into my arches.
Oh. My. Goodness.
