Apart from when I’ve been sick, this is the first time in my twenty-three years that someone has looked after me. I don’t know whether to feel cared for… or controlled.
“Thank you,” I murmur, my voice thick with emotions. “For… well, everything.”
Susan just pats my hand and offers me a warm smile. “You’re most welcome.” She turns her head, pretending not to notice asI swipe a tear from under my eye. “How’s the food?” she asks, buttering a slice of bread for herself.
“The bread has too much yeast in it,” I say before I can stop myself. For a second I forget I’m a guest. Or collateral. Or whatever I am here. I’m just… me. “It’s good, but the crumb structure is too airy. You could cut the yeast by a quarter and let it rise longer for better flavor development.”
Susan’s lips twitch, the first hint of a genuine smile I’ve seen from her. “Is that so?” she asks, eyeing me with new interest. “You really are a baker, aren’t you?”
I nod, warming to her despite myself. “It was my mom’s bakery, but I’ve worked there since I was tall enough to reach the counter on a step stool.”
She asks a few questions, mostly about the work itself. At first, I enjoy the conversation, but as it goes on, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut and never commented on her bread.
I don’t know what’s going on with the bakery, and I’m not sure I want to know what Sabrina’s done to it in my absence. Can she actually make changes without me being there? God, I don’t even know if half is mine.
“What day is it?” I ask, needing to know so I can talk to Raffaele about Mom’s estate documents.
When she tells me, I roll my lower lip between my teeth. I’ve been here for nearly a week. In some ways, it feels longer. In others, just the blink of an eye. Being trapped in that room has really messed with my sense of time.
Susan eyes me, and for a second, I swear I see sympathy on the older woman’s face. “Do you like to read?” she asks, changing the conversation so fast I get emotional whiplash.
“Umm… sure.”
“Wait here.”
She disappears briefly, and when she returns, she’s carrying two well-worn paperbacks.
“Thought these might help pass the time,” she says, placing them on the counter beside me. “The days can get extremely long when you’re alone with your thoughts.”
I stare at the books; romance novels with creased spines and faded covers. One shows a broad-shouldered man in period clothing, holding a woman whose dress is slipping artfully from one shoulder.
“Thank you,” I say, genuinely touched by the gesture.
“They’re a bit silly,” Susan admits with a small smile, “but sometimes silly is exactly what we need.”
I tuck the books under my arm and retreat upstairs to my room.
Despite the freshly made bed, I opt to sit on the windowsill that overlooks snowy grounds. Both books rest in my lap. ‘Count of Her Heart’ and ‘The Duke’s Due’. I don’t read the synopsis on the back. Instead, I decide to let the hierarchy of nobility decide the order and start at the bottom.
‘The Duke’s Due’ it is.
After two days of Susan showing up and escorting me downstairs to eat, it no longer surprises me.
She’s nice enough, but she refuses to let me help with anything. I just sit there, eating alone, while she prepares and brings me stuff. It’s awkward and so not me.
It’s especially hard not to butt in when I can smell she’s used too much salt and butter on the fresh rolls she takes out of the oven.
While she pours freshly made lemonade, I look around, noticing details I’ve missed the previous days. As a baker, Ican’t help but appreciate the professional-grade appliances. The range alone is bigger than the one at my bakery.
Someone who understands food and values the craft of cooking has obviously designed this kitchen. It’s the first thing about this place that feels remotely comforting.
“Why isn’t Raffaele coming to eat when he wants me to?” I ask when she’s plated up pasta salad, those rolls, and cold-cuts of ham.
The food’s delicious. Well, not so much the rolls. But the rest tastes great, and so does the lemonade. I’m about to tell her this when she finally decides to answer my question.
“He’s been handling some business.” Her tone is colder now, and her smile is completely gone.
Does she know I see him in the library at night, across the chessboard while the fire crackles?
