I'd checked on her every day since that night—dinners, movies, quiet company.
She'd said the same words every time.
On the other side of her, Sebastian tipped his head back against the cushions, closing his eyes.
"I'm hungry," he whined dramatically.
"Shut up!" Rosie hollered from the kitchen.
And then, even louder—
"GIRLS!"
Candace and I froze.
Then I turned to Damien. He didn't even bother hiding the smirk pulling at his mouth.
"You better go," he warned. "She isn't playing around."
Candace and I scrambled to our feet like schoolchildren summoned by the principal.
The moment we crossed into the kitchen—
Wham.
A wall of scent hit me so hard I blinked back tears.
Garlic. Basil. Tomatoes simmered down in a large pan.
And then—
The decor.
Jesus Christ.
The wallpaper was floral.
The curtains were floral.
The tablecloth was floral.
The rug was floral.
Even the ceramicsalt shaker—shaped like a plump Italian grandmother—was wearing a floral dress.
I struggled to take it all in.
Patterns collided in every direction, fighting for dominance.
Rosie didn't look up from the stove as she barked, "Aprons. On hooks. I don't want you ruining those pretty dresses—"
"Yes, ma'am," we echoed, already moving.
We tied the aprons around our waists.
Rosie was waiting when I looked up, two spoons in hand.
She dipped them into the sauce and held them out to us.
