Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Take a seat,” he said, stacking whatever he was making onto a plate.
I walked forward and sat in the chair, staring at the spread. He switched off the stove, turned around, and set down a plate with french toast. My mouth watered at the sight of it. He couldn’t have known it was my favorite since I hadn’t told him, but it was a nice coincidence. He took a seat. The chairs were far apart enough to guarantee we wouldn't touch, which was good. The less interaction I had with him, the better. That was the decision I made last night after I cried myself to sleep. Today, and for the remainder of my time with him, I’d treat him the way I treated Dean, Gio, and Lorenzo. Like a brother and not the guy I’d had a crush on my entire life. And for now, I wouldn’t speak to him unless he spoke first. Did it suck? Yes. I was over it, though. Even when I felt his eyes on me, I refused to look. I stared at the avocado.
“Eat,” he said.
I jolted a little and picked up the mangos, serving some on the plate. What I really wanted was the french toast. He went for that first, setting three pieces on his plate. I took it from him when he offered and served myself the same amount. He put syrup on his. I put syrup on mine.
“Thank you,” I said before I started eating.
I had to break my no-speaking rule for that, because I couldn’t not thank him. He said nothing in return. I cut into the french toast and ate the first piece. I closed my eyes to savor it better as it hit my tongue. I was dying to groan at how freaking good it was, but I didn’t make a peep. I wanted to tell him so many things — I would be in heaven if you made this for me every morning. I can’t believe you know how to make it this good, this is the best french toast I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a lot. Of course, I remained quietly impressed. Not everyone knew how to make it the way I liked it. People either overcooked or undercooked it. I’d tried to make it once, and despite the simple steps, it was a disaster. How the heck did he do it?
“My mom’s recipe,” he said as if reading my mind. I nodded in acknowledgment and brought the napkin to wipe my mouth after chewing.
“It’s amazing.” I ate another piece.
Despite everything I wanted to ask and say, we ate the rest of the meal in silence. I wanted to ask about his mother and what else he’d learned from her. I knew she’d been killed in that awful massacre when they were teenagers. I was young, but I remembered the day my brothers moved in with us. Rocco and his father visited not too long after. It was a somber time. Out of respect, I’d never asked my brothers about their mother unless they spoke about her first. I did the same with Rosie, and I’d do the same with Rocco. It wasn’t like he was in a talkative mood anyway.
When we were finished, I picked up empty plates and bowls and took them to the sink to wash. This was another simple thing I would no longer do when I married Adriano. I should’ve been happy about it. I mean, who likes chores? But I’d rather have a pile of chores and freedom than live like an imprisoned queen. I kept my attention on the dishes I was washing. Rocco didn’t offer to help, but he did clean the kitchen, bringing something to the sink every so often. Each time he did, he stepped so close to me that I had to will myself to stay calm. The silence between us was consumed by weird energy: anger and lust. We hadn’t looked each other in the eye today, but it was there. I felt it deep in my belly, and when he brushed against me to drop a used spatula in the sink, I had to hold my breath not to gasp. The sound of an alarm nearly made me drop the plate in my hand.
“They’re here,” he said. “Grab onto something.”
I set the plate down, turned off the faucet, and gripped the edge of the white sink. He did the same, setting his hand right next to mine, our fingers touching. My heart started pounding, so I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent. I wasn’t sure what soap he used, but he always smelled so good. Clean. Sadness washed through me when I opened my eyes and stared down at our hands. The alarm stopped, and it was then that the house started to move up. Light poured in through the windows. It was so bright that I had to squint. I hadn’t realized how dark the house was until now. Maybe because Rocco had turned all the lights on. I couldn’t live here for too long. No amount of lights in a house could ever replace sunlight. The house stopped moving, so we let go of the sink. At the sound of the door unlocking, I brushed past him. When I slung myself into his arms, Dominic hadn’t even fully stepped in. The instant comfort it brought made me start crying. Here I was, running away from our dad to blackmail him, something I set out to do alone, and now I’d dragged them all into it. I wanted to apologize and thank them simultaneously, but I couldn’t speak.