Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
“To answer your question, yes,” he says. “I did have Tiffany fired.”
“Why?”
“Because she fucked with you.” His eyes flash. “And nobody fucks with my wife.”
My heart skips a beat, and I will it to calm the hell down.
“You really are committed to that bit,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say.
There was no love lost between Tiffany and me, and after what she did, I’m not sure I should find it in me to care. But there’s also way too much to overanalyze here.
Is this a romantic gesture? Protective? Or did she just annoy Cristian too?
I have no idea.
“Was there anything else?” he asks.
I drag my teeth over my lip, not wanting to take up more of his time, but of course, he notices.
“Tell me,” he insists.
“Are you having someone intercept the notes from the stalker?”
“When more arrive, they’ll be delivered to me,” he confirms.
“So there were none today?”
He registers the concern in my eyes and does his best to reassure me. “Not today. But we’ll find him soon.”
“It’s weird, though,” I point out. “He’s been leaving them consistently, and now nothing. Do you think he figured out there are cameras?”
“No,” he answers without hesitation. “He’ll never find those.”
He seems confident, and I’m sure it’s because the Vitales have access to surveillance I’d rather not think about.
“Okay, well I’ll let you get back to work. Sorry for interrupting you.”
“You saved me from an endless monologue. Feel free to do it again.”
“In that case, you’re welcome.” I offer him a soft smile.
“I’ll see you tonight.” His voice dips. “And, Chantel?”
“Yes?” My pulse stutters.
“Be good today.”
26
CHANTEL
The notification on my phone alerts me to Cristian’s arrival just before the front door opens, and he catches me red-handed.
He closes the door behind him, locks it, and takes in the scene before him.
“What are you doing?” He stares at the slab of watermelon, string cheese, and popcorn on the coffee table.
“Eating dinner?”
“That’s not dinner,” he grumbles.
“It’s girl dinner.” I toss a piece of popcorn into my mouth. “This is usually about as exciting as it gets around here.”
“And what’s happening with this?” He gestures at Goliath, who’s currently sprawled across my lap, giving Cristian the stink eye.
“I think he’s jealous. He doesn’t like to share my attention.”
“You do realize that’s supposed to be a guard dog,” he says dryly.
“Yes, and what does it look like he’s doing? Guarding me, obviously.”
Cristian sets down his keys and pulls out his phone, making a quick call to let Pepe know he can come pick up Goliath.
“Well, that was rude,” I tell him when he hangs up.
“You and Pepe will have to work out a custody agreement. He’s been texting me asking when he can have him back.”
“Well, who can blame him?” I scratch Goliath’s ear. “He’s just a love bug.”
Cristian mutters something about him being a love bug who can rip out a man’s throat as he walks into the kitchen. A minute later, I hear things clanging around, and I get curious, so I venture in there to see what he’s doing.
“Where did those come from?” I frown at the pot and pan on the stove.
“I bought them,” he says. “Your cupboards are shockingly bare.”
“I’m not a very good cook.” I shrug, hating the vulnerability in my voice. “I can toss a mean salad, though.”
Cristian glances at me, and I’m pretty sure he’s wondering about my past again, but I’m grateful he doesn’t ask.
“Come here.” He gestures for me.
“What are we doing?” I eye him skeptically.
“Making dinner.”
“You know how to do that?”
“Have you met Nonna Vitale?” He arches a brow at me. “Learning was mandatory.”
“Well, I think it’s nice she taught all of you.”
Nobody in my family was around to teach me except the housekeeper, and she wouldn’t even let me help.
“Here.” Cristian hands me a bowl of cherry tomatoes. “You can start by washing those.”
“These must be from the island?” I ask, recognizing the bowl.
He nods. “We’re particular about our tomatoes.”
I wash them while he gets water boiling, and when that’s done, he summons me over to the stove.
He stands behind me, the heat of his body penetrating mine as he instructs me.
I hate to admit it, but there’s something so attractive about an incredibly competent man. It also doesn’t hurt that he has the patience of a saint, especially when it comes to me.
He directs me with a calmness that relaxes me, and before I know it, I’m learning how to blister tomatoes.
The sauce is deceptively simple, with only five ingredients, and it smells amazing.
When the pasta’s done cooking, Cristian adds that to the pan and lets me stir before he plates it up.
“Is that it?” I ask, feeling like we must have missed some steps because that wasn’t difficult at all.
“Good food isn’t that complicated,” he says. “But there is one last thing.”
My eyes light up like Christmas when he grabs the burrata I didn’t even notice he pulled out.