Chapter 10
There was a two–second silence on the other end before his deep voice came through. “I’m fine
with
anything. Just get what you like.”
I rolled my eyes, hung up, and went back to selecting fresh mushrooms and beef.
On Marco’s end, Luca and Giulio exchanged a glance. Having been by Marco’s side for years, they knew their president was actually quite picky about food.
Back at Casanova Apartments, I tied on an apron and got busy in the kitchen. In the oven, an Italian–style roast chicken was turning golden, its crispy skin giving off a tempting aroma. On the stove, a mushroom soup simmered, bubbling with steam.
While slicing onions, I stole glances at the door, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. Yesterday, in this very kitchen… dwell on.
ugh, that scene was too
The lock clicked–Marco was home. He took off his suit jacket, casually draping it over the back of the sofa. Seeing actually walked over. “Need a hand, Alia?” he asked, his voice lazy with a hint of teasing.
me busy in the kitchen, he
Go change first!”
My cheeks burned as yesterday’s embarrassing moment flashed through my mind. I quickly waved him off. “No, no! I’ve got this. G I didn’t even dare look up at him, afraid he’d see through my flustered thoughts.
“Alright. How about some role–play tonight–maybe a little uniform temptation?” He leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a playful glint in his eyes.
“You!” I shot him an exasperated glare, grabbing a kitchen knife and gesturing toward his lower half. “You’d look best with nothing on!”
He let out a low chuckle. As he turned to leave the kitchen, he deliberately swayed his hips with a slow, teasing motion. “Careful, ragazza, I might take that seriously.” His suggestive tone made my ears burn.
Dinner was quite the spread: Italian roast chicken, onion–stir–fried beef, Mediterranean vegetable salad, and mushroom soup.
Looking at the table, I felt pretty proud of my cooking. Marco sat down, his expression neutral. But I noticed his brow furrow slightly when I pushed the onion–stir–fried beef toward him.
“Onions boost immunity. Have some more,” I said casually, placing a serving on his plate.
However, he didn’t touch his chopsticks–or even the handmade pasta nearby. He just quietly sipped his red wine, set down the glass, and n.urmured, “Grazie.”
The atmosphere grew heavy. My smile froze, and my fingers unconsciously tightened around my fork. ‘Does he not like it? Did I mess up the flavor? Or… does he just not want to eat what I made?‘
After dinner, as I cleared the dishes, my chest felt tight. He hadn’t said a single word of feedback–not even a polite one! I forced myself to finish washing the dishes, then retreated to the bedroom and flopped onto the bed, replaying the scene in my mind.
The moonlight streamed in coldly through the window, and my eyes inexplicably stung. ‘Aria, are you taking yourself too seriously? Your marriage to Marco is just part of a deal, nothing more.‘
I rolled over, staring at the ceiling, telling myself over and over: I can’t keep doing this. I know so little about him–his likes, his limits. From now on, I need to keep my distance, No more crossing lines.
As mulled over this, I opened my laptop to review the Phantom Game project proposal. Just as I clicked on the document, my phone rang. It was my best friend, Francesca.
“Hey! Aria Rossi! How could you not tell me about something as big as moving?!” Her voice came through the receiver, a mix of anger and urgency, laced with reproach. “Do you know how worried I’ve been?”
