When I was about to fall asleep that night, I heard the soft click of the door lock.
The thought that Rafael might be back surprised me a little.
Standing by the bedroom door, I listened to the soft sounds coming from the kitchen.
Lately, he’d started doing this. He’d suddenly return home, fuss around in the kitchen, and hurriedly slip out with some deliciously cooked food.
Once, I caught the sweet aroma drifting from the oven and thought he had a surprise for me.
“What are you making?” I asked and curiously peered.
He didn’t even look up as his hands swiftly packed the lemon tarts straight out of the oven into a box. “Natalia said she was craving this.”
He assembled the box carefully and even tied a perfect bow with a ribbon.
“I’m hungry too.” I stared at the golden crust and gulped.
He paused and then remembered my love for lemon tarts too. “Shall I get Susan to make you something? Or could you order in?”
After he left, Susan Barlowe made me a plate of over-salted pasta.
And now, I was no longer curious about what the midnight treats were and who they were for.
My throat felt a little dry, so I got up and headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
In the kitchen, the air was heavy with the rich sweetness of coffee, cocoa, and mascarpone. He was making tiramisu.
He layered biscuits, soaked them in a coffee liqueur mixture, spread the cream, and dusted cocoa powder on top. He was so focused that he didn’t even notice me standing at the door until I fetched a glass.
“Gianna?” He spun around and instinctively shielded the counter with his body. “Aren’t you asleep yet?”
“Just thirsty,” I said flatly.
“This…” He glanced at the tiramisu and panicked as if I might rush over and shove it into my mouth. “You can’t eat this! There’s coffee liqueur and raw egg in here. It’s bad for the baby!”
Sensing his panic, I almost laughed. Three months ago, when I had terrible morning sickness, he hadn’t poured me so much as a glass of water. And now, he was fussing over Natalia’s dessert.
“Relax. I’m not interested in your sweets,” I commented as I dried my hands.
He opened his mouth to explain, but his phone rang with a call, and Natalia’s name blinked on the screen.
“Rafael, I think I have a fever…” her weak voice came through.
Rafael’s expression twisted with an annoyed frown on his brows, yet his gaze softened. “You took those random pills again, didn’t you? Hang in there. I’m coming.”
After hanging up, he packed the tiramisu in a box with practiced ease. When tying the ribbon, he went the extra mile to fix the curve of the bow.
“Do you remember tonight’s supposed to be our wedding night?” I suddenly asked, my heart tight with the last shred of hope.
“Don’t start,” he said without looking up. “It’s Natalia’s birthday, and someone has to keep her company.”
“This is the 17th time.” I could hear a tremor in my voice.
He finally looked up at me with the same tired conflict in his eyes. “Please, Gianna. You know Antonio…”
“…asked you to protect her.” I finished for him and smiled. “Go. Don’t keep her waiting.”
When his car pulled away, I checked my phone and noticed that Natalia had posted five minutes ago.
“Running a fever at 103 degrees Fahrenheit, but Rafael promised me a surprise!”
The picture showed a thermometer at 98 degrees Fahrenheit.
As I set the phone down, my mind drifted back to three years ago when I met Rafael for the first time.
Mafias from the North and South gathered in Montrava to negotiate, and I was there as the Northern financial advisor.
When Rafael burst in with his Southern men, all the bodyguards drew guns.
He walked straight to me, dropped to one knee under their watchful stares, and pressed a golden revolver into my hands.
Looking up at me, his emerald-green eyes were alight with a love-at-first-sight awe. “Gianna Rossetti, there’s a bullet in here. If I ever cheat on you, use it.”
