Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 33078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
She’s watching me, her face set in soft lines. No harsh judgment, nothing even hinting at condemnation. If anything, there’s … compassion. Fuck, is someone chopping onions in here?
I turn back to the stove and drop the cutlets into the hot olive oil, the sizzle giving me a breather. When it settles down, I keep going.
“It just so happened that most of the times I was awake, there was a show on Food Network called Barefoot Contessa.”
She gasps. “Ina!”
I turn and catch her gaze again. “Yeah. You know her?”
“I love her! She’s so fancy with her ‘good vanilla’ and living in the Hamptons.” She grins. “I just didn’t know you were a fan, too.”
“Big fan.” I smile. And for once, it’s easy. It’s so fucking easy to smile when Bianca is in the room. “She’s basically my personal culinary instructor, though she doesn’t know it.” I drop the pasta into the boiling water and flip the cutlets.
“I love her show, though sometimes I used to cheat and watch the one with Giada on it. She wasn’t as fun as Ina, though. Ina always did those pretty flowers and table settings and really made a production of it.” She giggles. “Though I always thought Jeffrey was secretly gay.”
“Definitely.” I slice two lemons and add the juice and cream to a pan along with seasoning.
“That smells so good.” She licks her lips.
“Almost done.” I check the pasta and the chicken. Everything’s ready, so I plate it up and pour the sauce over the top.
When I slide the steaming plate in front of her and hand her silverware, she doesn’t waste a moment.
“Don’t burn your tongue.” I open a bottle of white.
“Oh my God, Fernando! It’s so good!” She chews, then opens her mouth and blows out the heat before chewing some more.
Fernando. That’s who I am. That’s what she called me. I hope she never stops.
12
BIANCA
“This food is perfection, but this wine is yummy.” I polish off my second glass. It makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. I reach for the bottle to pour more. I noticed that Fernando hasn’t touched his. He poured a glass but never took a drink. He beats me to it, grabbing the bottle. “Hey.” He pours a little into my wine glass, only filling it halfway. “Stingy.” I pick it up and drink it all down.
“Have you drunk before, sweetness?”
“Nope!” I chirp. He takes the bottle and sits it all the way on the other side of the table. “What? You’re banning me from having more now?” I roll my eyes. “Rules, rules, rules. Story of my life.” I take the last bite of food on my plate.
“I just don’t want you to get sick. If in twenty minutes you want more, I will give it to you. That’s all.” He looks unhappy that I’m unhappy, which is adorable.
“Oh.” I lick my lips. “So no rules then?” Fernando pauses for a long moment. I give him my best glare, which I think fails because a smile pulls at his lips so is it really a fail? Getting a smile, even a small one, from Fernando is a win in my book.
“I don’t want to control you, but I do want to keep you safe.”
“So I can have my own phone? Internet access whenever I want?” I ask only to clarify that he and I are on the same page.
“When this is all over, yes. Right now, we have to lie low.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
“Can I pick out my own clothes and pick who I marry?”
“You can wear whatever you like.” It doesn’t go unnoticed by me that he skips the subject of marriage entirely.
“Even if it’s”–I drop my voice to a whisper—“scandalous?”
With the way Fernando stares at me, I think he might not care for other men looking at me. That should bother me, but I find it endearing coming from him. He makes me feel special and different, like I can be a little bit edgier or even sillier than I ever was at home.
I know that some husbands don't care if their wives step out discreetly. As long as it’s after their childbearing days. It goes unsaid that the husbands do it from the very start. Some come into their marriages already having a mistress. I don’t foresee Fernando ever being that kind of husband.
“Yes, wear what you like.” He cracks his knuckles. “I know how to fight.”
I burst into laughter.
“Fight? Is that what you call it?”
He tenses.
“I’m teasing you, Fernando. I’m not completely naïve to this world and what happens.”
“Why do you not fear me?” He leans his head to the side, studying me.
“It’s the way you stare at me. It’s different than anyone else ever has.”
“The way I look at you?”
I nod. “For so long I’ve been taught to sit and look pretty. That I was to be quiet. Sitting in a room for hours with people, you learn a lot about them. I watched them. I fear a lot of them. Some that have never said a single word to me, but with you, I knew the second you burst into my bedroom you weren't going to hurt me. It was all over your face. Don’t get me wrong, you’re good at hiding your emotions and keeping your face unreadable, but there are always small signs if you know what you’re looking for. They’re not always in the face. It’s body language too. People think they get this gut feeling about things, but that’s not what it is. The truth is, it’s their mind noticing things and taking in details. The mind senses the danger; you're just not understanding why.”