Page 26 of Ruthless Reign

The dinner table had been covered with a peach tablecloth and two proper place settings in front of the chairs. Long-stemmed candles lit the center with a plate of steaming vegetables in between them. My mouth watered at the sight of Julia placing chicken next to that, complementing the risotto on the other side. At my entrance, she paused and glanced up at me, crossing her hands in front of her polka-dotted apron.

It smelled delicious, and when my stomach grumbled, I realized Castor wasn’t the only one neglecting his nutritional needs.

“What’s this?” I asked, setting my bike helmet on the table next to the door.

“Dinner,” she said. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No. I mean…” I cleared my throat and ran my hands through my hair, stepping toward her. “Why did you make it?”

She licked her lips, and I dropped my focus to the tiny movement, entertaining the idea of what that perfect pink tongue might feel like on my own skin.

“I thought…perhaps we could talk?” She phrased it like a question, like I could turn her down if I wanted.

I didn’t know what to say. I was disgusting, having spent the entire day in the sweltering garage before going to the clubhouse to mingle in politics all evening. I reeked of leather and oil and sweat, and I was in no condition to sit down and have a meal with her. Besides, what would we talk about? How much we hated each other? How much I wanted to fuck her and choke her with equal intensity?

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” she said, murmuring in Italian as she bent over to blow out one of the candles. “Stupid girl. This was so stupid.”

“No, wait,” I said and held up a hand to stop her. “This is great, Julia. Really. It’s just…uh…I need a shower. Can you wait another two minutes? Let me go?—”

“Oh,” she said, blinking and smiling an adorable grin. “Of course. Please.”

“Okay.” I raced up the stairs and stripped faster than I ever had. I jumped under the water and scrubbed like the world would end before I could get out. And after I dried off and dressed, I took a deep breath before I went back downstairs to find Julia sitting at the table, spinning a glass of wine between her fingers. My stomach rumbling louder, I walked to the other side and sat, meeting her curious gaze as I did.

She’d already plated our food and waited for me to arrive before eating.

“This looks amazing, thank you,” I said, grabbing the napkin to put in my lap.

She did the same before taking a sip of her drink. I brought my own glass to my nose and inhaled. A pinot grigio, and I put that in my mental notes for next time. My wife enjoyed dry wine.Good to know.

“Thank you for breakfast these past few days. I wanted to return the favor.” She picked up her fork and knife to slice off a piece of chicken for herself.

“I didn’t know you cooked.” I, likewise, stabbed into a piece of chicken, nearly wincing when I stuck it in my mouth. It tasted like sandpaper and salt dunes had a baby, and that baby looked and talked like a chicken, but had never actually been alive at all.

“Oh, damn,” she said, nearly knocking over her glass of water when she reached for it.

I coughed and choked the meat back, swallowing it down before going for my drink.

“Evidently, I can’t,” she said with a deprecating chuckle. “Here I thought I’d followed the recipe.”

“It’s okay,” I said, smiling as I took another bite. Just because it didn’t taste like the best meal I’d ever had didn’t mean it was inedible. “Chicken is hard. Maybe try spaghetti next time.”

“Why? Because I’m Italian?” She raised an eyebrow and twisted her lips into a cute grin.

“No, because it’s easy. Noodles. Pasta sauce. Done.”

“Hmm. You’ve been severely sheltered if that’s all you think of spaghetti.” She narrowed her eyes and took another sip of wine. “You don’t have to eat it. We can order in or?—”

“Nonsense. I’ve eaten worse.” I winked at the innuendo, taking another bite and swallowing it before my tongue could really taste it. Suddenly, the last few weeks became clear—the missing food, the smell of burned meat in the house. She’d been practicing, and I laughed internally at whatthosemight have looked like if she thought this turned out okay. “What did you want to talk about?”

She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. “I thought perhaps we could start over.”

Start over?

“Okay,” I said tentatively.

“These past two weeks haven’t worked for me,” she continued. “I won’t live this way. Moving around one another. Pretending the other doesn’t exist.”

She hadn’t acted like I didn’t exist when she was spying on me in the shower, but I didn’t bring that up. Instead, I took a bite of the mushy overcooked vegetables and shoveled that down with some wine.

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