Page 75 of Just for a Taste

“That isn’t what I—” His entire face turned red in an instant. “Youknowmy weakness, you wicked little thing!”

I grinned and began to peel the carrots. “And what would that be?”

Zeno brought himself so close, I could feel his body heat emanating onto my back. “I have but one, and it’s one I refuse to let you forget.”

The steam rolling out of the pot probably would have cooled my face down.

“En-enough of that,” I stammered. “I need to cook.”

“All right, all right.” Zeno grinned his tilted grin and returned to his station at the island with his chin up, having successfully enacted his revenge. “What is the occasion I’m selecting music for tonight?”

I bit my lip, now flustered for a different reason. “It’s kind of embarrassing, but I’m afraid I’ll get too excited and read ahead of you inMadame Bovary, so I thought we could talk about the most recent chapter tonight instead of tomorrow.”

In my peripheral vision, I could see Zeno rest his chin on his cheek dreamily. “I should have known that would be the case, considering how you discussed it this morning.”

“Was it that obvious that I liked it?”

“Yes,” he answered seriously. “You were enchanting.”

The tension in the room peaked, and despite the heat, I was frozen. To my side, the broth gurgled with the beginnings of a boil. I quickly returned to preparing vegetables. “I think something fromCarmenwould be fitting. Not that I’m trying to tell you what to pick or anything. Um—you should go now.”

“As you wish, signorina.” Zeno returned to his feet, and I returned to an efficient chopping beat. “I guess I have two weaknesses.” He chuckled to himself, leaving for our little library. “How troublesome.”

Chapter 40: Vesti la giubba

The morning was beautiful, so beautiful it felt like a sin to spend it indoors. I peered beyond the curtain, watching voluminous clouds roll through the sky. It was never truly cold in this part of Italy, so it was a wonder every plant and animal knew it was spring. Even through the glass, I could practically feel the gentle yet crisp breeze glide over my skin and smell the flowers in early bloom.

The shower door slid shut just loud enough for me to hear, and I quickly jumped back from the curtain. All at once, the delightful sunlight vanished, leaving only the dull, yellow, artificial lighting.

Zeno entered the room with a towel tied around his waist. Without thinking, my eyes trailed across him, causing him to smirk. I immediately looked away, face burning.

He burst into laughter, sweeping on a plush robe. He tied the sash loosely, much of his white skin still entirely exposed.

“There, better?” he asked, plopping down on the bed and lying with his head resting on his hands.

“Just hurry up and get dressed already!” I grumbled, heat lingering on my cheeks. “I want to talk about the next chapter.”

“What, will the robe have you distracted with unchaste thoughts or something? Or must I finally charge you a fee for a proper figure painting?”

I contemplated throwing my book at him but opted to glare instead, eliciting another melodic laugh.

“Fine, fine,” he crooned, making his way to the dresser.

I wish you weren’t so pretty sometimes, I thought, stealing a glance at him in those few seconds before he slipped the shirt on. I wished desperately that just once, I could see him outside during the day, that I could draw his entire body immersed in the essence of spring and paint the way the daylight highlighted every muscle and curve. That I could just walk out the door with Zeno and have faith he wouldn’t die long before me.

I let out a sigh without thinking, and Zeno immediately homed in on it, turning to give me an inquisitive look.

“It’s nothing,” I said before he could ask, forcing a weak smile. “I’m just impatient, is all. I, uh—I’ll go heat up some tea and wait in the dining room.”

Without waiting for a response, I quickly left the room. I splashed some water on my face and put our usual kettle on the stove.

It wasn’t a possibility, not for us. But even though it was such a simple, inescapable reality, it didn’t feel any better.

With the glowing orange fire beneath it, the water heated almost immediately. I had scarcely stepped to the other side of the room when the kitchen became filled with steam and the strangely pleasant singing of a harmonica teakettle. As if compelled by its melodic peer, the smaller pot of milk also began a light boil. I quickly got to work, pouring the steaming water over Earl Grey tea bags and breathing in the satisfying smell of bergamot. I frothed the milk and poured it over as skillfully as I could, which wasn’t very. Even with the mess of semifrothed milk all over the countertops, the mere presence of my slapdash London Fog made me feel better.

Walking slowly so as not to lose a single drop, I carried both mugs to the dining area and put them in our respective places.

Zeno was still getting dressed in the bedroom. Even though it was just the two of us at home, he never neglected to properly groom himself. Just as I was meant to wear whatever dress he had picked out for me, he always took the time to iron his pants, comb his hair, and properly fold his shirt cuffs. Whether this was due to the propriety cultivated in childhood, Zeno’s own flair for panache, or a combination of the two, I did not know. All I knew for certain was that I would have ample time to gather my thoughts and orient them toward our future conversation.

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