Page 77 of Bittersweet

He doesn’t need to worry about me, because as much as I love Elio, I would rather be without him than hurt that little girl. I don’t understand how a mother could run out on her own child. How she could run out on Elio. Or worse, betray him by sleeping with hisbrother.

Guilt stabs at my heart. He must have thought I was a monster showing up at his grandparents’ house yesterday. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was yourbrother.”

Elio cups my cheek and presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. “I know. And don’t worry about it being weird for Coco. She already loves you, and she’ll sure as hell tell you if shedoesn’t.”

“I’d expect nothing less from yourdaughter.”

“Well, she takes after her aunt.” He wraps his arms around me as we walk toward thestairs.

The house smells amazing, and I’m starved. I hurry downstairs like a new bride at a Badgley Mischka clearance. Before I can get too far, Elio pulls me against him from behind and kisses my neck. His beard tickles my sensitive flesh. I shriek and attempt to pull away as we enter the kitchen and dining room, but he won’t allowit.

Coco glances at us and rolls her eyes as she squirts more syrup on an already drowning blueberrypancake.

“Gwoss,” she says, setting the bottle on thetable.

Elio takes my hand and leads me over to the long bench seat. “Hey, I plan on kissing Romy a lot more, so you better get used toit.”

I cringe, worrying my bottom lip with my teeth because if Coco doesn’t want me around her daddy, it might devastateme.

She rolls her inscrutable gaze over me from knee to nose and scrunches up her little face. “Boys have cooties, youknow?”

“That’s right,” Elio says, proudly beaming like an idiot. “And don’t you ever forgetit.”

I shake my head and sit beside him, opposite his beautiful daughter, and as she mirrors my exasperation and shakes her head at her father, I know we’re going to get along justfine.

28

Elio

I’d doanything for the woman Ilove.

Maybe that makes me sound pussy-whipped, or like a complete and utter sap, but I spend all my days thinking about her, dreaming of orgasms, sweet hot nothings whispered in each other’s ears, and happily ever afters of the not-so-Disneyvariety.

Love is why I get up in the morning. The last thing I think of atnight.

Well, that and my beautifuldaughter.

Luckily, the two can go hand in hand—and are often hand in hand, thanks to Romy’s love for mychild.

I flick the coffee machine on. The familiar hum fills the kitchen as I get to work, pulling out the flour, mixing bowl, eggs, strawberries and banana. Coco’s out walking with Sophia, and I promised them breakfast when they returned. I just happened to feast on Romy first, setting me a little behind in myplans.

Kissing along her neck, her sweet tits, and lower, lowerstill. . .

Oh, fuck yeah. Waking her up with my mouth is one of my favorite things to do. I only wish it happened more often. While she spends most nights of the week here, she still insists on returning home every now and then to do menial things like check the mail. Water plants. Do laundry. Tasks I could do forher.

Tasks I want to do forher.

I crack the eggs into the well I’ve made in the bowl of dry ingredients, then add a splash of milk. I take the whisk and begin to beat. Yeah, I have an electric one, but some things are just better by hand. More personal. More . . .connection.

My mind gets lost in thoughts of other things I like to do with my hands forRomy.

“Do you know what I love most about having sleepovers with a man who owns abakery?”

Romy.

I turn from my spot at the kitchen counter, keeping the whisk securely in the bowl in front of me. My mouth waters. Even hidden behind her silk robe, that body has the power to take my breathaway.

“Is it the fact I have great buns?” I ask, since she’s still waiting for an answer and I’m starting to doubt my willpower to finish this batch of pancakes if I get lost in thoughts of what’s under that mulberry material for one moreminute.

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