Page 46 of Ruined By Protection
"Ettore's new creation for Friday," I answer, gesturing toward the chef who's watching our interaction with undisguised interest. "Pumpkin cappellacci."
"Ladies!" Ettore exclaims, wiping his hands on his apron. "Perfect timing. You must taste this."
Hazel hesitates, glancing between Lucrezia and me. "I wouldn't want to impose..."
"Impose?" Ettore looks personally offended. "A beautiful woman eating my food could never be an imposition! Sit, sit!"
He gestures emphatically to the stools beside me. Lucrezia immediately takes one, leaving the seat next to me for Hazel. I can practically feel her reluctance as she slowly approaches and perches one thigh on the far edge of the stool, keeping as much distance between us as possible.
I continue eating in silence, hyperaware of her presence—the faint scent of lavender, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, the careful way she holds herself. The kitchen feels ten degrees warmer with her this close.
Ettore places plates in front of both women with a flourish. "Buon appetito!"
"This smells amazing," Hazel says politely.
I watch from the corner of my eye as she takes her first bite. Despite her obvious discomfort, her eyes widen in surprise, and a small sound of appreciation escapes her.
FUCK.
"Oh my god," she murmurs. "That's incredible."
Ettore beams. "You see? Food speaks its own language. No translation needed."
Lucrezia launches into a story about Ettore's legendary Christmas feast last year, filling the awkward silence. I focus on my plate but every cell in my body remains attuned to Hazel’s body beside me. She eats slowly, savoring each bite, her tongue caressing her lip, but I notice she never fully relaxes. The carefree woman laughing with Lucrezia moments ago has disappeared.
Because of me.
I drain my water glass, needing something to do with my hands. The three cappellacci are gone and I'm tempted to ask for more just to have an excuse to stay. Which is fucking ridiculous. I've never been the type to linger awkwardly where I'm not wanted.
"How was your meeting with Maria?" I ask abruptly, surprising even myself.
Hazel's fork pauses halfway to her mouth. Her eyes meet mine briefly before darting away.
"It was... informative," she says carefully.
"Maria's the best," Lucrezia adds. "If anyone can handle Hazel's situation, it's her."
I nod, searching for something else to say that won't sound like an interrogation. "Daniel said everything went smoothly."
"Yes," Hazel confirms, her voice quiet.
An uncomfortable silence falls. Lucrezia glances between us, her brow furrowing slightly.
I force myself to look away from Hazel, staring down at my empty plate instead. The silence stretches uncomfortably between us.
But not with Lucrezia watching us like we're her favorite reality show.
"So," Lucrezia says, clearly trying to ease the tension, "Hazel, I was thinking tomorrow we could?—"
A soft chime interrupts her. Hazel reaches into her pocket and pulls out a phone.
She glances at the screen and something shifts in her expression. The wariness fades, replaced by a small but genuine smile that lights up her eyes. Her fingers move quickly across the screen as she types a response.
Fuck me.
Is that why she's getting divorced? Some other man? Not that I care who she's fucking. Not my business. Not my problem.
I stand abruptly, the stool scraping against the floor. Both women look up, startled by the sudden movement.
