Page 38 of Destiny

“Mackenzie! You are not helping!”

“Sorry. I’m just kidding. I’m sure it will be fine.”

I’m about to panic again when I get another message from him.

“Oh, thank God. I don’t have to cook. We’re getting takeout from Anthony’s.” So, at least that pressure is taken off my back.

“Yum! Their cauliflower risotto is to die for.”

“Yeah.”

I continued working throughout the rest of the day as I imagined the worst-case scenarios—What if I spill sauce on her designer clothes? What if she asks me about something sophisticated, and I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about?

But the warm welcome I got from Aurora and Alessia upon entering his home later that night helped calm me down a little.

“Bea! Bea!” they both yell.

“Hi, girls!” I bend down in the nicest outfit I have—an olive-green sundress with a black cardigan over it—and open my arms to welcome them in.

“Look what I made at school!” Alessia holds up a drawing of a skeleton with labeled body parts.

“Wow! That’s so cool.”

“I made one too,” Aurora says before stomping over to the counter and showing me hers.

“They’re both really great.”

Then, the cooling presence of a woman I’d never seen before makes me stand up straight again.

“Hello, Mrs—”

“Louisa, please.” She puts her hand out for me to shake.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Louisa,” I say while accepting and awkwardly curtseying.

“And I understand that you are Bea Carter?”

“Yep. That’s me.”

“Pleased to meet you.” As I look her up and down, I immediately see where Marco gets his dark hair from. And she’s wearing a dark shade of lipstick that I would never dare trying to pull off, although my best friend certainly wouldn’t have any qualms about rocking.

“Ah! I see you’ve already met,” Marco remarks while carrying bags in from the garage.

“Yes, we have.”

“Do you need help with those?” I ask.

“Nah, I got it. Thanks, though.”

“Sure.”

After he puts everything down, I want to hug him and press my face against his strong chest muscles. But I know I can’t do that without raising his daughters’ eyebrows. They’ve never so much as seen us touch. I wish we could just come out in the open with them, but I have to respect his opinion on that. Plus, I haven’t told my parents yet—although I’m not entirely sure why.

His mother and I engage in small talk while he gets all of the food, plates, and necessary utensils out.

“Okay, I tried to get a little bit of everything for us. There’s cauliflower risotto, lasagna, and chicken alfredo.”

We let him get his girls sorted before we go in.

---