Page 160 of Mila: The Godfather

“You taste like heaven.” — R

“This shit is kind of soothing.” I smile, watching Riagan’s large, tattooed hands kneading the dough. He woke up cheerful today and told me he was spending the whole day with me. He said it would just be us and that we could do whatever I wanted. I wonder if he feels bad about what happened yesterday. He shouldn’t, and I told him that, yet I can’t help but notice how there’s no one in the mansion with us today except for his father and his most trusted men.

No one else.

Not even the rude man who threw a tray at me while I was quietly painting on my own or his house staff.

I wonder what happened to the man— Mitch. I’d never spoken a word to him before yesterday, but I also remember not being rude to him. I try my best to smile at everyone and to always be kind.

I kept thinking about his reaction to my spacing out and how it might’ve looked as if I was ignoring him, but that doesn’t warrant what he did. I remember the look on his face, and it was as if he enjoyed frightening me. It reminded me so much of all the times back home when my father and his men would yell or make fun of me because I didn’t answer fast enough.

Yesterday started as a great day, but then it turned ugly until Riagan came home.

The feeling of shame disappeared as soon as he took me away and held me until I fell asleep. Nothing hurts when he holds me. He makes everything better, and that makes me love him more because I know that, with him, I can be myself—the good and the bad— and he still has my back. He proves it every chance he gets.

That is why I chose to stay home today.

I wanted to spend it with my favorite person.

Although, I wonder, if the activity I chose was a big mistake.

A shirtless Riagan with messy hair, mixing and kneading bread, has my heart rate spiking.

Weird.

My breasts feel tight, and my breath hitches every time he rolls the dough through his fingers like an expert. It makes me think of all the dirty things he has done to me with those fingers.

“Share a fun fact with me, butterfly.” He suddenly says, stopping me from fantasizing about his skilled fingers.

Share a fact with me, butterfly.

Beaming, I think about it for a second, looking at the pile of warm bread we baked thus far.

“Riagan, do you know how old the oldest bread is?” I ask while adding more flour to the mix. We have more than enough, but I thought it would be nice to give some to his men-slash-friends.

“How old?”

I sprinkle a pinch of salt on his mixture because, somehow, he keeps forgetting the steps I taught him to bake bread. I don’t mind helping him. It warms my heart that he’s here with me instead of running his city and his many businesses. “Archaeologists found the scraps of what is believed to be flatbread around a fireplace at a Natufian hunter-gatherer site called Shubayqa, located in northeastern Jordan. It’s believed to be around14,400 years old.”

“That’s old as fuck.” He seems surprised.

“It is.” I smile up at him, finding him adorable with flour on his face.

“Can I ask why you love bread so much?”

“You can ask, yes.” He laughs, and my smile widens. “And I like it, but I’m not crazy about it.”

“Then why did you want to bake bread today?”

“It reminds me of my sister.” I shrug. “She loves bread. All kinds of bread.” I take a bite of the warm goodness and moan out loud. We baked this. I feel proud.

“Arianna?” He makes a face as he can’t see my big sister being a fan of bread.

“No, not Arianna.” I move toward the oven and check on the cupcakes we threw in there before starting the bread. Cupcakes, I love. Cupcakes, I go crazy for. “Kadra.”

“Ah.” He breathes out while working on the mixture.

A moment of silence passes before he asks me. “You miss your sisters a lot, huh?”

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