Page 111 of Sweet Madness

“I saw these heart-shaped pizzas online earlier and thought you might enjoy them,” she says cheerfully. “I figured they’d be harder to make, but it turned out they weren’t at all. Come sit!”

She made heart-shaped pizzas just for me.

Thud.

My masochist heart beats painfully in my chest as I see her smile at me with stars and hearts in her lovely eyes.

I approach her with a faint smile that hurts like fuck, trying to push aside the hurt caused by her father’s words. Taking a seat across from her, I grab the pizza cutter and slice through the heart-shaped pizzas. “You didn’t have to do this,” I say, looking up from the ham pizza.

Ella rolls her eyes playfully. “You need to stop saying that because I won’t stop doing things to make you smile. Get used to it—you’re stuck with me,” she murmurs, her voice tender.

I nod and swallow the hurt her words cause. If she only knew our time together has an expiration date. “Thank you, cupcake.”

“You’re most welcome, Shaw Bear,” she replies with a wink. She then begins adding her favorite toppings to the pizza. I watch her silently, not touching my pizza, trying to let the warmth in her eyes chase away the pain I feel. But the pain lingers, only momentarily eased.

“You don’t like it,” she says suddenly, breaking through the chaos inside my mind.

She sounds sad, and it only makes things worse.

“Ella,” I whisper, placing my hand over hers. “There’s nothing you do that I don’t like.”

She smiles at me—a brilliant smile that lights up her face. “Liar. I know you hated the spaghetti and meatballs I made yesterday,” she teases.

I do my best to keep a straight face. She tries her hardest, but I don’t know how someone can mess up pasta so badly. My lovely heiress manages to.

The meatballs are dry and undercooked, yet I eat them as if they were made by a five-star Michelin chef.

“You’ll get better with practice,” I assure her.

We finish preparing the pizzas in comfortable silence, with the rain outside still pouring. I can feel Ella’s gaze on me as I sit quietly, waiting for the pizzas to finish cooking.

When the pizzas are done, we sit back down at the table to eat.

Ella studies me closely, her concern evident in the furrow of her brow. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks gently, her voice sounding worried.

I glance up and meet her eyes briefly before looking away. She always seems to sense when something is wrong just by looking into my eyes. I’m a fucking coward. “I’m fine, darlin’,” I say, trying to sound reassuring.

A moment of silence stretches between us before she speaks again. “You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

I’ve never lied to her. Not once.

Here I am, about to lie to the woman I love, all for her sake. As much as it fucking hurts me to let her go, I know she’s young and deserves all the world has to offer—things I can’t give. The life she’s accustomed to or the life she deserves. My life is here.

I force a smile and look into those blue eyes that make me fall deeper every day. “I would tell you if something was wrong. Stop worrying.”

Coward.

Liar. Fool. I’m all of that and more.

“Okay,” she nods, choosing to drop the subject for now. Instead, she tries to lighten the mood. “I made ‘tres leches’ cake. Do you want some?” She quickly gets up, grabs a red container, and returns to place the cake in the center of the table. “It’s my third favorite dessert.”

I glance at the soaked sponge cake and then at her. “Looks like a lot of sugar,” I grumble, making her laugh.

“Oh, come on. Try it,” she urges, cutting a slice of the cake and serving it to me.

If she had handed me something terrible with mustard on it, I’d eat it gladly if it made her smile.

Biting into the soggy cake, I let the blend of sugar, milk, and a flavor I can’t quite place dance on my taste buds. I groan in satisfaction. “It’s good,” I say between bites.

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