Page 101 of The Deal

Alexander: You better believe I did. And do I get a cake too?

Me: No!

Alexander: If Antonio gets cake, Chloe, I get some damn cake too!

Me: Sounds like someone is chucking a tantrum.

Alexander: I am not chucking a tantrum, but I better get a fucking cake!

Me: Did you just stamp your foot when you wrote that last part? I have a feeling you did.

Alexander:Just make me a fucking cake, woman, and save some of the frosting so I can smear it on your delectable body and lick it off.

Me: Hmm. Sounds fun. You should’ve just led with that. I have a feeling someone is going to get more than cake when he gets home.

Alexander: You better believe I am, amore mio. Tick-fucking-tock!

“Who has put that beautiful smile on my little girl’s face?” my mother asks as I slide my phone back into the back pocket of my denim skirt.

“Nobody,” I lie.

“My guess would be Alexander. I saw the way he was looking at you during breakfast. It seemed like he wanted to eat more than what was on his plate.”

“Oh, my God,” I squeak, covering Giovanni’s ears as heat climbs up my neck.

It has been thirteen years since I last had a relationship with my mother, but I never expected that to come out of her mouth.

She lifts one shoulder and grins. “Just calling it like I see it,dolcezza.”

I remove my hands from Giovanni’s ears, giving my mother a knowing look in the process.

When I turn my attention back to him, I ask, “Would you like to help me make a cake for Antonio?”

“Hell yes!” he yells, punching the air with excitement.

“Giovanni,” my mother scolds, her tone sharp. “That is no way for abambinoto talk. It sounds like Miss Pottymouth has struck again.”

“Everyone keeps talking about that lady, but I don’tknow who she is.” His confused expression shifts toward me. “Have I ever met her, Chlo?”

I respond with a firm “No!” at the same time, my mother says, “Yes.”

We both freeze for a moment, then burst out laughing. I can’t help but think the adult me kind of likes this version of my mother.

I’ve realised that beneath all the anger I once felt, there was just a scared little girl who was missing her mummy.

I’ve missed her so much.

“There’s only one cake,” Alexander says as he waltzes into the kitchen with Antonio in tow.

“Well, there’s only one Antonio,” I retort, biting my bottom lip in an attempt to suppress my smile. “How many cakes does one man need?”

I’m totally messing with him. We made two cakes but put the other one in the fridge for us to have for dessert tonight.

“One,” Alexander barks. “A man needs one fucking cake, Chloe, but apparently, that’s a little too much to ask for.”

When Antonio throws back his head and laughs, I have to turn away. “Sounds like someone is a little salty,” he says.

Alexander steps towards the counter and picks up the cake box, handing it to his friend. “There’s your cake now fuck off.”

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