Page 23 of Singing For His Kiss

Madeline slipped from him and brought the plate of crushed bread to him. In some places, the bread had been split right through to reveal the plate. In other places, there were globs of thick butter.

“Have a slice, Daddy. It’s delicious.”

He saw Elizabeth watching him. A brow rose. He took a slice and ate it as though it were the most delicious thing he’d ever had. The look of delight on Madeline’s face was payment enough.

“That’s the best buttered bread I’ve ever eaten.”

The look of pleasure his comment brought to Elizabeth’s face was enough to make him want to eat the whole damn plate of bread.

“Mr. Rhyder! What a surprise to see you here. Would you like me to bring to your study?” Mrs. D’llessio turned from the succulent smelling dish she was stirring on the stovetop.

Did he want to go back to his office and sort through all those facts and figures when there was such life, such temptation in his kitchen? He thought of all the dinners he normally ate, normally cold and forgotten, in front of his computer. It was the only way he’d been able to keep up with the project.

Tonight, though, tonight he had no impulse to be anywhere else. The choice was very easy. Just for tonight. Then tomorrow he could go back to his cold dinner and equally cold facts and figures.

“I’ll join you here.”

“Yay!” Madeline jumped up and down on the spot.

Elizabeth frowned, confusion darkening her eyes. “You don’t often eat dinner with Madeline?” Her voice cracked, and with it went a piece of his heart.

“Daddy never comes in here,” Madeline said.

“Ever?” Elizabeth’s forehead creased in tight lines.

“Never ever. ‘Cept for the other night when you were here.”

“Ooooo. Mr. Rhyder is always busy doing this or that. He has big business, you know?” Mrs. D’llessio’s hands were held wide as though she measured a fish.

“Daddy has lots and lots of meetings. And sometimes he’s stuck talking on the phone all night long. But most times he’s doing business with ‘portant people.” Madeline’s voice told of the numerous nights she didn’t share a meal with her father.

Hearing those words from the mouth of his innocent daughter highlighted just how remiss he'd been. How selfish. No wonder she’d become withdrawn. She’d lost her mother, and her father was always too busy for her.

“Oh,” Elizabeth said on a quiet sigh.

“Well, I’m here now.” His voice came out as the growl he never intended. More guilt washed through him.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t want to offend you. Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Elizabeth fidgeted, her hands fluttering restlessly. Her expression lost warmth and was replaced with uncertainty.

He frowned. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to sound so…”

“It wasn’t any of my business.” Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to the floor. She tugged her sleeve down over the bruises on her wrist.

“Elizabeth, about those…”

Her stricken gaze stopped him from speaking. The moment was broken by dishes clattering on the table. A red-faced Mrs. D’llessio hauled the pot from the stove and set it on a heat mat on the table.

“Dinner is ready to be served.”

“It smells delicious, Mrs. D’llessio. Thank you for cooking a meal. You didn’t make something like this just for me though, did you?” Elizabeth tucked a strand of hair around her ear. An uneasy action.

She didn’t need to be this way. Hell, she deserved to have a meal like this, and more, every day simply given to her because she was just—her.

“It is nothing, Cara. I make for everyone.” Confusion crossed Maria’s face as well.

“Elizabeth, I want you to feel at home here. I want you to use what’s in the house. The facilities. The rooms. Your room is your personal space. If you’re hungry, come into the kitchen and eat. That includes all meals. In fact, it's a requirement of your employment. You're entitled to all of it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Come. Come. Eat. Eat.” Mrs. D’llessio waved them to the table.

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