Page 65 of Wicked Rivals

After a curt nod, he went back to flipping through the book to find the page where we’d left off. The second he started reading, he became engrossed, as if nothing else in the world existed.

So hungry, I hardly listened, focusing more on eating what I had to admit was a pretty good breakfast.

We read until we both became a little stir-crazy. I hated not knowing what was happening out there in the world beyond this house. Hated that I didn’t know Stefano’s plan. Even more, I hated leaving everything up to others.

Enzo got fidgety near the end of our last chapter. He was a nine-year-old boy with natural energy plus a sugar high from the half-bottle of syrup he’d poured over his waffles.

We both needed to get out of the suite, and I needed to find the info to support my contingency plans when the time came.

So much still had to be done.

If Stefano’s note contained the truth, Enzo and I had the run of the house with no one to interrupt us. And no one to catch me investigating the layout and gaining as much understanding about Stefano’s current staff as possible.

“Hey, apparently there’s a theater somewhere on the first floor,” I said. “What do you think about watching a movie?”

“That sounds fun,” Enzo said, but I wasn’t convinced.

The boy had sat enough already. He tried so hard to behave, but I had to give him something physical to do now.

“Awesome. Before we do that, let’s say thanks to the men helping us. I think a few batches of cookies might be the perfect way to do that. We can find the kitchen on our own, right?”

Enzo nodded, his curls bouncing.

“Perfect. Go wash the syrup off your face, kiddo. Then we'll go downstairs and see what we can find.”

He ran off to the bathroom, and I followed, remembering I’d left my dirty dress there on the floor after my bath.

The dress wasn't where I left it, though, so I went to the closet in my room, hoping to find something else to wear. Instead, I found my dress hanging there, freshly laundered, with no trace of the stains or the tiny shards of glass left.

Totally a little creepy, but still appreciated.

The ground floor of Stefano’s house seemed mostly deserted.

The two men he left behind walked around talking on their phones, pretending to be uninterested in Enzo and me while still following us. I appreciated their wide berth.

Bella and another maid turned the corner, heading to a back hallway just as Enzo and I found the kitchen. I wasn't sure if we’d chased them out or if it might have been a coincidence.

No worries. They would either come back or they wouldn't.

Enzo went straight for the fruit bowl on the counter and snatched up an orange in each hand.

“Let’s make some orange cookies, Mama!”

Then he ran to the refrigerator to gather some other ingredients he knew by heart.

I should have known he’d picked up on my stress, which meant I would inevitably want to bake some of the classic recipes my grandmother had taught me.

While my son searched the fridge and kitchen drawers, I found all the dry ingredients we needed in the pantry, everything available, neatly labeled, and well-stocked on the higher shelves.

All-purpose flour, sugar, a red mixer.

And mynonna’s secret ingredients.

Then I laid it all out on the massive kitchen island while Enzo searched for the cookie sheets and mixing bowls.

Between the two of us and the perfectly organized kitchen, we had everything we needed ready in under five minutes.

Stefano’s kitchen almost made me reconsider running away. Every chef dreamed about spaces like this, and it was so hard not to appreciate it.

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