Page 35 of Charming Villain

“Oh my gosh, she’s precious! Is she a rescue?” The cashier gushes, leaning over the counter to get a better look at the tiny ball of fur.

Luciano narrows his eyes slightly, hating the attention. His shoulders tense as he shifts the kitten away from her reaching hand. “Something like that,” he mutters, his voice clipped and cold.

The cashier laughs, seemingly immune to his frosty demeanor as she cheerfully scans our items. “Have you picked a name for her yet?” She runs the scanner over another toy, the red beam making the kitten’s ears twitch.

“Yes,” I say, turning to the cashier with a smile. “We decided on Cupcake.”

She positively beams, clapping her hands together with delight. “Oh, that’s adorable! Cupcake!” She coos, the name coming out in a high-pitched squeal that makes Luciano wince.

“That’ll be $147.42,” the cashier chirps, oblivious to the tension.

Luciano shifts Cupcake to one arm, digs his wallet out with the other, and hands over a credit card. The cashier thanks him, cooing once more at Cupcake, who mews pitifully.

He shoulders the bag of supplies, ignoring Cupcake’s attempt to burrow into his neck. The cat’s cold nose grazes his jaw, and the corners of his lips twitch—maybe in annoyance, maybe in reluctant amusement.

I swallow a delighted giggle. He’s so far outside his comfort zone, it’s ridiculous.

Back at the car, I cradle Cupcake as Luciano starts the engine, reversing out of the parking spot. The kitten climbs onto my lap, balancing on my thigh as she peers at the passing scenery.

“You named her Cupcake,” he finally says, as though he’s making sure he didn’t hallucinate that part.

I smother a laugh, trying to sound earnest as I scratch behind Cupcake’s ears. “Yes. Cupcake. She looks like a Cupcake, doesn’t she? All sweet and fluffy and perfect.”

He shoots me a look that saysabsolutely not. Then he snorts, shaking his head slightly. “I can’t believe I let you do this. Of all the ridiculous things...”

A surge of mischievous warmth ripples through me. “Thank you,” I say gently, sincerity threading through my words.

Luciano’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, knuckles whitening slightly as a flicker of discomfort crosses his face. “I didn’t do it for you,” he keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “I just… I don’t want a starving cat mewling all night. It would be annoying.”

“Right,” I answer, knowing better than to challenge him on this. We both see the lie for what it is, but neither of us calls it out.

“Next time, ask me before bringing a stray into our home.”

I stifle a grin at the wordhome,my fingers absently stroking Cupcake’s soft fur.Don’t read too much into it, Gianna. Don’t make this mean more than it does.

Halfway home, Cupcake dozes off, curled into the crook of my arm. My eyelids feel heavy, lulled by the rhythmic hum of the engine. I peek at Luciano, noticing how his shoulders have relaxed and how he occasionally glances at the kitten with an unreadable expression.

When he held her in PetCo, he looked comfortable, almost at peace. My chest squeezes painfully. I want that from him again; I want the gentle side I got a glimpse of. Is that so wrong?

As we pull into the driveway. Luciano kills the engine and sits in silence for a moment. Cupcake stirs, yawning, her tiny pink tongue peeking out.God, she’s so cute.

Luciano rubs his brow in something that feels like exasperation. “Let’s get this over with.”

He pops the trunk, and I gather Cupcake while he loads his arms with our PetCo bags. Inside, I lead him to the laundry room, quickly setting up the litter box in one corner and a small scratching post near the door. The entire time, he stands in the doorway with his arms folded, watching me as though I might do something rebellious at any second—like decorate the entire house in pink glitter.

I place Cupcake on her new bed, and she immediately sniffs around, her tail swishing in curiosity.

“There,” I say, stepping back. “All set. Cupcake has everything she needs.”

He rolls his eyes at the name but doesn’t comment further. Cupcake, for her part, tries to climb the post, promptly falls off, then mewls at me as if demanding help.

When I glance up, I catch Luciano looking at me. Our eyes meet, and a flicker of electricity zings between us. I want to thank him properly but the words lodge in my throat.

He breaks eye contact first and clears his throat. “I’m going upstairs. Don’t let the cat in the bedroom.”

I nod, watching him go. My heart twists again. With him, it’s always two steps forward, one step back—a careful dance I’m still learning the rhythm to. He shows me softness, these precious glimpses of warmth, then retreats behind commands and warnings like a turtle pulling back into its shell.

“He’s a tricky one, Cupcake,” I whisper, scratching her chin. “But we’ll figure him out.”

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