Page 40 of Beauty and the Daddy
"Race you back to the house?" she suggests, already taking off, Bruno galloping beside her.
I jog after them, laughing.
By the time we get back to the house, Sofia is hungry and insists we make pancakes.
I'm a disaster in the kitchen at the best of times, but how hard can pancakes be?
Turns out, very hard when you're in an unfamiliar kitchen with a six-year-old "helping."
"I think it needs more flour," Sofia says, peering into the bowl of lumpy batter.
"You think?" I eye the mixture doubtfully. It looks more like cement than pancake batter.
"Definitely," she nods with all the confidence of a master chef.
Three eggs, too much milk, and what has to be a pound of flour later, we're ready to cook.
The first pancake is a disaster—burnt on the outside, raw in the middle. The second one isn't much better.
By the fifth attempt, the kitchen is filled with smoke, and Sofia is laughing so hard she's snorting.
"I don't think cooking is my superpower," I admit, scraping another charred disk into the trash.
"That's okay," Sofia says generously. "Daddy can't cook, either. Except spaghetti. He makes really good spaghetti."
The mental image of Luca Moretti in an apron, stirring pasta sauce, is almost too much to handle.
Before I can attempt pancake number six, there's a commotion at the door.
A man in a suit, one of Luca's security guys, enters carrying a familiar cat carrier.
"Meatball!" I crouch, put my fingers through the grate. "You're here."
He meows in a voice that translates to: I will burn your world and salt the earth if you don't get me out of here.
Luca
I watch them on the hallway feed because I'm an idiot who likes to bleed the slow way.
Belle is in my kitchen with flour on her wrist, a kid at her side, a dog at her feet, and her damn cat by my fridge like it's the new king of the castle.
Sofia's laughing in a way I haven't heard in too long, and the house sounds different with it in the air.
The thought is like a knife between my ribs.
I've spent years building walls, keeping Sofia safe, keeping her separate from my world.
And now here's Belle, crashing through every defense.
Nothing scares me more than the sight of Belle making my daughter smile like that.
"She's dangerous," I mutter, but I can't look away.
8
LUCA
Iused to be able to slice a day into clean pieces.
