“What a question,” he murmurs and kisses me. “I’m only making pancakes,” he muses lightly back at me. “Nothing strenuous and I didn’t know when you’d be home and I got hungry. So I’m afraid I’ll have to jump you after I’ve been fed.” When I pout at him, he chuckles. “I need my strength through this recovery, and apparently, what’s to come later. And I’m not allowing you the chance to bite my cock again, Sweetheart, by not being on my A game.” He winces as he remembers, and as I giggle, he continues, “You left teeth marks the last time.”
I tilt my head, faking a pout of sympathy. “Aw, my poor baby, you weren’t complaining of soreness when you were banging me two minutes after,” I retort, giving him a glare of sarcasm. “You were quite quick to attack after my little bite.”
“It’s how you like it,” he tells me, giving me a wink. “It’s actually because you had left me waiting a long time, Amelia. I wasn’t going to let you talk yourself out of that moment when we were so far into it.”
“And look where it got us,” I muse softly, smiling in absolute glee at how our lives had transpired. I could almost imagine that everything outside of Zane’s apartment just didn’t exist. For a moment, the world stands still as we live harmoniously.
“I’d say eternal happiness,” he tells me, and pulling my body back close, his arms clenched around my waist. “Now, tell me what’s on that pretty little mind.” My silence makes him chuckle. “I can read you like a fucking book, woman.”
“Can we talk over food?” I ask, desperately after something edible. “I’ve done a lot of working out, a lot of arguing, and not a lot of eating.”
“Only if you go and sit down. You can tell me while I cook, not while we eat.” Zane’s polite manner has me sold, but I desperately want to step in and cook for him. I worry about him too much. “You’re going to sit and talk while I cook the batch of pancake mix I made.”
“Okay,” I whisper and shuffle over to the kitchen table and chair. When I sit, he turns the music down, and then turns the heat to the stove up. I scratch my head, and my eyes casually fall upon the clock on the wall; shit, is that time? “It’s seven in the evening, what about dinner instead?”
“What about it?” he asks me, offering me a smirk. “It’s not like we’ve skipped dinner and gone straight for dessert before. Usually that’s less stomach filling, but still the same principle.”
Why wasn’t I more prepared for that remark?
“We can order in later if you want?” he quickly adds and looks at me. “But talk, now.”
I sigh and wonder where to start. “Giovanni started a world war– again.” This time I growl at how angry I am, my fists even balling up. Just thinking of how confused Manuel was has me raging inside. “I don’t know what to do anymore to protect Manuel, and it’s bugging me.”
“Why would you need to protect him?” Zane asks as he pours some of the batter mix into the hot pan. “You do so much already, why isn’t that enough?”
“Because before now, Manuel’s kept it quiet that he’s gay.” I see Zane’s eyebrows shoot up with surprise but don’t stop. “It changes nothing for me, and the way Enzo and Bruno went for Giovanni proved they don’t think any less. Carlo didn’t care, wanted blood when Giovanni finally showed his face again. But Gio, he attacked Manuel for it, and all but vowed to tell our father.” I shake my head, closing my eyes to stop the horrors from lashing at me. “I don’t even want to think what will happen if he were to find out.”
I say nothing else, just result in another growl that ultimately leads to an onslaught of tears. I don’t even look at Zane, just sit defeated, and wonder what in the hell has my life, spiraling so viciously out of control, because my love for Zane does not jeopardize Manuel. I cover my eyes and will myself to grow some balls and man up, but I can’t.
“Hey,” Zane breaks into my emotions, interjecting my downward spiral.
“The pancakes,” I try to push him away. I speak through tears, trying to get him away from seeing me emotionally wrecked.
“The damn pancake can burn, Amelia.” He speaks while he holds onto me, and I dare myself to look up at him. As I do, I see the light-hearted expression he bears, the worrisome look swimming in his eyes, and the readiness to attempt to solve all my problems. “This really has you torn up, doesn’t it?”
I nod, and my eyes water profusely. “I just want him away from my family. I want him away from the corruption.” I look at Zane, doubt filtering into every cell of my being. “Look what my father’s made of me, Zane. I don’t want this life for him. It’s not fun when you realize what you are.” And now, the tears beckon without any care, ambushing my cheeks. “I don’t want him to be a monster.”
“You’re not a monster,” Zane counters, the pancakes truly forgotten as he pulls us seat up.