Page 25 of One Filthy Kiss

I make pancakes for breakfast. Gio’s kitchen has all the equipment that I’ve ever dreamed of owning and know that I’ll never be able to afford— all of it immaculate, untouched, unloved. We eat on the roof as it’s going to be another sidewalk-steaming day in New York City: pancakes with blueberries, fresh cream, and honey.

Amber has already caught the sun on her face from the few days we spent in LA; she has a healthy glow and bright eyes. “Meggie makes cakes,” she says, stuffing food into her mouth.

I sip my coffee—this is nothing like the coffee I get from the independent café near where I work in Shoreditch. This is rich and strong and probably costs more than I earn in an hour. I feel the caffeine hitting my veins instantly.

“What kind of cakes?”

Gio is sitting on the decking in casual slacks and a Burberry black-checked polo shirt which accentuates his olive skin and dark eyes. He is barefoot, and even the sight of his naked feet makes me tingle with longing. Is this the way it’s going to be from now on? Have I flipped a switch that I’m now powerless to turn off?

“I follow my own recipes.” I’ve never learned how to blow my own trumpet. “I work in a boutique bakery, but I want my own bakery one day.”

“She makes birthday cakes too,” Amber joins in.

It’s times like these when I get sad that she has to grow up. This innocence is so beguiling that I’ll miss it when I wake up one day and realize that she no longer sees things in glorious naïve technicolor.

Gio watches me with an unreadable expression while he spears a blueberry on his fork and pops it into his mouth.

“I like making celebration cakes. Wedding cakes. Birthdays…” My voice trails off. Being a successful cake designer is still a dream, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get the opportunity to turn it into reality. “Mostly for people I know.”

“Look at me, Meggie.” He holds my gaze until I comply. “Tell me about your cakes again, but this time, convince me that I will fall in love with them.”

I take a deep breath and swallow another mouthful of coffee. “Okay. I can make you a cake that reminds you of Sicily. When you bite into it, you’ll taste the lemons growing on the trees. You’ll think of warm, sunny days, laughter and sun lotion and the foamy sea.”

He nods. “If I supply the ingredients, will you make me this cake?”

“Y-you want me to make you a cake?”

“No, I want you to makethatcake, the one that will remind me of Sicily.” There is no hint of amusement in his tone; he’s deadly serious about this.

“But…”

Where do I begin?

I’m not staying. This was a one-off, a date that led to far more than I bargained for, but I’m under no illusion that it will ever be anything more. When we get back to LA, we’ll go our separate ways, and when our vacation is over, I’ll fly back to the UK with a fading memory of Giovanni Sabatelli to see me through the drab British winters.

“We should get going.” I’ve barely touched my breakfast, but I finish my coffee.

“Why?” He watches me coolly.

“Because you promised that you would take us straight back to LA.”

“I also promised to take Amber to Central Park Zoo.” He winks at her conspiratorially, and she drops a blueberry which rolls across the decking towards his foot.

“Can we go to the zoo today, Meggie?” Her body quivers with excitement.

“What about Auntie Nikki?”

“Text her. She won’t mind.” Amber shrugs, and her strawberry blonde curls bounce around her face.

“Gio has to work too.” It’s a feeble excuse.

If he didn’t want us to stay, we’d probably already be back on his private jet, waiting to get cleared for take-off. This was his suggestion, I remind myself.

“Ever heard of delegation?” He smiles. “It’s the reason why I employ people.”

“What about the movie?”

“It will still get made.”