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I saw everything when it came to her.

Always had.

Nadia.

The cracks were beginning to show, and I hated that it was the exact shit my father had warned me about tonight. It wasn’t abnormal for a woman to give out a fake name because niggas are creepy as fuck, but I’d seen the way that Gideon looked at her.

And I couldn’t exactly ask her about her burners or the old fraud charge without opening a can of worms.

I was backed into a corner.

“Your LEGOS are cute,” she mumbled.

“Go to sleep, Belle.”

She laughed sleepily and curled closer into me. A few minutes later her breathing slowed and she was out like a light.

I lay there for another twenty minutes before I gave up on sleep. I carefully eased my arm out from under her, pulled on a pair of sweats and went out to the living room.

The LEGO build of Minas Tirith was on the side table where I’d left it. I turned on the lamp, sat, and started sorting pieces by color.

Two hours later, I was still working and my mind wasn’t any clearer.

Belle had rolled away from me at some point during the night and was currently wrapped up like a burrito under the covers. I checked the time—a little after ten. I hadn’t gotten back in bed until close to five, and I still couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept past seven.

I got up and went to the bathroom to handle my morning routine. She still hadn’t moved when I came out. I left a t-shirt and some ball shorts for her to put on when she woke up and headed to the kitchen.

Cooking cleared my head the same way the LEGOs did, but in the daylight. After my mom died and before my father had sent me to boarding school, I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Rosie. The woman could open up her own spot if she wanted. I’d offered to hire her to work at Maison, but she refused out of loyalty to my pops.

The kitchen was the only room in the penthouse I designed myself—marble counters, a six-burner Wolf range, and Japanese steel for my knives. I took out some eggs, bacon, a loaf of brioche for toast, and some fruit I’d cut up earlier in the week.

I was beating the eggs when I heard her coming down the hallway. She appeared in the kitchen wearing the clothes I’d left out for her. Her hair was a mess, but seeing her barefaced and in my clothes hit different in the morning light.

“You cook?” she asked, leaning against the counter.

“You sound surprised.”

“I just assumed you had a private chef or some shit.”

“I know how to feed myself, Belle.” I poured the eggs into the pan. “How do you want your eggs?”

“Scrambled.”

“Cheese?”

“Duh.”

I smirked and grabbed the cheddar from the fridge.

She watched me with keen interest as she opened the Tupperware of fruit.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re being very domestic right now and it’s throwing me off,” she said, picking a strawberry out of the container.

“A nigga can’t be multifaceted?”

“I mean… last night you made me beg you to fuck me and now you’re making me cheesy eggs.” She bit into the strawberry. “It’s a lot to take in.”