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This time, I did laugh. “Honey, you couldn’t pay me to be nice if I didn’t mean it. I’m not like that.”

He turned his face toward me. “Everyone has their price.”

Reaching out, I grazed a touch over his jaw. “You’re rich, but you’re not that rich. Anyway, do you want some breakfast? I’m not bad at egg dishes.”

“Whatever you want to do. I, ah…” Now he looked uncomfortable. “I should shower and then apologize to whoever I just traumatized. Was it your aunt?”

I snorted. “No. Cleaning lady.”

“Fuck. That’s worse…I think. Or maybe it’s better? I don’t know. How much do you think she saw?”

Abandoning pretense, I shifted closer and curled my hand around the back of his neck. “Not much except your gorgeous ass. But I’m going to call my dad, and he’ll make it right. You go shower and get to know the place. Let me know if you get lost or need help with anything.”

He blinked rapidly, looking almost confused, and then eventually, he nodded. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

I wanted to ask if it was better here. If I was better than what his family did. But that felt too much like fishing, and I didn’t want to make him feel like he should be grateful for basic human decency.

I decided the deck would be best for breakfast, so I shot Tiago a text with how to get out there—the back door was a little tricky to find even for people with full sight. Then I whipped up a frittata, the one fancy dish I could make.

Well, mostly make.

Well, it resembled a frittata anyway.

It had eggs, cheese, and sauteed vegetables, so that was close enough…right? The fridge was also stocked with fruit, which only took me a few seconds to chop up, and then I poured the coffee into the insulated carafe, set the outside dining table, and called it a win.

It looked nicer than I would have done for myself, which was a doughnut and a drip coffee from Dunkin that I would have eaten on the beach like a fucking goblin.

I was just getting settled with a giant glass of water when Tiago appeared in the doorway. He was dressed, which was a shame, but he looked all hot and tropical, which was very nice.

The button-up shirt had beige palm trees printed all over it, and he was wearing shorts, which showed off his massive fucking calf muscles. His eyes were blocked out by his shades, but he turned his head from left to right as he stepped past the lip in the door.

“To your left,” I said. “No idea how many steps, but there’s nothing in your way.”

He found the table and an empty chair with an outstretched hand, and as he sat, I pushed his plate in front of him.

“What did you cook?”

“Egg frittata thing,” I said. “I know how you all like your morning protein.”

He smirked.

“Oh my god, that’s not what I—well. Actually, that might have been nice.”

“Maybe an afternoon snack,” he said as he picked up his fork and traced the shape of the half circle of eggs I’d served him.

I had no idea what to say to that, so I settled back in my seat and gulped down my water. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him cut into the food, then take a bite.

My breath caught in my chest as I waited for any kind of reaction.

“Oh. It’s good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I muttered, reaching for the bowl of honeydew.

He lifted a brow. “You’re the one who told me you suck at cooking. I had very low expectations.”

I had only myself to blame for that, and it was fair. I did suck at cooking. But the praise felt good, even if it was grudgingly given from his below-the-ground expectations.

We said nothing as he ate, and his fingers traced out until they found the water I’d left for him, then his coffee mug, which he frowned at when he realized it was empty.