His Pretty Little Queen: A Dark Mafia, Age Gap Romance (Kids of The District Book 5)

I READ all about Dubai on the way. It was a barren wasteland once, and now it’s a living organism, pulsing and flashing with colour and luxury.

As the sun rises, the streets seem to glitter in dashing lines of gold and red and orange—the veins of roadways. A moving sea of energy.

Above the streets—buildings like columns of wealth, their glass windows rolling in colour in the newly gathering dawn. Bright-blue man-made beaches, rivers, and estuaries, cut through the lavish cityscape. White sand on the banks. Fountains propel neon water into the air, reaching for the clouds.

In a desert.

Dubai.

The wealthy man’s holiday destination, the corrupt man’s escape, and to an orphan girl, it’s Wonderland.

With my face basically squished to the cold window, I watch the plane land. We exit the conditioned environment of the jet, stepping into a stifling heat that seems to wrap around every inch of skin, immediately forcing sweat to the surface.

Henchman Jeeves and another henchman follow us across the tarmac, where I remain silent as we are ushered in a state of urgency to an awaiting black vehicle.

We set off, and the driver takes us through the overlapping channels of roadways. Clay’s hand rests on my thigh the entire time, his thumb moving over my skin, sliding in the gathering beads of perspiration.

When the driver crosses a bridge, there is no mistaking our destination as on the small island before us stands one thing—an over-the-top hotel shaped like a sail.

We pull in and are escorted into the lobby. It all happens so fast; I only manage to register a moment of rich humidity, and then we pass through the entrance and into that perfectly fabricated temperature.

I turn to see Henchman Jeeves and Henchman No-name close behind. Are we avoiding someone? Everyone? The thought comes to me in an unwelcome wave. I’m forever going to be his dirty little secret. Will it always be this way? I imagine plastered across the news tomorrow morning: ‘Mayor Butcher and his young lover check into a hotel in Dubai.’

My self-doubt stills as my sandals clip over the polished flooring, and I peer up at the golden columns in the lobby. ‘Woah,’ I mutter to myself.

Fucking hell.

This hotel certainly doesn’t skirt the limits of decadent excess. No. It spills the fuck over such limits.

I try to keep up with the pace of the ‘yes’ men and swooning women now filtering in and out of conversation with Clay. His smooth voice sails around, delivering greetings and demands.

I stop for a moment to gaze at a painting, but Clay grips my hand reassuringly, guiding me away. Smiling at his touch, I look down at his long fingers entwined with mine. ‘Are you hiding me?’ I ask, but he only squeezes my hand in response, his attention on the elegant man who has appeared at his side.

‘They have already arrived,’ the man says, falling into stride with us as we head towards the elevators. ‘We have secured both floors. We will have men on the lower level and the upper one. Your suite is ready with all the changes required for your stay. And Mr Butcher…’ The man stops, forcing us to still. ‘Mr. Futtaim is eager to see you before you settle into your room. He’s in the lounge.’

Clay’s gaze shifts to an area beyond the lobby and he nods in a respectful way. ‘Very well.’

We slow our steps slightly as we enter a room draped in red and gold striped curtains. Scattered across the recessed lounge area, people sprawl out on plush sofas with golden carvings. The smell of incense circles the space, and it’s so intense and delicious I imagine myself in a cartoon where smell can be seen in ribbons of colour slithering through the air.

Across the room, a bar glows behind a man sitting on one of the stools, his eyes fixed on us. Immediately, the butterflies in my stomach stir.

This man is powerful. Rich too. Such a statement is in the drips of gold on his long-sophisticated robe and the penetrative demand of his wide assessing eyes.

He smiles at Clay. It’s friendly, but that doesn’t gentrify the vibe of superiority he radiates.

‘Greetings, Clay.’

Clay’s hand slips from mine. Without that anchor of what to do, I’m left not knowing how to behave… Should I offer them privacy? Or stand quietly? Shake his hand?

The striking, brown-skinned man stands and clasps both palms around Clay’s firm shake. ‘So wonderful to have you here in Dubai. And to accommodate you again.’

‘Likewise. Next time it will be for leisure.’

Is it not for leisure this time?

Or is that just something businesspeople say…

I fidget beside them. Wealthy people still make me uncomfortable. They see the poverty in my own mannerisms just as clearly as I see wealth in theirs.

Holding my breath as they talk, I sense my temperature rise from standing in the shadow of these two men who exude such potent and dangerous heat.

Absently, I chew on my bottom lip, and the man Clay is conversing with looks at me, catching my eyes on him.

I look down beneath his gaze. I’m not sure what it is about him—perhaps it’s the unapologetic way his eyes cut through everything they land on… the current destination, my blushing cheeks.

I exhale hard, realising both men have fallen quiet and now have their gazes glued to me.

‘Hello,’ I say stupidly.

Clay grips my elbow, and I realise that I’m twirling my hair around my finger. I drop my hands to my side. ‘Malik asked if this is your first time to Dubai, sweet girl.’

I smile forcibly at Malik. ‘Yes. It’s like Wonderland.’

Malik smiles wider, his eyes dark tunnels set ablaze by amber flames. ‘And you fell down the rabbit hole.’ His accent makes all his words seem curt and adamant, but I like it. It reminds me of power. Just like Clay’s voice does.

‘Ain’t that the truth.’ I laugh nervously in response to his brilliant smile and uncomfortable attention.

‘Well, I’m terribly sorry I’ll be taking your friend away from you for a few hours tonight.’

‘My friend…’ I glance at Clay, my throat tightening. ‘Yes, we are very friendly,’ I bite out through tight teeth.

Malik’s grin grows.

Clay only displays that stunning practised contentment he shows the world. A man of utter control. Smooth and unaffected by others. ‘We haven’t seen each other in many years, sweet girl, and you’ll be exhausted soon. You barely slept on the plane.’

Right.

I’ll be exhausted soon by the sheer damn will of Clay Fucking Butcher. And I’m still his pretty little burden.

After a few pleasantries and a drink shared between the men, Clay guides me into the lift and up several floors.

A man stands at the entrance to a room, holding the double doors open, awaiting us.

Clay is quiet and unreadable now as we pass through the threshold to our room—No. Not a fucking room.

I gaze around the elaborate floor. Opposite to the entrance, a kind of lounge area with a large, recessed spa and love-seat style sofas overlook the vast Dubai cityscape.

I wander into the centre of the floor as Henchman Jeeves and Henchman No-name bring in our cases. Spinning a little, I take it all in.

The flooring to my left is gold and beige marble, while to my right, is a rich magenta carpet leading to a raised four-post bed draped with satin and silk, covered in pillows.

Camouflaged in front of the purple and gold encrusted wallpaper, a guard is stationed at every door.

Three doors.

The scent of smoke coming from a fancy kind of pipe on an elaborate stand in the lounge area awaiting Clay, I imagine, teases towards me like that brightly coloured cartoon smoke.

Dashing over to the window, I press my palms to the glass, peering down the edge of the building—the drop straight. The fuck. Down. My mind throws my body off the brink to experience the fall… It’s surreal. Experiencing this devastating height and drop without the risk of falling weighs down my chest. ‘Woah. Dizzy,’ I say, stepping backwards.

The door shuts behind me, and I chase the sound, landing on Clay watching me intensely.

He doesn’t smile, and I wish I knew why. ‘Do you like your room?’

I beam at him, hoping my happiness will find his hiding away inside his serious façade.

‘I’ve seen better,’ I tease, walking towards him, reaching up to touch the light bristles along his jawline. ‘Why are you so grumpy right now, Sir? Whatcha hiding from me?’

He ignores my questions. ‘I have entertainment planned for you, sweet girl. But you can do anything that pleases you as long as it isn’t dangerous.’

‘Bummer,’ I mock, trying to lighten this dark, breathtaking man, ‘because I very much like doing you.’

Classic, clever, one of my best, and yet it goes completely unappreciated as he zeros in on a desk in the corner of the room. My hand slips from his cheek as he strides over and takes a seat in front of it. ‘I’ll shower then… if that’s okay, Sir?’ I call over to him, unable to stifle the bratty tone circling each word. Is he pushing me away again?

This is such bullshit.

He calls me the ‘teenage girl’ but has the grunts and disinterest of a teenage boy sometimes.

Around the room, we are not alone. Four foreign henchmen, HJ and HN converse quietly.

My new Louis Vuitton case lies on the bed, and the lady who put it there is busying herself unpacking and hanging up my clothes. What do privileged people do for themselves?

Shower, I think.

I grab my toiletry bag from within the silk-lined mould of the luggage.

As I near the bathroom, I catch Henchman Jeeves’ attention and shrug questioningly. He nods in an ‘it’ll be okay’ kind of way.

Whatever.

AFTER MY SHOWER, I lie on top of the sheets, facing the wrong way so I can watch Clay at his desk. He’s magnificent even as he ignores me—neglects me.

That’s pathetic, Fawn.

He dotes on you.

The little girl with abandonment issues in me experiences the burn of his lacklustre attention. I need his eyes on me like I need air. It isn’t fair on him, though.

His mind is somewhere else—not on me—furrowed brows screaming his concern etched to his masculine face.

I sigh, willing the pathetic self-doubt away. I can’t be arduous work for him, or he’ll realise I’m not worth the trouble.

The rational side of me reminds me of our conversation on the plane. How he reassures me at every turn that I am his. That I’m safe.

But why did he bring me here if only to work?

It’s a selfish question, coming from the girl with nothing to do—not even unpack her own suitcase. I want to ask about his work, but there is a battle going on in my mind, wanting to please him, not burden this important man because I’m needy-as-fuck and he’ll realise that and wish he’d never told me to speak my mind in the first place because maybe I’m better as something quiet to look at— God. Shut up, Fawn.

But then he did tell me to use my voice…

Or does that only apply to issues regarding me?

Or can I ask him about his business?

‘What is worrying you, little deer?’

I smile; his voice is like a smooth blanket sliding along my thighs and legs, reminding me that he sees all, and knows everything. He’s perfection.

How did I get this lucky?

As I sit up on the bed, my long blonde hair cascades over my robe, the ends skimming the mattress. I swallow around the lump in my throat and answer him honestly, ‘You’re so quiet, Sir. It’s making me feel invisible.’

‘I’m working,’ he states nonchalant, his eyes unwavering from the document on his laptop screen.

I pout petulantly—hating that I’m inclined to do so—and reposition myself, shuffling to draw his attention.

Only then he says, ‘What would make my sweet girl more comfortable?’ He swivels in his large black chair, pinning me with his blue gaze, and I smile at his attention. At his X-men ability to see through me, just like he can somehow see from the corner of his eyes. Must come in handy in his line of work. ‘Would you like to sit at my feet, lay your head on my lap, and suck on my cock until you feel better?’

My heart balloons. ‘Yes, please, Sir.’

He nods at his henchmen, who dutifully turn to face the purple and gold wallpaper. The Clay Butcher nod. ‘Grab yourself a pillow and come here,’ he orders me, tapping his thigh once before returning his attention to the computer atop his desk.

I scurry from the mattress and rush to him. Dropping the pillow at his feet, I sit on it and get comfortable. He continues to work, and I slowly slide his zipper down to release his large length. Weighted and swelling in my hand, a bead of pre-cum surfaces as I rub him to steel. He’s smooth like satin, yet hard and unyielding. I lick the salty bead, rewarded instantly with a hiss from him. ‘Good girl. Now suck. And remember who you are to me.’

IT’S HOURS LATER. I’m sure. I don’t know how much time passes, but when I come to, I’m so perfectly tucked into bed that I’m basically Cryovac packed. And I must have fallen asleep on his lap with his cock in my mouth.

Through the window, the city is lit in the night-time sky. I frown. I somehow slept through the entire day.

Peering around, I try to recall the moments before I fell asleep. I rub my tired eyes before dragging my hands down my face.

My half-masted gaze lands on a small white box on the bedside table and a handwritten note.

I tuck my legs behind me, kneeling on them and reach for the box, which is white, silk, and God, I think it’s a present. I don’t get presents. Ever. I don’t get pointless presents like expensive jewellery.

How do you know it’s expensive, Fawn?

How do you know it’s jewellery?

Shut up and open it.

Heat behind my eyes threatens to boil tears until I release them. Nope. Not happening. I read the letter instead: ‘Remember who you are. My queen. And you never leave my sight.’

I dart my gaze around the ceiling line, searching for a camera. I notice two small globes like little upside-down spaceships. My mum would have had all sorts of theories about them… ‘Cameras are deceitful, Fawn. You never really know who is watching you. Or how many screens there are.’

I’m reminded momentarily of Benji’s room in the basement, the camera, and the recordings, the night of the incident and— I shake my head, dislodging the unbidden recall.

I know who is watching me today, Mum. And I’ve never been safer.

I smile brightly at one of the little upside-down spaceships and lift the box to show Clay, who I can almost sense watching me from within the dark, ominous void.

Taking a deep breath, I open the box in my lap. My eyes widen on the piece. Within a silk cast is a rose gold necklace with a beautiful pendant encrusted with little pink, white, and peach gems. My hands start to shake. It’s a monarch butterfly.

Beautiful and poisonous.

The queen of the butterflies.

I unthread it from the base and turn it over in my hand, feeling the weight, the cool metal, loving it so entirely my heart balloons to uncomfortable proportions.

Then I see that on the rear side, engraved along one swooping wing, the words, ‘My queen.’

A tear bursts from the corner of my eye, and I wipe at it immediately.

Another tear rolls down my cheek and over the swell of my lips, as I reach between my hair and my shoulders and fasten the clasp at the nape of my neck.

I’m never taking it off, Sir.

No more than a few seconds later, the phone beside the sofa rings. I race to it. Grabbing the ringing handset with a start, I answer, ‘Hello to you, Sir. I love it so fucking much.’

‘Then why are you crying?’ he asks in a smooth, rich timbre that slices through the deep laughter in the background. Voices I recognise and loud music so crisp I could be in the same room as they sail through the speaker between his words. ‘I don’t like to see it.’

‘They are overwhelmed tears,’ I admit, pressing my palm to the butterfly now resting over my heart. ‘Is it expensive? Not that it matt—’

‘What do you think, sweet girl?’

I talk through a grin as butterflies, way bigger than the one settled into the dimple at my neck, bash around.

I squeak excitedly, ‘Are they diamonds?’

‘Yes.’

Woah.

Never in my wildest fantasies did I ever imagine owning a real fucking diamond. Fuck. What if I lose it?

What if the chain breaks while I sleep?

This is a huge responsibility. I need to look after it! Should it be in a lockable box or— ‘I need to get it insure—’

‘It is insured, little deer.’

My heart swells. ‘Of course it is.’ I release a long, dreamy sigh. ‘I couldn’t love it more if I tried.’

He deepens his voice. ‘My feelings precisely.’

And he’s not talking about the necklace. My expanding heart fills all the space in my chest, leaving me breathless. ‘I miss you, Sir. You left without saying goodbye.’

‘I said goodbye. You were exhausted after barely sleeping on the flight. You need to sleep when you are tired, sweet girl. That is important to me. Sleep. Nutrients—’

I chuckle. ‘You’re not sleeping. And I doubt any nutrients are being ingested, Sir. That is important to me,’ I mock, talking through a small smirk.

‘Even a business meeting sounds like a carnival when my brother Bronson is around. I assure you, I’m as uncomfortable with our distance as you are.’

I smile at that. ‘So, Bronson is with you?’

‘Yes, sweet girl. My family is here.’

My stomach sinks a little. Am I his dirty little secret? And while he is out with his family, I’m hidden away in here.

Is Aurora there?

On his arm?

Gah.

I touch the pendant, willing my mind to remain in the contented, loved state from moments ago.

Seriously, Fawn?

What more do you want from this breathtaking man?

Everything!

‘So…’ I chew my bottom lip, blurting out, ‘Is your wife there with you too?’

Smooth.

‘Little deer, stop those thoughts.’

Wiping at my wet cheeks again, I remove all the happy tears, hearing a rough sigh leave him.

‘You have company,’ he states at the exact time a soft, hesitant knock draws my attention to the double doors. ‘I will see you soon. Put some clothes on before you let the soldiers in, but they must stay inside the floor when you are awake, Fawn. They have strict orders.’

Then he’s gone.

Soldiers… I’ve never heard him refer to them as that before. And I always call them henchmen because ‘soldiers’ sounds like they’re going to war. My stomach knots up for reasons I don’t care to analyse, so I slip from the mattress and throw on a robe and rush to the door.

The silky material whispers around my legs as I walk. The luxurious feel of expensive fabrics is still new and exciting to me.

I swing the door open.

Surprised, my eyes land on Clay’s sisters-in-law Cassidy and Shoshanna, and I grab the tails of the robe, tightening them around my waist when I see they are fully dressed.

As is appropriate at 6:00 pm, Fawn.

I smile. They aren’t out with him…

Cassidy is dressed casually in a yellow t-shirt and yoga pants, while Shoshanna is in a red halter with jeans, the denim fashionably ripped open around the thighs. She understands the worn-but-new-trend, and with her curves, the strategically faded denim clings to her body, stretching and drawing my eyes to the plump parts of her I wish I had more of—

‘Hey,’ I say in a long, drawn-out way, forcing my gaze from her thighs as I leap over the line for the appropriate time spent ogling someone you aren’t dating.

‘You seem surprised,’ Shoshanna interjects, combing her fingers through her silky dark hair.

Cassidy beams. ‘You had no idea that we were in Dubai too. Did you?’ Before I can answer, she snort-laughs. ‘Classic Clay. Need-to-know basis for just about everything. Max is the same. Getting information that isn’t immediately important is like pulling teeth from a bear. I just got, ‘Pack for Dubai, little one,’ without much explanation. He does always pack for Kels though, because we forgot her favourite shoes once, and I didn’t fret. She’s not even four, ya know? She’ll get over it quickly. But every. Single. Tear. Is devastating to Max. He can’t handle them. He spoils her… Sorry.’ She giggles again, outwardly far more awkward than me. ‘I ramble.’

‘No. It’s fine.’ I say, gripping my forehead, cradling it. ‘I’m sorry. I had no fucking idea you guys were here. I’m glad you are though.’

“We came on a different plane,” Cassidy says. “Your first time flying so—” She shrugs a little. “I guess he wanted you to have privacy or something.”

Clay’s statement on the phone tumbles into my mind as if for the first time: ‘Even a business meeting sounds like a carnival when my brother Bronson is around.’ Of course. If his brothers are here, then so are their partners. That aspect of the conversation didn’t really materialise, drowned out when he had said, ‘I assure you, I’m as uncomfortable with our distance as you are.’

I smile, rolling my eyes at myself. ‘Actually, I should have known you were here. Clay told me on the phone just now. He said Bronson was there with him.’

‘We have come to have dinner with you,’ Cassidy says, engulfing me in her small but strong arms. “Kids are safe and tucked-in bed. The ladies will eat and play.”

I stiffen.

Combating my body’s predisposition to push her away, my skin reminds me I’m not a fan of touch these days. She is practically a stranger. Her entire torso is touching mine. Besides Clay, I’m not sure I’ve had another person touch me this closely, for this long—will this cuddle ever end?

She finally releases me and skips into the room, and I cloak my uncertainty by smiling harder than feels normal.

‘Room service fricking rocks. Frick,’ she coos through a laugh. ‘This suite is amazeballs. I love these little carvings. And this view! Shoshanna, look, you can see the fountains. They’ll be down there somewhere. Being menaces, I bet.’

Shoshanna follows her in, both soon making themselves comfortable on the sofa. I see the soldiers waiting expectantly, and I attempt the Clay Butcher nod for them to enter. They do. And I’m kind of chuffed about it.

Immediately finding a place along the wall, they once again become one with the furniture.

I close the door behind them.

‘You have a lot,’ Cassidy says, following my attention to the men around the room. ‘I have a few as well. My main guard is Carter, but he’s watching over Kelly and Stone at the moment. Shosh has guards too. She has more than she knows about,’ Cassidy quips as though she has the intel.

‘I have Henri. Predominately. He watches over my sister as well,’ Shoshanna grounds, before gazing at me, her tone shifting in a formal way, in a clinical way, bringing to the front of my mind the memory of her performing my ultrasound—a lump builds in my throat—and my Pap Smear. She’s a doctor. Dr Adel? I think she introduced herself at the time. ‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Ah. Fine… Why?’

‘It’s been a very stressful few weeks, and stress can do strange things to us,’ she confirms. ‘And your first time flying, too. That’s a lot. If you ever need anything, I’m always here for you. Okay?”

I chuckle a little. ‘Did Clay put you up to this?’

‘He just asked that I check in—’ Then she grins candidly, figurately dropping her doctor’s hat for me. ‘And has asked that we make sure you eat something.’

‘Shosh,’ Cassidy reprimands, turning to me with a cheerful appeasing kind of smile. ‘He cares. That’s all. These boys just have a… funny way of showing it.’

‘A funny way?’ Shoshanna questions. ‘A primitive way.’ She laughs as she lifts the hotel phone and begins talking to a person on the other end. The words ‘steak’ and ‘cake’ seeps into my ears. I could definitely eat.

As always, with my limited girl-to-girl social skills, I come back blank with what to say. Agree with them.

Fit in.

Are his ways primitive?

Maybe… but I’m not like these girls. I didn’t have the luxury of learning independence, of proving I was ready and then fighting a guardian tooth-and-nail for the freedom to do what I wanted, ready to be pushed from the nest—I was abandoned in the damn nest. ‘Alone and surviving’ is my standard. That condition was all I’d known.

Taking care of myself feels a lot like being a child in a caravan with nothing but a promise that the moon can heal, and the world is beautiful, and I’ll be a butterfly one day. Nothing but hippy bullshit, two-minute noodles, and peanut butter sandwiches. It’s not refreshing to make my own decisions or rely on myself—it’s brutal.

Clay sees that.

But I don’t argue or try to explain. I simply say, ‘Are Max and Bronson the same then? About eating and stuff?’

‘Ah,’ Shoshanna drawls, hanging up the phone. And the two women share a meaningful glance in contemplation while I join them on the opposite sofa.

‘Different,’ Cassidy finally says.

‘How so?’ I ask, watching her pull her legs up and cross them on the sofa.

‘Well, Max won’t directly say anything,’ Cassidy offers brightly, ‘unless I press for it. I just know when there is something wrong.’

Shoshanna laughs, a deep husky sound that is confident and full of unapologetic truth. ‘I’ve known these boys for most of my life, and what Cassidy means is, he’s a grumpy arse, and she has to find out why he looks like he wants to snap something or someone in half.’

‘No,’ Cassidy insists through a smile that defies that word. Clearly, Shoshanna is right. ‘He is just not a big talker. If he thought that I wasn’t eating enough, he’d probably take me out for lunch and then watch every mouthful I take until he’s happy with the amount. And I’d see right through it.’ Then she bursts into giggles because she must find that as endearing and as strange as I do. It makes my heart warm for her.

‘And Cassidy will never say a bad word about her Max,’ Shoshanna quips but seems pleased that it’s true.

‘And Bronson?’ Cassidy eggs Shoshanna on, righting herself from her small fit of laughter.

‘Well…’ She leans back, settling in. ‘Bronson would probably tie me up and force feed me or make a joke about providing adequate nutrients by shoving—’ She stammers, and Cassidy’s eyes widen above an excited beam. ‘By other means…’

I smile at them.

Girlie banter.

I can do this…

We spend the night talking, and Shoshanna trims my hair because she can’t seem to stop. She’s an overachiever. Well, both she and Cassidy are, really.

I recall comparing them to cultivated roses, and me to a grass flower. I’m not sure if I feel like a rose just yet, but I also… I don’t feel like a grass flower anymore. I reach up and touch the butterfly pendant hanging over my heart.

‘You’re my pretty little queen.’

A monarch.

‘I cut Bronson’s hair too,’ Shoshanna says, pulling the strands taut down my back so she can trim the ends, redirecting my attention away from butterflies and roses. ‘I’ll just take a few inches off the bottom.’ The blunt end of the scissor glides along my lower back as she talks. ‘It makes sense that I’d be good at this, being a surgeon. Usually, I’m cutting through tissue though.’ She pauses, and I hear her smile as she says, ‘And there is more blood.’ More?

‘I’ve got litres of blood. It’s all good.’

I look at Cassidy as she fills her mouth with a burger bigger than my palm and definitely bigger than her trim stomach that must be a black hole. ‘You like food. Where do you put it?’ I ask.

‘In. Ma. Belly,’ Cassidy croons around the food while gazing at the beef burger with adoration.

I laugh. Titling my head to the side, I say to Shoshanna, ‘So, doctor, surgeon, hairdresser. What can’t you do?’

‘I had to learn,’ she admits softly. ‘My sister Akila had an accident that left her with— Well, it’s complicated, but basically put, brain damage and paraplegia. She wouldn’t let anyone else touch her for years, so I learned how to do it.’

My smile falls. I blink ahead, not being able to see her expression, only able to hear her tone tighten. Wishing I hadn’t assumed… I don’t know. Wishing I hadn’t made her sad. ‘I’m so sorry, Shoshanna.’

The mood shifts, hurting my heart in my ignorance.

She starts to brush and then snip, brush and then snip. ‘It sucks. Sucks even more that I couldn’t let her go when she wanted to. I’ll never do that again. It’s no life to live. I knew better as well. It’s just not a life.’

‘Shosh,’ Cassidy whispers, having swallowed her mouthful and placed the burger down on the plate.

‘It’s fine, Cassidy.’ She clears her throat. ‘What can’t I do?’ She repeats my question from before, her tone upbeat once again. ‘I can’t cook for the life of me. Bronson cooks everything in our house. He’s like an old Sicilian nonna in the kitchen. That is, if you can ignore the kiss-the-cook apron and the fact he’s usually naked.’

I laugh, imagining his butt peeking out from his apron.

She adds, ‘He’d be a nudist if he could.’

Thinking about the warm fragrant mist from the oven and a wave of scent blanketing me, I grin widely. Cooking resonates in the maternal side of me, in my soul. It’s special. Underrated. Putting different textures and different chemicals together, culminating in decadence.

It’s chemistry.

It’s magic.

A week ago, Maggie taught me how to create the perfect crust on a pork belly. I watched Clay bite into it, his dark brows rising in satisfaction in a moment he couldn’t hide. It was the best feeling. I waited with bated breath to hear the crunch of his teeth as they sunk through the skin, and then I pictured the salty juices spilling around the morsel. ‘I love to cook,’ I quip dreamily.

‘I love to eat!’ Cassidy sings, and we all chuckle a little, letting the conversation lighten.