Chapter 86 CHAPTER 086

Chapter 86 CHAPTER 086
Anna hesitated for a moment at the doorway, her gaze sweeping across the polished counters and the quiet sense of order that ruled the space.

Stepping further into the kitchen, her eyes flickered between Martina and Rosalia.

“I guess I must learn how to make Italian dishes today," she remarked, a slight tilt to her head. "There’s no escaping this, is there?”

Martina and Rosalia exchanged a quick glance and smiled before turning back to her. “Yeah,” they said together.

Without another word, Anna joined them at the counter, and Rosalia handed her a knife and a cutting board.

Rosalia showed Anna how to slice the eggplant thin, how to layer the lasagna sheets just so, how to season the sauce until it tasted as if it had been simmering for generations.

Martina stood beside her, chattering about nothing and everything—about the time Isabella had set fire to a dish towel, about the way their father used to sneak bites from the pots when their mother wasn't looking, about the recipe that had been passed down from their grandmother.

Anna listened and laughed, letting the rhythm of the kitchen carry her along.

The maids joined the conversation, adding their own stories, and the hours slipped by in a haze of warmth, flour-dusted counters, and the clatter of pots against the stove.

By the time the last dish was plated, Anna’s cheeks ached from smiling, and something in her chest felt lighter than it had in weeks.

Lunch came and went, and so did dinner, yet Vincenzo never appeared at the table or joined them for either meal.

Afterward, Anna made her way back to his room.

Checking the clock on the nightstand, she saw that it was 11:20.

“Time’s passed, and he’s still not back,” she murmured to herself, a knot of worry tightening in her chest. She couldn’t help but hope that everything was all right.

She hoped he was safe. She hoped—

She stopped herself.

There was no reason to hope for his safety.

He was nobody important to her. The father of her child, yes, but it wasn’t as if they loved each other.

Changing into a robe, she stepped inside the bathroom and took a quick shower.

When she emerged, she dried her hair with a towel, running her fingers through the tangles until it fell in chestnut waves around her shoulders. 

Her gaze then fell on the long mirror in the corner.

After a moment’s hesitation, she moved toward it and slowly pulled her robe open.

Her eyes settled on her stomach.

A small bump had begun to show, barely noticeable beneath loose clothing.

She placed her palm against it, feeling the warmth of her skin, and a small smile tugged at her lips.

It wouldn’t be long now. In a few months, the bump would swell into a full belly, and then the baby would come.

She would hold her child in her arms for the first time, and—

The reality of leaving the baby after giving birth slammed into her, and her smile crumbled.

Her hand pressed harder against her stomach, as if she could shield the tiny life within from a future she did not want to face.

Suddenly, big hands wrapped around her belly from behind, sending warmth through her skin.

Startled, she gasped, and she whipped her head around.

Vincenzo stood behind her, his chest pressing against her back.

Gently, he rubbed his palm over her stomach, and her breath caught in her throat.

His grey eyes were fixed on the reflection of her stomach in the mirror.

“Our baby… it’s growing already,” he whispered, his raspy voice barely above a breath.

As he spoke, Anna caught the sharp scent of alcohol on his breath, mingling with the familiar warmth of his cologne.

Her brows furrowed.

Is he drunk? she thought, a flicker of unease running through her.

She pulled away from his arms, and closed her robe, cinching the belt tight around her waist.

Facing him fully, she saw his hair was disheveled, dark strands falling across his forehead in a way that made him look more striking.

His eyes were glassy, and unfocused.

He was unmistakably drunk.

Anna opened her mouth to speak, but Vincenzo reached out and brushed a strand of damp hair from her face, and suddenly all the words she had wanted to say died in her throat.

His fingers were warm against her cheek, rough calluses catching on her skin as he tucked the strand behind her ear with a tenderness that made her heart hitch.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his grey eyes piercing into her blue ones.

The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine, and goosebumps prickled on her arms and the back of her neck.

The air between them thickened, charged with something she couldn't name, something that made her heart pound against her ribs and her breath come in shallow gasps.

Moving back a step, she tried to break the moment. “I think you should go to—”

His mouth crashed against hers, cutting off her words.