Chapter 46 Sweet Surrender
ARYA’S POV
I stood in the kitchen where flour dusted across every surface with bowls and measuring cups scattered everywhere while Claire and Maria's voices echoed through my phone speaker, both of them laughing at my latest culinary mishap.
It was two days since I had apologized to Giovanni for embarrassing him and although he said all was well, I felt I had to make up for it.
And judging by the way he was all but avoiding me during the past forty-eight hours, I could tell he was still mad about it.
"No, no, Miss Arya," Maria said, her voice warm with amusement. "You need to fold the batter gently. Gently! Not beat it like it insulted your mother."
"I am being gentle!" I protested, wielding my whisk like a weapon.
"You're murdering it," Claire chimed in, and I could hear her giggling. "I can hear it screaming from here."
I laughed, and it filled my chest with warmth. This felt almost normal.
"Okay, so after I murder the batter-I mean, gently fold it, what's next?"
"Pour it into the pan and wait, did you preheat the oven like I told you?" Maria asked, her tone suddenly suspicious.
I glanced at the oven, which was definitely, absolutely, completely cold.
"Of course I did," I lied badly.
"Miss Arya!"
"I'm turning it on right now!" I rushed to the oven, juggling my phone and nearly knocking over a bowl of eggs in the process.
We all dissolved into laughter again, the kind that made my stomach hurt and my eyes water. I was so absorbed in the moment that I didn't hear the footsteps behind me.
"What are you doing?"
I jumped, spinning around to find Giovanni standing in the kitchen doorway. He was already changed into dark slacks, a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
His eyes swept over the chaos of the kitchen with barely concealed suspicion.
"I… um-" I glanced at my phone. "I'll call you both back later, okay?"
"Good luck, Miss Arya!" Claire said cheerfully.
"Don't burn the house down," Maria added.
I hung up quickly, setting my phone aside and turning to Giovanni with what I hoped was a confident smile.
"I'm making breakfast," I announced, gesturing at my creation with pride. "Well, technically it's more like brunch at this point, but look! I made Italian breakfast pastries. Or at least, I'm attempting to make them. It's supposed to be an apology for last night."
Giovanni moved further into the kitchen, his eyes still scanning the disaster zone I'd created. "Did the kitchen do something to offend you?"
"Very funny." I grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the bowl of filling I'd managed to make without completely destroying it. "Here, try this."
He looked at the spoon like it might be poisoned. "Arya, I don’t think I should."
"Please?" I stepped closer, holding the spoon up toward his mouth. "I worked really hard on this. Claire and Maria helped me over video call and everything."
He sighed, but there was amusement in his eyes. Before he could taste it, though, he reached out and brushed his thumb across my cheek.
"You have flour on your face," he said, his voice softer than usual. "Actually, you have flour everywhere."
My cheeks warmed instantly and I scolded myself for always blushing around himl. "Just taste it," I insisted, batting my eyelashes in what I hoped was a persuasive manner.
Giovanni laughed and finally leaned forward to taste the filling from the spoon I held.
I watched his expression carefully, waiting for the verdict. His eyebrows rose in surprise.
"This is..." He paused. "Actually really good. How did you manage this considering the state of the kitchen?"
"I'm a good cook when I put my mind to it," I said proudly, unable to contain my grin. "I just needed the right motivation."
"And the right motivation is?"
"Apologizing to you, apparently."
Something shifted in his expression at that. He reached out again, this time his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
"You had filling here too," he whispered.
The air between us felt charged suddenly, heavy with the memory of last night.
Giovanni cleared his throat and stepped back, breaking the moment. "Be careful with the oven. I don't want to come home to find you've burned the villa down."
"You're leaving?" The disappointment in my voice was embarrassing.
He gave me a look, the kind that said I should know better than to ask. "Work, Arya. Some of us have businesses to run."
"Can I come with you?" The words were out before I could stop them.
"No." His tone was firm but not unkind. "You have other important things to handle here."
I frowned, confused. "What things? I'm literally covered in flour making apology pastries. That's my whole agenda for the day."
Giovanni moved closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. He reached out and tapped my nose gently, his eyes dancing with something I couldn't quite identify.
"Didn't you want to see Christabel?" he asked.
My heart stopped, it actually stopped beating for a full second before it kicked back into overdrive, pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
"W-what?" I stammered.
His smirk widened. "They're coming today. Your father, Marco, and Christabel. You get to spend the rest of the day with them."
I stared at him, certain I had misheard.
"Are you serious?" My voice came out barely above a whisper. "You're not... this isn't..."
"I'm completely serious," he said, his expression softening slightly at whatever he saw in my face. "They'll be here this afternoon."
I didn't consider the consequences or what it might mean or any of the thousand reasons why this was a terrible idea.
I just launched myself at him. My arms went around his neck, and I hugged him with every ounce of strength I had, burying my face in his shoulder.
His cologne was mixed with the scent of coffee and something uniquely him, and I breathed it in while tears pricked at my eyes.
"Thank you," I whispered against his neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
His arms came around me automatically, holding me close. One hand settled at the small of my back, the other cradling the back of my head, and we stood there in the flour-dusted kitchen while my heart tried to beat its way out of my chest.
I pulled back slightly to look at him, and that's when I realized how close we were. How my body was pressed against his, and how his eyes had gone dark with something that made my breath catch.
My gaze dropped to his lips. Those lips that had been on mine three nights ago.
"Arya." His voice was low, warning. "Don't."
But I had spent too long being told what I could and couldn't do and what I wanted right now was to kiss Giovanni De Santis again.
So I did.
I leaned in and pressed my lips to his, it was soft at first, giving him a chance to pull away but he didn't.
Instead, his arms tightened around me, and he kissed me back with a hunger that made my knees weak. His mouth moved against mine with practiced skill, and when his tongue swept across my lower lip, I opened for him without hesitation.
This kiss was different from the last time, this one was something else, like he was savoring me instead of just claiming me.
His hand slid up from my back to tangle in my hair, and I made a sound that was half-gasp, half-moan against his mouth.
I felt him smile against my lips before deepening the kiss, backing me up until my hips hit the counter.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, he rested his forehead against mine and laughed softly.
"You're going to be the death of me," he murmured.
"Good," I replied, my voice breathy and uneven. "You deserve it after what you said."