Love Arranged (Lakefront Billionaires, #3)(43)

“Do you have their recipe somewhere? I’d love to try it,” she asks.

No, because my uncle donated or discarded most of my father’s possessions—another unforgivable act to add to his never-ending list.

“Before…you know…my parents had this recipe book.” I have no idea why I am sharing so much about myself, but I can’t seem to stop myself as I continue. “They’d always try new ones, and if they liked it enough, they’d write it down.”

I regret sharing such a small detail about myself, especially when she looks at me with an expression I’ve learned to recognize.

Pity.

It’s gone as soon as I blink, and for that, I’m grateful.

She smiles instead. “Seems like they were a lot of fun.”

The conversation seems to die after that, and I miss the curious sparkle in Lily’s eyes once she resumes her task of shaping the dough into a ball.

With each pass of the rolling pin we have to share, energy crackles and the air thickens around us, and it all comes to a crescendo when Lily struggles to flatten her dough. She sucks in a breath when I step behind her, only for her breathing to stop altogether when I place my hands over hers and create a cage with my arms.

“What are you doing?” she whispers low enough for only us to hear.

“At this rate, you and I will be stuck here all night,” I say louder.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, baby.” She winks, and Richard looks ready to keel over his table nearby.

“But I have plans for us later.” I drop a kiss on the spot where her shoulder meets the curve of her neck. Her flesh pebbles from the brief contact, and I smile against her skin that smells of flowers, vanilla, and a note of something else I can’t identify.

“Fine.” She sighs dramatically. “Help me.”

I resume our task of rolling the dough, each press of my body against hers drawing a different physical reaction.

“Why do you enjoy antagonizing me?” she whispers.

“I’m showing my girlfriend how much I want her.”

“In that case…” She shimmies her hips, rubbing her ass against my crotch until some of my blood rushes south.

I bite down on my cheek hard enough to taste blood.

“You good?” She looks over her shoulder with a smirk.

“Peachy.” My gaze drops to her incriminating ass and the bulge forming beneath my jeans.

Think about anything else. Manny kicking your ass in poker. Willow saying you’ll never win the election. The CDC announcing that an emerging virus is turning everyone into flesh-eating zombies.

Lily glances over her shoulder and smiles in a way that makes me wish it were real. A dangerous thought given our situation, and a reminder of why I can’t get caught up in the ruse.

The side of my face prickles with awareness, and I turn my head toward Richard, who is staring at Lily. His obvious interest in her doesn’t surprise me because most men react the same way, but something about him screams wrong.

My intuition hasn’t led me astray before, so I listen to it and goad Richard into showing me his cards.

I cover Lily’s hands and help her with the last few rolls, earning an eye twitch from Richard.

Hm.

I never doubted her when she claimed to dislike the Ludlows, but I also never got around to pressing her on the subject. All that will change tonight because I’m going to get the truth out of her.

One way or another.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


Lily


Maria, who is like our very own nonna, miraculously turns us average—or in my case, fire hazard—cooks into decent chefs for the night. When she collects everyone’s raviolis in a large bowl and tosses them into a boiling pot of water together, we wait patiently, sipping wine and mingling by the portable stove Maria works at.

Hopefully everyone took hygiene as seriously as Lorenzo, who was diligent with cleaning his hands and prep station.

Eventually Maria and her husband shuffle everyone over to the long, family-style table set up at the back of the room and ask us to take a seat. The steaming raviolis on my plate look like they could’ve been served at a restaurant, but I can’t say the same about everyone else’s dinner. Lorenzo’s plate looks like a mix of ill-prepared ones, with a few leaking from the corners.

Everyone starts to dig into their food. One taste of mine has me shutting my eyes with a quiet groan, while Lorenzo clutches his fork like it might break free from his hand and make a run for it.

I expected him to socialize with everyone in a setting like this since it’s the perfect natural opportunity, but he seems uncharacteristically quiet.

Underneath the table, I nudge him with my thigh. “You good?”

His Adam’s apple bobs from his swallow. “Yup.”

I take another bite of my food while he watches me out of the corner of his eye.

“What?” I ask when he doesn’t break his stare.

“You feeling okay?”

“Me?” I forget my manners and laugh in the middle of chewing. “Yes. Thankfully it’s not poisoned.”

Between breaks in the conversation with other couples, he shifts some of his dinner around on the porcelain plate without taking a single bite. I’ve spent enough time around Rafa to recognize unique eating habits, although Rafa’s compulsory need to finish everything on Nico’s and his plates is completely different compared to Lorenzo’s inability to touch his food.