Alessa selected a card with Crollo on it from the top of the pile and added it to her hand, then looked over her shoulder at Dante, who’d opted out of the game, insisting he was on the job. He craned his neck to see her hand, scratched his nose with two fingers, and pointedly looked at Kaleb.
Alessa cleared her throat with a delicate cough. “I believe it is my turn, Kaleb. Not yours. And before I roll, I would like to steal a card.”
Kaleb grumbled as he flicked the card in question across the table. “You said you’d never played before. How are you so good already?”
Alessa bit her lip, placing a pair of Dea and Crollo cards on the table. “Blessed by the gods, I suppose.”
Dante shifted from one foot to the other.
Kaleb’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Are you two conspiring?”
Saida groaned. “You can’t accuse everyone of cheating because you’re losing, Kaleb.”
“I’m not accusing everyone, just the Finestra.”
“Maybe you should write down a recipe instead of being a poor loser. I’m still waiting on your contribution to my project.”
Kaleb made a face. “I told you, I don’t know how to bake. Desserts show up in my house and I don’t ask questions.”
A young woman in an apron rapped on the door. “Beg your pardon, but the lady’s timer went off.”
“Oh,” Saida said. “My rosogolla is finished cooling!”
Apparently, Saida had charmed her way into the kitchens earlier to make dessert. She returned a minute later with a large pan, and the room filled with the scent of milk and sugar as she began spooning fluffy white balls onto small plates. “I thought we could use a treat.”
Kaleb grumbled. “A clever distraction so you can peek at our cards.”
“Whose recipe is this, Saida?” Josef bumped Kaleb’s chair, looking a bit too innocent, on his way to help Saida pass out plates.
Saida grinned. “This one is from my own family. Good, isn’t it?”
It was. Sweet and slightly sticky, with the faintest hint of something floral. “Is there rosewater in this?” Alessa asked.
“Nice catch.” Saida looked impressed. “Dante, do you have any special family recipes you’d be willing to share?”
A series of emotions flickered across Dante’s face before he shook his head.
“Get up.” Kamaria gestured for Kaleb to swap seats with her, so she could sit beside Alessa.
“I swear, Kamaria,” Kaleb said. “If you touch my cards, I’m claiming your winnings.”
“Man-child,” Kamaria shot back.
As Josef explained the mechanics of card counting, while swearing he’d never actually cheat because he had morals, Kamaria leaned close to Alessa. “Nina may be as gullible as a goldfish, but I’m not.”
Alessa coughed. “Huh?”
Kamaria licked her finger. “Your little wrestling match with Signor Crankypants. I mean, you are getting better, so I believe that he’s helping you with your power—but he was enjoying your hands on him, and he shouldn’t have been. Sorry. That came out harsh. Not your fault you pack a punch. But … why is he different?”
Alessa held her gaze. “He’s helping us. Does it matter?”
Kamaria seemed to consider. “Fair enough. But be careful. If I’m wondering, someone else might, too.”
* * *
After an hour in Dante’s arms the night before, Alessa was addicted. She stalled on her way to bed, watching Dante fold his shirt and stretch out on the couch, hands behind his head.
At her sigh, his eyelashes fluttered as though she’d ruffled them from afar.
Alessa walked toward her bed. Stopped. Turned back. Sighed again.
“Will you get over here already?” Dante said, his voice thick with sleep.
She popped back out. “I thought you were going to sleep. Did you change your mind?”
“No. But if the only way you’ll go to sleep is near a warm body, then cut to the chase and come here. Don’t worry. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
Of course. He’d scoff at every other rule of polite society, but when it came to touching her, he’d be a saint. She wasn’t about to give him a chance to change his mind, though.
“Sheesh, you really don’t know how to do this—” Dante made a show of grumbling as he arranged her in front of him, but soon they were snuggled together like spoons in a drawer.
She shivered as his breath tickled the nape of her neck.
“Cold?”