Chapter 20

I smirk a little, turning back to my work, turning the churros over as they turn a nice golden brown. “Do you have any chocolate in your room, Frankie?” I ask, knowing the answer already.

“Of course I do.”

“Go and get it – I’ll make a dipping sauce.”

He hesitates for a second, but I laugh and give him a little kick on the calf. “Learn how to share,” I tease, grinning at him. “We don’t need all of what is sure to be your entire stash.”

“Fine,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “But I give you this boon once, in the name of churros. Otherwise, get your own chocolate.”

I laugh to myself as Frankie hurries back to his room.

“Plate?” I say, gesturing for Christian to come close. He does as asked, bringing forward the little paper-towel covered plate that I prepared. He holds it out as I use tongs to lift the churros out of the oil, placing them one by one on the plate.

“You’re good at this,” he murmurs, and I smile as I look up into his face, my stomach twisting when I see that he’s standing closer than I thought he was.

“I’m good at everything,” I reply, my voice deeper than it usually is.

He smirks. “I believe you.”

We stand there, staring at each other for a little too long, and we both jump when Frankie comes stomping back out of his room with two Toblerones in his fist. “This had better be good, Iris,” he says, handing them to me like they’re a great sacrifice. “This is top quality chocolate that –“

I just laugh, snatching the candy from him and waving him towards the plate of churros that Christian has placed on the counter. “Go, you’re my cinnamon-sugar man,” I say. “Get to dipping.”

Frankie moves where I tell him to, but frowns at Christian as he goes. “Why isn’t he doing anything?” Frankie asks, bitter.

“Because I’m the boss,” Christian says, a playful twist to his lips.

Frankie scowls and I laugh again as I lift out another pot, setting it onto a low flame before breaking chocolate into it and adding a little half-and-half from the carton in the fridge. Then, I pipe more churros into the hot oil, wanting a full batch for sampling.

“It’s nice having you here, Iris,” Frankie says, grinning over at me as he dips the churros into the cinnamon-sugar combination I mixed into a bowl according to Francisco’s precise measurements. “We needed a girl’s touch to make this place more homey.”

“Francisco wasn’t enough for you?” Christian asks, dry, his arms folded.

“Francisco makes a manly omelet,” Frankie replies, his eyes on his work, his voice deepening. “Lots of bacon and sausage mixed in. Iris is gentler, like a mom. Or a good girlfriend.” He sends me a little wink, turning his head away so Christian can’t see it, though when I glance at Christian I see that he missed absolutely nothing.

“She’s not a girlfriend, Frankie,” Christian sighs, his voice still dry. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Oh, I would never, boss,” he says, turning to Christian with a mock seriousness. “Besides, it’s not like any girlfriends that come here stay very long anyway.”

I twist my head towards them, distracted from the fried dough, wanting to hear more.

“There haven’t been any girlfriends here, Frankie,” Christian says, glaring at his bodyguard but smirking a little. “And there isn’t going to be, either. Any women you saw in this apartment must have been figments of your imagination.”

“Yeah,” Frankie says, nodding like he believes him, “really hot figments. That stayed just for one night.”

I can’t help but laugh at this, and Christian fights his smile. I return my gaze to the next batch of churros, curious. Christian brings girls back to the apartment, then? Just for one night.

Interesting.

“Girls, girlfriends, they don’t matter, Frankie,” Christian says, his voice stern, and something about the way he says it makes me think it’s some kind of mantra – something they’ve definitely said to each other before. “Only family. And Iris is family now.”

I sigh, inwardly, a little tired of getting friend-zoned. That’s twice in one day – in one hour – after all. I ignore it, though, gesturing for Christian to bring the next paper-towel laden plate over me.

A door slams behind me down the hall. “What am I smelling?” Nico calls, walking curiously into the kitchen.

“Churros!” Frankie shouts, and his enthusiasm is infectious. “Want some?”

“Obviously,” Nico grumbles and I shake my head as I grin, lifting the churros out onto the plate that Christian holds out. How can someone be so grumpy about desert?

“Almost ready,” I chirp, my voice sing-song in its excitement as Christian give the churros to Frankie to be dusted in sugar and I move to the melted chocolate, giving it a stir and tipping it out into a bowl for dipping.

“These smell amazing,” Nico murmurs, peering at the process. Suddenly, he reaches for the spice cabinet. “Hey, have you ever tried them with nutmeg on them? We had it once at Christmas and it was insane –“

“Nope!” Christian says, stepping towards Nico and holding up a hand. Nico freezes in mid-process with a glass bottle already in his hand. “No nutmeg. Iris is allergic.”

I grin at Christian, grateful that he remembers, and Nico just shrugs, moving around me to the other side of the counter so he can get first dibs. I turn the stove off, letting the oil cool, but as I do I realize quite suddenly that…

Well, that I only found out that I’m allergic to nutmeg a few years ago. It was at Christmas, when I’d tried nutmeg for the first time, and Damon had had to rush me to the hospital right in the middle of a party…

Slowly, I turn to stare at Christian as he and Frankie and Nico dig in to the desert. Part of me is pleased to see them enjoying it, but…

How the hell did Christian…

The realization comes to me slowly, and I stand up straighter, a little smile coming to my lips. Because while I found out that I’m allergic to nutmeg long after Christian left home…

…I did write about it to him. In an email.

I stare at him, half pleased and half pissed. Because he has been reading my emails, all this time.

But…why would he lie about it?

“Come get one, Iris,” Frankie says, turning to me with a smile. “They’re amazing.”

“You really did well,” Christian says, looking up to smile at me. “I seriously feel like I’m right back at Delgado’s.” I nod, glancing at the stove to make sure it’s all turned off before going to join the boys. And as much as I enjoy the hell out of the dessert, I’m quieter than I’d usually be, letting the boys chat and laugh and enjoy their meal while I study the tallest of the three.

Trying to figure out, of course, precisely where Christian’s boundaries are with me. And how I can break them down.

“Screw all this family nonsense,” Frankie says, swallowing his third. “I am marrying this girl!” I laugh as Frankie throws an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close, planting a kiss on my cheek. “Promise me, wife, that you will cook me churros every day and I will make you the happiest woman on earth –“

“Nope!” Christian says, though I can tell he’s not seriously pissed. “You’ve been warned, Frank, now hands off –“ Christian smacks Frankie lightly upside the head here, which makes hand gasp and protest, “and go do ten laps for your insubordination.”

“What?!” Frankie shouts.

“Ten laps. Outside. Now.”

My mouth drops when I turn to look at Christian and realize that he’s dead serious.