Chapter 1 - The Midnight Truce
“Are you ordering me around in my own house?” Adrian asked, his voice low and raspy in the dimly lit kitchen.
Emily froze with her hand on the refrigerator handle, wondering if she had pushed too far. Outside, the Manhattan skyline shimmered beyond the panoramic glass, but inside the kitchen, the air was thick with unsaid things. Adrian Moretti looked less like an untouchable titan tonight. His black sleeves were pushed past his forearms, dark curls slightly disordered, and dark circles bruised the space under his sharp brown eyes. For all his billions, he looked completely starved of ordinary warmth.
“I’m not ordering you,” Emily said quietly, pulling out a carton of eggs and a loaf of seeded bread. “I’m observing. You pay three personal chefs six figures each, yet you’re running a multi-billion-dollar empire on stale cold air and black espresso. That plate beside you is congealed beef tenderloin. It’s midnight. You need real fuel, Mr. Moretti.”
A faint, surprised smirk played at the corner of Adrian’s lips. Nobody ever dared talk to him without a trembling filter of terror or sycophancy. “Emily. You’re thirty weeks pregnant. You should be resting your feet, not cooking for your employer.”
“I’m cooking because making food calms my mind down,” she countered, setting a heavy cast-iron skillet on the cooktop. “And because after the circus Richard Hale put me through this afternoon, sleep is a million miles away.”
Adrian’s expression hardened at the mention of his disgraced attorney. “Hale will answer for every document he falsified. I promise you that. Marco’s men are tracing his accounts right now.” He stepped closer to the marble kitchen island, crossing his muscular arms. “What are you making?”
“Scrambled eggs, sourdough toast with butter, and chamomile tea. Humble food from a humble waitress. Care to risk it, boss?”
“I’ve survived car bombs, Miss Bennett. I think I can handle your cooking.”
Emily felt a jolt in her chest. She busied herself whisking the eggs with a pinch of sea salt and pepper. While the pan sizzled softly, she felt a sudden, sharp flutter low in her abdomen. She gasped, instinctively resting her palm against her swollen belly.
In a heartbeat, Adrian cleared the distance between them. His hand hovered in mid-air, trembling with raw, restrained instinct. “Is it pain? Should I call Dr. Miller?”
“No, no,” Emily breathed, giving him a reassurance smile through her parted lips. “She’s just kicking. Hard. I think the sound of the butter sizzling woke her up.”
Adrian stared down at her rounded belly. His guarded facade completely cracked open, leaving behind the raw wonder of an expectant father who had locked away his heart for far too long.
“May I?” he asked, his voice barely a breath. It was the first time Adrian Moretti had ever asked her for permission.
Emily took his large, calloused hand and pressed it gently against the warm fabric of her sweater. The moment skin connected with fabric, the little girl inside gave another vigorous thrust directly against his palm.
Adrian’s breath hitched. His dark eyes lifted to meet Emily’s, shining with an emotion so fierce and vulnerable it made her knees tremble. For five long seconds, the king of New York stood completely immobilized by the miracle under his palm.
“She’s strong,” he whispered, his thumb lightly stroking the contour of her dress before he caught himself and stepped back, clearing his throat. “She gets that from you.”
May you like
Emily turned back to the stove to hide the flush creeping up her neck. She plated the scrambled eggs and set the steaming plate in front of him alongside a cup of hot tea. Adrian sat on the barstool and ate every single bite in silence, as if it were the finest feast ever prepared for him.
“Thank you,” he said when he finished, his eyes locking onto hers. “Go to bed, Emily. Tomorrow, we get answers about why my own lawyer wanted you locked out of this baby’s life.”
