Page 13 of Dreadful

Mammamia, what’s wrong with me?

This morning, I literally killed a man with ice in my veins. But withthisman right in front of me, I’m so flushed with nerves that it’s impossible for me to focus.

His magma-hot gaze never wavers from mine as his fingertip leaves my mouth. He tucks it into his own, and I watch, totally entranced, as he sucks the purple icing off his finger.

“Delicious.”

When I finally find my voice, it comes out husky and hoarse. “Do you, um, do you want one of those then?”

His smile is sinful as he nods. “Definitely.”

“Tallie!Cosa fai?” Gio’s voice snaps me out of my trance as he emerges from the bakery. “Were you paying attention? I heard a customer yell for you!”

I switch to Italian and meet his volume. “I’m up and attending to him, aren’t I?”

“Fai la brava,Tallie.” Tony appears behind Gio, towering over him. “We have a guest.”

His soft voice smooths over our squabble instantly. Gio turns on his charismatic charm like a light switch.

“Oh, mio Dio, mi dispiace signore.I’m sorry, sir. I would have come out to help sooner, but I was in the middle of a cake.” Gio’s apology is still thick with his Italian accent. He’s just as loud as before, but that volume is his default setting. “Please,signore. A cookie. On the house. Our Tallie baked them herself this early morning.”

“You baked them?” he asks. A shadow of a grin passes over his face. “Why am I not surprised?”

Gio scans the newcomer up and down until a sparkle lights his brown eyes.

Merda, I know that twinkle. It’s been the bane of my existence since I turned eighteen. That was when mynonnigot it into their heads that I needed to get married as soon as possible or I’d die a grouchy old maid. Hell, we all know I’m already halfway there.

Gio grabs me by the arm before I can stop him and drags me around the glass-encased desserts.

“Nonno! What’re you—”

With strength no one would expect from him at his age, he shoves me toward the customer. It takes every fiber of my being not to fall into the guy’s arms again.

“Ournipotinais a great baker, a good cook, just came back from the university with a good job—”

“Andsingle,” Tony butts in, cutting to the chase.

“Is she now?” The guy mocks me with a smirk, and I swear I’d crawl into an oven and bake myself to avoid this conversation if I could. The only thing stopping me is mynonno’sgrip on my arm.

“Madonna mia, Tony, Gio…” I shake my head and pinch my nose as I complain in Italian. “Please stop with all this nonsense, already.”

“It is not nonsense!” Gio snaps at me and switches back into Italian. “You are smart, you have a job at the theater, and you bake. What is not to love? You’ve always been such an angry thing and so stubborn. Go out and have some fun. You deserve it after all you’ve been through. You never like the boys we pick for you, but this one dresses well, and he has nice eyes. Invite him to your show this weekend. He is perfect—”

“Nonno,” I growl. While I’m immensely grateful that little speech was in Italian, I need to stop this before he decides to use my three-hundred-dollar knife as a dowry.

I shrug his grip before shooing them to the bakery door. “Just go back in there, the both of you. I’ll take care of the customer.”

“Ask his name!” Gio yells in Italian. “If it’s a good one, I’m baking another wedding cake!”

“Basta!” I snap. “Enough!”

Tony bursts into laughter as Gio curses about how he wouldn’t have to interfere if I would go on a date every now and then.

“Jesus.” I wince. Hot mortification burns the back of my neck as I slowly face our all-too-captive audience. “Please tell me you’re not fluent in Italian.”

He continues to analyze the pictures of dessert on the walls and shrugs. “I’m afraid I slept through Italian in elementary school.”

“Bah! Nevermind!” Gio groans in Italian through the crack in the door. “Only a good Italian boy for our granddaughter, or no one at all!”