Page 57 of Shades of Ruin (Sharp Edges Duet #2)

Chapter Forty-Two

ANGéLICA

T he moment Grey comes to meet us in his office, I know something is wrong.

He doesn’t wear the drawn expression of someone who’s been fighting with an ex.

He looks like he’s had a skirmish with La Patasola and barely escaped with his life.

He masks his haunted expression before turning to Tobias and asking him if he would like to stay with us for a little while.

Tobias says yes with an excitement that fills my chest with a warmth I’ve never felt before.

I’d hardly call Grey and myself parent material—we both had complicated relationships with our parents that left us scarred in our own ways—but if genuinely caring for the kid counts for anything, we can give Tobias that and more.

I’m not sure how long he’ll stay with us, but I’m happy to have him around for as long as he’d like to be here.

Grey sends Tobias and me up to the apartment while he finishes dinner at Grey’s.

I don’t love being sent away from him when all I want is answers, but he promises we’ll talk when he gets home.

We’re both professional enough to put the needs of the restaurant above our personal issues when we have to.

So I try to brush aside my hurt feelings and focus on making Tobias feel comfortable in his new home.

Thankfully, Grey has an extra bedroom, so Tobias won’t be forced to sleep on the couch while he’s here.

And I’m especially grateful that Grey chose to put his playroom on an entirely different level, given that we’ll be under the scrutiny of a nine-year-old for the foreseeable future.

I can only hope his bedroom is soundproof, although I’ve never had a reason to ask.

Tobias asks if he can help make dinner, and I’m more than thrilled to have him be my sous in Grey’s kitchen.

I wrap Grey’s black apron around his narrow waist and laugh when I have to overlap the ties three times to get it to fit.

He’s tall enough that the length of the apron isn’t too bad.

I throw on my own apron, and we get to work.

I let Tobias pick our dish for tonight, and he settles on coquillettes au jambon, a French version of macaroni with a béchamel sauce and diced ham.

It’s decadent and creamy with not a vegetable in sight, and he and I devour the whole pot without saving any leftovers for Grey.

I’ll focus on working some fruits and vegetables into Tobias’s meals tomorrow, but for a comfort dish after a long and stressful day, coquillettes au jambon was a perfect choice.

I give him one of Grey’s t-shirts to sleep in and find a spare toothbrush under the bathroom sink. It’s enough for tonight, but we’ll have to get him some actual clothes and other things in the morning.

Tobias’ bright blue eyes look too wide-awake for sleep, so I sing him one of the songs my mother would sing when I was small.

He doesn’t understand the words, but the soft lull of my voice slowly puts him to sleep.

I can’t resist brushing the dark hair from his temples, tenderness overwhelming me at the sight of how peaceful his face looks when he dreams.

His father has never looked so soft and innocent when he sleeps. I can’t help but think that he might have if he hadn’t been broken so young. Tobias is a chance to keep the past from repeating itself.

I wait on the sofa in the living room, hugging my knees to my chest as I watch the elevator door for signs of Grey.

I must doze off before he finally gets home, and I blink away the bleariness in my eyes as I watch him set several bags on the floor.

“Did you go shopping?” I rub my hand over my tired eyes and stifle a yawn.

“I needed to get a few things for Tobias—clothes and shoes and a few toys I thought he might like. It’ll be enough until we can take him out Sunday.”

I nod as I look over the multiple shopping bags piled by the door.

It looks like Grey bought out an entire mall.

Seeing someone as vicious and imposing as Grey panic buy for a nine-year-old boy is the most endearing thing I’ve experienced in a very long time.

“Think you got enough?” I ask, unable to stifle a giggle.

“Don’t fucking laugh. I didn’t know what to buy, so I just got a lot of everything.”

“I’m sure he’ll love it, Grey. You’re a good dad.” I don’t miss the wince that crosses Grey’s face as he walks to the bar.

“Want a drink, angel?” he asks as he starts to rifle through the liquor bottles.

I smile because even after the shocking events of the day, he still keeps to our nightly routines. “I think finding out you have a son with a gorgeous French blonde warrants a drink if nothing else does. Better make it a strong one.”

Again, his face twists with a strange expression, but he shakes it off as he pulls out two martini glasses, vodka, and coffee liqueur. “I need to make a few double shots of espresso in the kitchen. You can look in the brown paper bag—it’s for you.”

Since the last surprise he got me was nipple piercings, I approach the paper bag warily.

The moment I pull the rectangular box out of the bag, the delicious smell of yeast and oil sends my mouth watering.

I lift the lid and find a dozen donuts dripping with a decadent layer of glaze and begging to be stuffed into my mouth right now.

Grey walks back into the room with the espresso, and I stare up at him in surprise.

“You got me donuts,” I accuse, suddenly feeling very emotional over such a small gesture.

But with Grey, no gesture is ever really small.

He puts care and detail into everything he does—even something as simple as getting me the last snack I asked for when life went to hell, just like it did again today.

“They’re the shittiest chain donuts imaginable because that’s all that was open this late,” he answers gruffly, trying to brush aside how thoughtful he was.

“I love shitty chain donuts.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I thought you might.”

I walk to the bar and wrap my arms around his neck, reaching up to give him a peck on the cheek. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, angel,” he hums with his mouth a few inches from mine. I can smell the faint hint of whisky on his breath.

I shoot him a scolding look. “Did you sneak a drink in the kitchen before coming up?”

“Just a little one,” he admits, an incorrigible grin on his face.

“The Aurélie story must be pretty bad then.”

He pours himself a shot of vodka and downs it in one gulp. “You have no fucking idea.”

That doesn’t make me feel any better, but I put on a brave face anyway. “Well, we have donuts and alcohol to get us through it. So put some liquor in me, chef. Let’s get this bitch started.”

Grey mixes a batch of espresso martinis and pours us each a full glass.

I carry the donuts to the couch and grab a couple before setting the box down beside me.

He carries over the martinis, fixing me with a dubious look when he sees I’m about to ruin his velvet sofa with donuts. And he can get the fuck over it.

“Trade,” I demand, offering him a donut in exchange for a glass. “Cheers.” I tap my donut against the side of his before going to dip mine into the coffee-flavored cocktail.

“For the love of God, do not dunk that donut,” Grey commands, looking like he’s about to knock the damn thing out of my hands.

“Why?” I ask, my donut hovering over the edge of my glass.

We all have cardinal sins when it comes to food.

I’m shocked to discover something as simple as dunking is his.

Mine is ketchup. It belongs nowhere near eggs, fries, or any protein whatsoever.

Tomato chutney, sure. Hogao, delicious. Tomato ketchup made with pureed tomatoes blended with corn syrup and a bunch of other shit? Get the fuck out of my kitchen.

“Because it’s disgusting.” He demolishes his own donut in two large bites before grabbing another from the box between us. “Why would you want to eat a soggy mess?”

“Because it’s delicious,” I argue with a playful smirk right before dunking. I plop the coffee and liquor-soaked bite into my mouth, moaning extra loudly in enjoyment just to annoy him. I dunk again, and I swear he growls in response. “I’ll fight you on it,” I warn him with my mouth still full.

“I’m not in the fighting mood tonight,” he sighs. “But I’ll hold a grudge for later. Expect to get a spanking tomorrow night.”

“For dunking a donut?”

“For making reprehensible food choices.” He plucks what’s left of the donut in my hand and shoves it into his mouth so he doesn’t have to watch me drown it in my martini. “You should know better, chef.”

I snatch another from the box and continue to eat it exactly how I like it. Because no one tells me what to do with my food. “I will gladly take a spanking to have this delicious, soggy mess in my mouth.”

“I would be happy to fill your mouth with something else that’s delicious and dripping wet.”

I smack my palm against his chest. “Don’t you dare start. You’ve already distracted me with snacks and alcohol—you don’t get to use your cock to get out of this conversation.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, filthy girl,” Grey chides. “I only meant I could get you another espresso martini.”

“Yeah, sure you did,” I huff. I drain what’s left in my glass and hand it out to him. “Top me up, then we’re talking this shit out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Grey quips with a smirk. He leans over to press a sugary kiss against my lips before striding back to the bar. And I take the moment to brace myself for what comes next.

“Cheers,” he announces while sliding onto the sofa beside me. “To dirty secrets, psycho exes, and the prettiest damn chef I’ve ever seen.”

I clink my glass against his. “That better be me you’re talking about.”

“Well, I gave you some stiff competition, but you won out in the end.”

“Good answer,” I laugh. “Now get to the dirty secrets and psycho exes part before these cocktails put me to sleep.”