Page 25 of Thorns of Deceit

I turned to see Aiden, watching the scene, amused.

“I—uh—it’s fine! Just a little smoke,” I said quickly, waving my hand as if that might erase the evidence. “Dinner got… overenthusiastic.”

He sniffed the air, grimacing. “Smells like you set a tire on fire, not dinner.”

I forced a weak laugh, coughing as another puff of smoke curled toward us. “The recipe didn’t specify how long to leave it unattended.”

Aiden’s lips twitched almost as if he was fighting a smile while he crossed his arms. “It seems I was wrong, wife. Youcan’tcook.”

I smiled sheepishly and he shook his head as he headed to open all the windows and doors. I fumbled to help, the summer breeze chasing away the haze in my lungs.

As the alarm finally quieted, silence settled over the kitchen and I looked at the unrecognizable mess in the pot that would surely have to be thrown away.

I let out a heavy sigh. So much for our date and getting to know each other.

“I’m sorry again for smoking us out of the penthouse,” I said, sliding the glass doors wider, grateful for the light breeze whooshing in. We’d been attempting to air out faint traces of smoke lingering in the kitchen, dining, and living room.

I’d attempted to make spaghetti and homemade sauce—out of the can—and failed big-time. Talk about embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Aiden had grabbed a blanket and filled a basket with food from the fridge so we could move to the terrace. It was hot and humid, but it was better than inhaling smoke inside. He stretched out the blanket, and we flopped on it while he set up a makeshift food tray.

I was too rattled from almost setting his penthouse on fire that I didn’t immediately notice the breathtaking sight in front of me.

Honking horns from the streets below reached us up here, but just barely. I found myself gazing out toward Central Park, the trees lush and green and the Reservoir glistening. The view,combined with this makeshift picnic, somehow made me feel like a princess in a glass tower.

I glanced around the terrace, though the word “terrace” was an understatement.

The place was massive, almost as big as the apartment. There was a private pool and lounge chairs spread out along the left, while on the right, a small, well-kept garden stretched toward the glass railing.

“Besides, it’s a perfect day to enjoy some sunshine,” Aiden added, bringing my attention back to him. “And I’m finally using this space.”

“You don’t come out here often?”

“No.” He poured San Pellegrino into both our glasses.

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Work and stuff.”

“You know, you can have alcohol,” I remarked as he handed me my champagne flute filled with sparkling water. “I drink too. Though not often, and I’m a total lightweight.”

“Technically, you can’t.”

I scoffed, then took a small sip. “Old enough to get married, but not old enough to drink, huh?”

“Pretty much,” he muttered. “I don’t make the rules.”

I took another sip of water, then placed the delicate glass down. “So, what’s for dinner, then?”

He peered inside his basket. “Ham and cheese sandwiches. Caviar. Hummus with crackers. Strawberries and pineapples. Take your pick.”

I smiled. “It actually all sounds good. Can I start with a sandwich, please?”

He handed it to me and I bit into it. “So who cooks in your house, Raven?”

The implication that it couldn’t possibly be my mother lingered.