Page 243 of Reckless Obsession

“I baked them all by myself,” I continue with solemn confidence. “From scratch. I measured every ingredient precisely. I didn’t steal cheese while Tyler was cooking. I didn’t put too much salt in anything, and I didn’t nearly turn pizza dough into a crime against Italy.”

Tristan’s expression breaks. A laugh rumbles through his chest beneath me, warm enough that I feel it against my cheek.

“You wore the Betty Boop apron, didn’t you?”

My eyes narrow. “That is confidential information.”

“Maksim.”

“I wore it under protest.”

“Of course you did.”

“And I looked good.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“I have no doubt,” Tristan says as his hand settles at the nape of my neck, his thumb brushing my skin.

The softness in his voice makes it difficult to keep pretending I am annoyed, and I rest my cheek on his chest again.

For a while, we talk about nothing important.

I tell him Tyler almost banned me from the kitchen for life. Tristan says he supports Tyler’s decision. I tell him Lucas kept trying to defend me, but only in the softest, least useful way. I tell him how the preparations for Lucas’s engagement party are going and how my mother has been shopping and going all out to make it look grand. I ramble on about Luiz and his Spider-Man hoodie, and how I’ll get him the LEGO Avengers Tower before Viktor does.

Tristan just listens to me quietly, his fingers trailing absent patterns along my spine. Then a yawn catches me completely off guard. It tears through me so hard that my eyes water.

Tristan’s hand stills against my back.

“You need to sleep.”

“I do not.”

“You spent all day being a head chef.”

I snicker and shake my head. I try to continue talking, but another yawn interrupts me halfway through a sentence.

“I want to talk to you more,” I say, my words blurring at the edges. “But your chest is like a very warm pillow.”

Tristan’s arms tighten around me.

“Then sleep, baby.”

I shake my head stubbornly.

“You have me all day tomorrow,” he insists. “And every night after that. But you need sleep.”

“No.”

“Maksim.”

“What if I wake up and you’re gone?”

The words are out before I can stop them, and the teasing vanishes from the room.

“What if this is just a dream?” I whisper. “One of those dreams where you finally hold me like this and I think everything is okay. Then I wake up, and you are gone again.”

His hand cups the back of my head.