29. Chapter 29

29

F ive A.M.

Soren glanced at the clock for what seemed like the thousandth time. He had gotten home after midnight, but every time he closed his eyes, he kept reliving the kiss with Ilaria in his head. Even after releasing some of the pressure with his own hand, the image wouldn't go away, keeping him semi-hard for the entire night.

He sat up with a groan and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He looked down at the tent in his boxer shorts with a frown. Fucking inconvenient.

And he had a sinking feeling that his own hand would no longer be enough. That only one person could truly give him what he wanted. What he needed.

A run. He'd work off the extra energy with a hard run that would kick his ass. Then maybe he'd be too tired to think of her.

It was still dark outside, but that made no difference to him. After throwing on shorts and a T-shirt and grabbing his running shoes, he quietly made his way downstairs, trying not to wake the others.

A dim light shone from the kitchen, and Rowan glanced up from his seat at the counter when Soren walked in.

"Can't sleep either?" Soren asked. He took a seat on the couch and tugged on his shoes.

"Nope," Rowan replied. "Been up since four."

"I'm going for a run. Wanna come?"

"Sounds good."

Lakefront Trail was usually crowded with other walkers, runners, bicyclists, and dogs. But at just after five A.M., only the truly dedicated runners and other insomniacs were present.

They ran five miles in silence, keeping up a brutal pace that had Soren focusing on the stinging in his lungs and the burning in his legs. But it was better than being tormented with constant thoughts about Ilaria.

After mile marker five, they slowed down to a walk as if by silent agreement. For once, Soren felt clear-headed.

"If we're lucky, we'll find out what Vincent's planning in the next few weeks," Soren said. "Then we can go home."

Rowan dipped his chin in confirmation. After a beat, he asked, "What about Ilaria?"

Soren's senses went on alert. "What about her?"

Rowan looked at him sideways, too observant as always. "If it's not my place, then just say so and I'll shut up." He paused. "But it seems that the two of you have unfinished business that'll take longer than a few weeks to resolve."

Irritation arose. Soren wondered if he'd made a mistake being too fair and too open such that his soldiers felt they could voice their personal opinions.

But just as quickly, the irritation died. He had few friends as it was, and even while Rowan worked for him, he had always treated Rowan as a professional equal and embraced his professional opinions. Maybe it was okay to hear the other man's perspective on the personal level. If anyone understood what it was like growing up poor, it was Rowan.

Soren was quiet, formulating his words. "I…probably let our unfinished business get too far. It was a mistake."

"Or maybe it wasn't a mistake," Rowan responded. "Maybe you're supposed to see where it goes."

Soren blinked. See where it goes? That could only end in hurt. He was sure of it. "I can't see it going anywhere good."

"How are you so sure that just because you can't see it from where you're standing that there isn't something good around the corner?" Rowan countered.

Was he sure? His whole life, he had wanted— needed —certainty. He always made it his business to be sure. But he didn't know anymore. How many times in his life did he cut himself off from something potentially great because he didn't have certainty about the outcome?

***

Soren shifted the grocery bag to his other hand and rang Ilaria's doorbell. When she didn't open the door immediately, he pounded on the door.

After his run, he had taken a long shower and mulled over Rowan's words. He was so tired of fighting it. He was tired of resisting what he felt. A question landed like a crash in his mind: what if he stopped fighting it?

And with that question, a seed took hold of him and sprouted. A crack of light opened inside him; a light that, once opened, could no longer be covered or hidden. Once seen, it couldn't be unseen. He couldn't describe what it was, what it meant, but he suddenly felt the urge to see Ilaria.

Soren heard muttering on the other side of the door before it was yanked open.

When Ilaria saw him, she groaned. "What are you doing here at—hell, I don't even know what time it is." She looked adorably rumpled. A bright feeling rushed through him. She turned and stomped off to the kitchen, leaving the door open. "Too early for a Sunday is what it is. And how do you look like you've been up for hours, looking like—?" She gestured at him. "—like that ?"

"Good morning to you, too." Soren closed the door behind him and followed her. He heaved the grocery bag onto the kitchen counter and unloaded it.

Ilaria had started to fill the coffee pot with water. "What is all this?" she asked, staring incredulously at the groceries.

He took the pot from her hand and bumped her with his hip to move her out of the way. "I'm making you breakfast this morning. Have a seat."

She looked at him warily as she slid onto a bar stool. "Um, why?" She had a pillow crease on her cheek, and some of the previous night's eye makeup that hadn't been washed off had smeared below her eyes.

For some reason, it warmed Soren's chest to know that she felt comfortable enough with him to let him see what she looked like first thing in the morning.

"Because I want to," he answered. "And I have an agenda. After we eat, we have things to do." He poured the water into the coffeemaker, supplied the filter with fresh coffee grinds, and flicked the switch on.

"What are we doing?"

"It's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises." She looked suspicious.

"You'll like this one."

Soren turned on the oven, took out a sheet pan and the tin foil, and lined the pan.

"You showing up so early to make breakfast is a surprise I'm not sure I like."

He reached over and tweaked her nose. "You will after you've eaten my breakfast."

She brushed his hand away. "You're very confident over there," she observed airily.

"Of course I am." He opened the package of bacon and laid out the strips on the pan. "For your information, I'm not just going off my own opinion. I've had dozens of people rave about my breakfasts."

"Dozens, huh?" Ilaria's eyes narrowed slightly. "Dozens of family members, or dozens of women?"

Soren grinned. "Does it matter?" He slid the pan of bacon into the oven and then looked at her sideways. She looked stumped for words, as if she wanted to know about the women he'd cooked for but didn't want to seem as if she cared.

He took pity on her. "Family, alright?" Her face relaxed.

"I don't cook for women," he added. "They cook for me."

Ilaria pinched her lips together and threw a balled-up napkin at him, which he caught, laughing.

"Truce, okay?" he said, still chuckling. "You should be flattered. I'm cooking for you."

"I'm not flattered," she retorted. "You already said you have an agenda."

"Ah, so you do hear what I say."

"I hear it," she smirked. "I just don't always do it."

Soren sighed. "And wouldn't life be so much easier if you did?" He grabbed a large bowl, broke six eggs into the bowl, and whisked the eggs.

"For you, maybe." She narrowed her eyes. "And how do you even know where everything is?" Ilaria asked in a grumpy tone. "You're acting like this is your kitchen."

"The first night I was here I looked through the cabinets." He grabbed a frying pan from the wall rack and thunked it on top of the gas stove.

Ilaria rolled her eyes at his presumptuousness. "Were you looking for a bomb or something?" She watched him insert slices of sourdough bread into the toaster. The timer on the oven beeped, and he found an oven mitt and removed the pan from the oven.

"Actually, I was," Soren admitted. The bacon strips went onto paper towels to drain, and a bit of the grease went into the frying pan. "I didn't know what to expect here. Who knew how many people had a vendetta against you and your parents?"

He poured the whisked eggs into the pan. Low heat and gentle stirring was how Molly had shown him to make scrambled eggs years ago, and that was how he had done it ever since. The eggs always turned out creamy and buttery soft.

Now it was time for assembly. "Are you ready?" he asked, rubbing his hands together. He took two clean plates, laid a slice of buttered sourdough bread each, topped the slices with creamy eggs and then two pieces of bacon. Atop all of that was another slice of bread.

"Voilà," Soren announced as he set both plates on the bar top, one in front of Ilaria. He moved around the counter to sit on the next bar stool and pulled the other plate in front of him.

Her brows lifted high. "Wow. This looks just like Molly's breakfast sandwich."

"Who do you think taught me how to make it?" Soren watched her take a bite.

Ilaria tried to keep her expression impassive, but he saw her eyes briefly close with ecstasy as she chewed. "Okay, this isn't bad," she admitted grudgingly.

"Not bad? That's it?" He was starving now, hours after his five A.M. run. He took a big bite and chewed, evaluating his work. "Oh, come on. This is actually one of the best versions I've ever made."

"Must be the American bacon," she said. She was already two-thirds into her sandwich.

"Give me a little credit here," he cajoled.

Ilaria's eyes gleamed with amusement. "I did. I said it wasn't bad." She stuffed the last bite into her mouth.

He shook his head. "It's a good thing my self-esteem isn't dependent on your opinion of my breakfast, or I'd roll into a ball on the floor and cry."

"I'll leave you alone if that's what you want to do." She was the picture of cool.

"You don't give a man an inch, do you?"

"It's a good thing your self-esteem isn't dependent on my opinion."

Soren wanted to laugh. He loved this verbal sparring with Ilaria.

She tilted her head at him and raised an eyebrow. "Are you one of those people who makes a huge mess in the kitchen in the name of cooking and expects others to clean up after them?" Another pet peeve of hers. He took that information and filed it away.

"I always clean up my own messes," he declared. "But if you ask me to clean up your messes, I'd do it." He searched her face.

"Why do I get the feeling we're no longer talking about the kitchen?" she asked.

A corner of his lips quirked up. There were a lot of things he wanted to say that he wasn't ready to. He knocked her knee with his own. "Now go change into something you won't mind getting sweaty in. Also pack a change of clothes. I'll have the place cleaned up by the time you're done."

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" Ilaria slid off the stool.

"It's still a surprise." He gently turned her toward her room. "You liked my breakfast surprise, so I guarantee you'll like the next one."

"I never said I liked your breakfast surprise." Still digging in her heels.

Soren leaned in close, enough to notice the gold and dark brown flecks in her eyes. "You didn't have to say it." He chuckled at her answering glower.

"Why are you being so…pleasant?" Ilaria regarded him suspiciously.

Something in his chest squeezed that she noted his pleasantness as unusual. Surly was what she expected and usually got. "Maybe I'm just in a good mood," he answered lightly.

"Not sure I know how to deal with you in a good mood," she remarked as she walked down the hall.

That's going to change.

He got to work on the dishes.

The kitchen was cleaner than it was before breakfast by the time Ilaria came back out dressed in black leggings, light blue cropped tank top, and a light black zip jacket. Her hair swung from her high ponytail and her face was free of makeup. She looked fresh and alluring, and Soren had to tear his gaze away before it got uncomfortable for both of them.

Ilaria looked around the kitchen appreciatively. "I admit it. I didn't believe you when you said you were going to clean the kitchen. But you really meant clean."

"I don't play around when it comes to cleaning," he said wryly as he herded them out the door.

***

"The shooting range," Ilaria exclaimed when Soren pulled the car into the parking lot. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation.

He nodded, pleased with her reaction but sober about the prospect. "The stakes are high. More than I anticipated. Whatever Vincent has planned, it's big. Which means he has a lot to lose." He shifted in the driver's seat to look at her fully. "I need to make sure you're ready to defend yourself. Not—" He paused, breathless from the quick panic that rose in his chest. He took a sharp inhale. "Not that I intend for you to be in a position to need to defend yourself, but I'm not going to pretend it couldn't happen."

Ilaria searched his face and nodded, her expression hardening. She reached out and quickly squeezed his hand, surprising him. "Let's go." She pushed open her door and jumped out.

Soren hadn't known what to expect when he thought of bringing Ilaria to the gun range. He would have been perfectly fine—thrilled, even—to have her tied to his hip and he could take care of her protection, wielding the weapons himself. But that was unrealistic, so he just hoped that she wasn't so squeamish that she refused to hold a gun altogether.

"Hand like this—" He adjusted her grip. "—and hips and legs like this—" Shifted her hips and feet. "Take a breath in from here, let it out halfway, hold, and then squeeze the trigger."

But he was pleasantly surprised to discover that she was not only eager but also had a knack for it. She wasn't perfect, by any means, but he was reassured by the fact that she could hit the target more often than not, which meant the difference between living or dying.

"Have you done this before?" Soren asked her, trying not to look at her with awe, which would have been pathetic.

"Once, on a date." Ilaria took aim again.

He didn't even know the guy, and he disliked him on principle alone.

"This is not a date," she added.

"Certainly not."

What he found even more amazing was that she listened to his instructions without argument or even a roll of the eyes.

"I should bring you here more often if it means you'll listen to me." He gave her a dry look.

Ilaria's eyes sparkled, lighting up her whole face. "Don't get used to it."