It Began In Italy | ✔️

Chapter Twenty Five

The next morning, I woke up sore and freezing cold. It was the first time I'd found myself hating air conditioning on this island. Moving towards Nico, I grab ahold of him and nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck before lifting my leg over his hips. His warm hand travels under the shirt I'm wearing and rubs soothing circles on my back.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, knowing that last night's activities took a toll on me. "We can stay in bed today, my father doesn't need me down at the restaurant." The thought of being in bed with Nico all day is something I could comply with.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I reluctantly move away from Nico to grab it. Three missed calls from my mother and two messages.

Mother: Can you let me know you're safe?

                   I know you hate me right now but we can't stay like this forever.

Huffing, I place my phone back onto the nightstand and return to my relaxed state with Nico. "I'm okay, very sore though," I say and Nico kisses my temple.

"I'm not surprised, you practically ran me dry last night," Nico laughs and I slap his chest. He did not hold back last night, he let go completely and ravished me like I'd disappear. So much for only wanting to hold me. I laugh at the thought.

"Is there anything to make breakfast?" I ask, changing the subject. Nico's hand finds my arse and he squeezes it, causing me to squeal.

"Whatever you want, I'll make it," he says and I think upon the matter for a few moments.

Smiling, I run my hands through the soft strands of his hair. "Pancakes, with chocolate and strawberries," I say and he moves out of the bed. I frown at the sudden coldness that fills the sheets but I squeal when Nico drags me by my ankles to the edge of the bed.

"Don't think you're staying here without me," Nico lifts me by my hips and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to the kitchen. "Now, would you like crepes or fluffy pancakes, amore mio?"

The decision was made long before I could even take another breath. "Fluffy pancakes," I say and he throws a smile my way. Nico places me down on the counter, the countertops cold against my thighs. He had managed to find me a shirt to wear and a pair of plaid shorts that, surprisingly, fit quite well.

Nico then rifles through the cupboard, grabbing pans and ingredients. Hopping down from the side, I move to help him. I may be awful at cooking but I can lend a hand one way or another.

"You are supposed to be resting, rosa," he says but I shake my head. Resting is for the weak. Yes, it may hurt with every step I take but, I can power through.

Nico takes a bowl before adding flour, an egg, sugar, milk and butter. He seems to know the ingredients by heart as he adds in the perfect amount to create a smooth, thick mixture. I watch as he pours the mixture onto a pan, creating a symmetrical circle.

"Can I flip it?" I ask and he flashes a smile before stepping out of the way. Moving towards the stove, I grab the spatula and hold the handle of the pan. Waiting until I am sure the pancake will be somewhat cooked, I use the spatula to lift the edges.

I'm halted when Nico presses against me, his hand closing over mine. "For the perfect pancake, you want to wait until it's a golden brown. Don't hesitate when you flip it, just go for it. Hesitation leads to a broken pancake," he explains and I nod.

Nico's hand moves with mine as he slides the spatula beneath the pancake and flips it in one swift movement. It looks great as the golden side faces upwards. Usually, my pancakes come out a weird pale colour, partly raw, but these... you just know this man knows his way around the kitchen.