My Christmas List: December 4th
Please make these feelings go away.
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"Okay, it's clear you don't know what you're doing," Armani said, as I continued looking at the food in the pantry before me.
I had been staring for at least ten minutes now, but I couldn't think of anything to make with any of the ingredients present. I was used to my own French or Arabian ingredients that I normally used to make dishes. All of these ingredients or foods were mostly Italian or American—which I at least could read the American ones better.
"I do..." I trailed off, biting my bottom lip as I tried to think of something to make with this. If I didn't, it would only prove her point. That I needed her to be here and help me. Even if that might've been true, I didn't want to give her that satisfaction.
Armani sighed through her nose. "While I find it amusing watching you try to read all the labels, I have somewhere to be in under an hour," she said, walking closer to the glass shelves holding the different food items. "I'll just make you something."
My body grew incredibly warm at the idea of her cooking for me. Did she do that for everyone? She did have plenty of chefs, why not have one of them make something for me? Unless she...
I shook my head, I'm not special—I'm sure she's cooked for someone before. Probably Heidi.
"Go take a seat in the dining room," she said, her attention purely on the shelves in front of her as she grabbed ingredients.
I began backing away, but halted when a realization came over me. "Which one?"
Armani turned her head slightly, probably realizing I didn't know my way around. "Or just go take a seat at the kitchen island."
"Okay..." I trailed off, knowing there were two of those as well. "But which one?"
Armani shook her head, mumbling something in Italian to herself as she grabbed the last ingredient. She walked over to me, gently resting her hand on my upper back—easily causing shivers to run through my body.
"Just come on," she said, guiding us out of the walk-in pantry, which was probably the size of two bedrooms.
As we walked to one of the kitchens, I could only focus on Armani's hand pressed to my upper back. The fabric of my black dress was luckily—or maybe unluckily—stopping her hand from touching my skin.
I burned up at the idea of skin-to-skin contact with her. I wondered what sex would be like with her. Was she gentle? Rough? Maybe a little bit of both. I bit my lip pulling away from her hand.
"I'm..." I trailed off when I noticed Armani giving me a weird look. "I'm good, I can just follow," I said, nodding my head in the direction we were walking.
She nodded hesitantly, furrowing her brows—but only for a moment, until her face faded back into her usual serious look.
When we made it to one of the large shiny kitchens, I stood by Armani as she gathered pots and pans, putting them on the gas cooktops. She switched the stove on, not wasting time coating the pans in olive oil.
I watched her carefully as she multitasked between cooking different things—what she was cooking, I had no idea. However, I couldn't help but watch her maneuver through the kitchen gracefully. I had only seen a few people cook like that in my life.
"You should probably sit down," Armani said as she stirred the steaming red sauce.
I narrowed my eyes, a little surprised that she could assume I was standing even if she was fully turned around and focused on another task at hand. "I'm fine," I said, knowing I was actually intrigued, watching her cook. Of course, I wouldn't tell her that though.
Armani turned the stove top heat down to the lowest setting, turning to me with a raised brow. She pointed to the counter behind me before saying, "Sit."
I sighed, obliging as I rested my hands on the countertop behind me, pulling myself on top of it to sit. I crossed my ankles together, resting my palms on the cold marble behind me.
"What are you making?" I asked as Armani turned back around.
She stirred the sauce, yet again. "You'll see."
I couldn't help but chuckle slightly. I should've known that would've been her answer. "You're very secretive, you know?"
Armani kept her back to me. "I make sure to lay it on extra thick just for you," she said, and I could tell she was being sarcastic, which was unusual for her. I felt like her tone really only consisted of seriousness whenever she talked to me. "You seem to really enjoy it, you know?" she asked, turning to me with a slight smirk.
I hated that a smile grew on my face, finding her annoyingly cute. "Oh yeah, I like it so much. Please keep giving me vague answers."
A chuckle vibrated in Armani's throat, causing my heart to beat harshly in my chest. I felt my palms grow warm against the cold marble along with the rest of my body. My ankles unconsciously pressed harder together, hoping to distract myself from the sudden heat my body's been wrapped with.
"I wish I could give you more answers," Armani said, her small—very small—smirk fading as she turned to face the oven. "But I'm afraid it isn't that simple."
I furrowed my brows as I watched her plate the food. "I'm not asking for it to be simple Armani."
The woman turned her head slightly, halting her actions. "Maybe not, but otherwise it's too much for you," she said, turning her head back around as she drizzled the steaming red sauce over the pasta.
It felt like whenever I managed to take two steps closer to her, she pushed me back. Her responses were just much better orchestrated than mine, like they had been rehearsed or maybe repeated too many times.
Whatever the case was, I had no other choice but to leave the topic alone. But I didn't want to this time... I really wanted to know everything. What was going on here? What did she do as their boss? Why was everyone so scared of her? Why did this place have so many levels? How did she have so much money?
The list of questions practically goes on.
"Armani," I said, my voice surprisingly firm and low.
The woman turned around fully with the bowl of pasta in her hand, her face revealed nothing as she walked over to me, but I'm sure mine did. I was frustrated.
Frustrated that she was making this a bigger deal than it needed to be.
Armani silently stood in front of me, cutting one of the square pieces of pasta in half before poking the fork in it. She held the piece of food in front of my lips, "Open."
I stared into her dark eyes with furrowed brows, parting my lips so she could slide the warm food into my mouth.
"Brava ragazza," she said, her voice low and soft. Her dark eyes traced my face, and silence began growing around us.
The silence continued as I chewed the delicious food, my mouth uncontrollably watering, wanting more of the delicious dish.
I hummed, holding myself back from full-on moaning at how good the food was. "Ravioli?" I asked, already wanting another bite.
Armani nodded, poking the fork into the other half she cut before feeding it to me yet again. I didn't hesitate to take the bite provided, wanting more of the delicious food.
The act itself, I found attractive—her feeding me. I liked this. I liked having her full attention for once—any other time it feels like she's running around doing god knows what and when she's really present physically, she's not mentally.
"Here," Armani said, placing the warm bowl in my lap—I couldn't help but shiver, the sides of her hands brushing the tops of my thighs.
Apparently, Armani noticed, her dark eyes diverting up to mine with an unfamiliar emotion hiding behind them. I don't know what emotion it was, but... I liked it. It was like she knew the effect she had on me, and it was somehow affecting her.
Feeling bold, I grabbed the warm bowl, my hands purposely landing over hers for a brief moment. "Thanks," I said, my tone barely audible.
Armani's jaw tensed, nodding firmly. "You're welcome," she said, backing away from me. But when I realized she managed to find a way out of answering my previous question, I uncrossed my ankles, pulling her back to me with only my legs.
But when my brain caught up with my actions—and Armani was pressed to me, standing between my legs—I felt embarrassed. Like that wasn't appropriate at all, and the fact that It was an unconscious action scared me. It shouldn't be an instinct to touch her like this.
Her dark eyes managed to grow darker as she stared down at me, her hands resting on either side of my thighs to support herself.
"You didn't answer my question," I said.
Armani closed her eyes for a moment and being so close to her allowed me to see each individual lash fanning onto her cheeks. She really was beautiful.
Her eyes opened as she let out a long soft breath, as if she were trying to calm herself down. Was I making her mad?
"I already told you—"
"And I heard you, but I want an answer Armani," I cut her off, and I didn't mean to sound so straightforward. So stern and demanding, but I needed to know.
Apparently, my tone caught Armani by surprise, her brows raising. "You really want to know?"
I laughed. "No, I'm just asking for no reason," I said, my tone sarcastic.
Armani narrowed her eyes, leaning further into me. I sucked in a breath my mind drifting to another scenario, but when she passed my lips and leaned into my ear, I almost felt... disappointed.
"I run a mafia, Mira," she whispered, and I practically felt my face fall. When she pulled away her eyes traced my face, taking in my expression. "How's that for simple?" she asked, tugging out of my hold and walking away.
I sat there, staring forward almost dumbfounded. So all of this—the house, the staff, these people in black... it's all centered around a mafia?