Elsa

He is carrying me through the house. I try not to think about how good it feels for Marcello to touch me, the warmth of his chest surrounding me after all this time. That is a slippery slope, and no way am I signing up to take that ride again.

My body’s reaction to him annoys me. “Put me down,” I snap. “You’re still covered in blood and sweat.”

“No.”

I this about smashing this cake in his face, but decided not to. While I would find it satisfying, it would be a waste of great cake.

When we reach the top of the stairs, he turns left instead...