“But you’re your own person. I get it.” I didn’t think Anthony ever saw how much Della would flinch whenever she was asked questions about him or addressed by anything except her name. It was always as Governor Saint James’s daughter, or some other association that made her less of an individual. I understood why it ate at her. “You’ll always be Della to me,” I whispered despite my better judgement. My fingers itched to reach out and cup her jaw, to brush the full bottom lip of hers, but I forced them to remain by my sides.
“Your little Della, you mean,” she teased, her eyes lighting back up to their natural color.
Slowly, I shook my head. “Not anymore.” She frowned at that, but I didn’t let her get into her head to dissect it because I knew whatever conclusion she’d come up with wouldn’t be a good one. “You’re too old for that now. It would be an injustice to the woman you’ve become, to your character.”
Her face flushed, the pink in her cheeks deepening and making me want to touch her that much more, to feel the heat blossoming beneath my fingertips. “You’re too nice to me.”
“I’m telling the truth. That’s all.”
She stood back first, putting distance between us that I should have done. It made me realize just how closely we stood, and I hadn’t given a shit. “So, chicken alfredo?”
Not able to stop the amused laugh from bursting past my pressed lips, I buttoned my suit jacket and shook my head. “I’d never say no to you, Della.”
She gave me a long look and I realized my mistake once the words were out, but it was too late to fix it. So, we let it be.
The house smelled like garlic by the time I’d made it downstairs after a quick shower and change of clothes. Della had taken off her blazer, draping it across the kitchen table as she focused on stirring something on the stove. Even with her back to me, I knew her tongue was sticking out slightly in concentration, something she’d done ever since she was little. I’d always found it cute, endearing even, because she had no idea she did it. It allowed me to hold onto something that didn’t change with her as time passed. It was always going to be something that made Della…Della.
“I can feel you staring,” she told me, looking over her shoulder with a bright smile and catching me with my own stretching my lips. I walked in, unfazed by being caught, though I should have been.
“It smells good.” I stopped beside her, looking into the large pot, a sauté pan according to her, with noodles, chicken, and white sauce mixed together.
“I’d hope so, I followed the recipe closely to make sure it came out perfect.”
I reached above her to grab a glass from the cupboard, my side brushing against her back, and felt her lean into me before realizing what she was doing. My lips twitched at her body’s reaction. It was an instinct I clung to, welcomed.
“Even if you didn’t follow it, it’d come out perfect. There’s nothing you do that is anything less.”
She froze, her hand white knuckling the wooden spoon that I wasn’t sure was mine or something she brought with her. “We both know that isn’t true.”
Instantly, my gaze snapped to her face which was keen on avoiding me. “Don’t fucking do that, Adele.”
She flinched.
“Don’t put yourself down.”
“Theo, I’m—”
“No.” My voice was hard, causing her lips to snap shut hearing my impatience. “I will not let you do that to yourself. You’ve come so far. Don’t go back now.”
I heard the soft, slow exhale she took and watched her body loosen from the tension building. “I’m not, Theo. Promise. But we can’t pretend that I didn’t have a…a moment when things weren’t good. Ripley told me I’m always going to have days where I have to fight a little harder and that it’s good I can acknowledge the moments when they arrive. And, if I’m being honest, I’m okay with admitting I’m not perfect. I tried too hard to be my whole life and that was what hurt me the most.”
This was the reason I admired her. Even though she was supposed to look up to people like me, older, wiser, with more life experience, it was me who looked up to this twenty-two-year-old. And I gave no fucks about it even at my forty years of age.
“You never cease to amaze me, you know that? It doesn’t matter what happens, your strength is blinding. I know people who have lost far less, been through things that don’t even compare, and have a bigger reaction to them. But not you. That’s inspiring.”
She stopped stirring again to turn and glance up at me, her eyes searching mine for a long moment like she was trying to find something. “That means a lot coming from you, but I’m not so sure I can accept the compliment. Especially because there are people who will always have it better than me and those who have it worse. I don’t like considering my circumstances to be a reason that puts me above or below others.”
Shaking my head, I turned to the faucet and filled the cup with water.
“What?” she doubted.
“Nothing, Della.”
Her palm brushed my arm, causing me to look over my shoulder at her curious gaze. “No, I want to know what you’re thinking.”
“I already said what I thought, you just emphasized it by saying what you did. You are, and always will be, beyond your years. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
My dick was willing to answer that when it strained against the denim it was trapped in. She didn’t grasp how sexy it was that she was strong and humble. “Because experience ages people, and normally not the good kind.”
Her frown was instant. “It isn’t like
