also found itself inexplicably excited about the prospect of wearing his shirt.
Food and sleep.
Clearly, I needed some food and sleep.
That had to be what was wrong with me.
But until I could have those things, I opted for the shower on the off-chance that I actually did smell.
The supplies were understandably sparse and masculine. I was handed a boxed bar of soap that smelled like, well, soap. No lavender vanilla honey peonies scent. Just soap. And, of course, it left my skin feeling clean to the point that it was squeaky which also meant it was as dry as possible. And there was no lotion to be found anywhere.
But I forgot all about my dry skin when I unbuttoned the fancy white dress shirt I'd been handed, and slid my body inside, feeling it move over my skin like butter, soft, silky, luxurious.
I did up the buttons, finger combed my hair, and reached for the doorknob, realizing just how naked I really was. In a plain white dress shirt that, while it was good material, that did not make it any less white, and therefore slightly see-through, my wet hair dropping drips of water onto the fabric, making it even more transparent.
And then there was the fact that I didn't have pants on.
Or panties.
And would be walking around wearing this around a bunch of men I barely knew.
That thought should have filled me with discomfort.
But there was actually a heaviness in my lower stomach, something I wanted to call anything other than what I knew it was.
Desire.
Because what kind of monster did that make me? To be able to feel something so selfish and base when my closest relative was missing?
Annoyed with myself, I yanked the door open, charging out, wanting to get away from the privacy that allowed my thoughts to wander.
"That smells good," I admitted when I walked into the kitchen, finding Luca standing there with Lucky.
"It better. Or I have someone to fire," Lucky declared, giving me a warm smile, his gaze doing a quick once-over. It wasn't even a savoring glance, just a quick one, just taking in the situation.
"Fired?" I asked, hearing a strange croak in my voice.
"Food is from one of my restaurants, baby," Lucky explained, motioning to the pizza box on the stove.
"It's the middle of the night," I told them unnecessarily since they were awake at this ungodly hour with me.
"It is," he agreed.
"Your restaurant is still open?
"No," he said, shaking his head.
"You dragged an employee out of bed to make us food?" I asked. And as a former food service worker, I was deeply offended by the audacity there.
"Don't worry, babe," he said, shaking his head. "I pay him well enough that he doesn't give a shit about losing a couple hours of sleep. Come over here and eat. You look pale," he told me, flipping open the cardboard box. "Margherita pizza, garlic knots, and some panzenella," he told me, pulling out a foil container, popping off the plastic top to reveal a salad with tomatoes, bread, onions, olives, and spinach. He can do better, but this was fast," Lucky added, grabbing a paper plate his chef had packed as well, piling a slice of pizza, a garlic knot, and some of the salad on it before handing it to me. "Eat," he demanded, waving a hand over to the card table in the dining room.
I was too hungry to object, mumbling a thank you when he handed me plastic utensils, then heading off to the table.
"You don't have to sit with me," I told Luca when he grabbed his plate, making his way across the kitchen. "Your friend is here."
"He's my cousin," Luca corrected. "And he has places to be. It seems pointless to eat alone in separate rooms," he added, shrugging. "Out of curiosity," he said as I pulled apart my garlic knot," do you have a picture of your sister? Just for reference. If we want to ask questions."
"Oh, right. Yeah," I said. "In my ph—thank you," I said when he reached in his pocket to produce my phone. With the hand not sticky with butter and garlic, I unlocked it and found the most recent picture I had, one that had her beaming at the camera, standing there in a white and pink sundress, looking like a model. "I know," I said after handing it over. "It's hard to believe we're related."
'What are you talking about?" Luca asked, looking up from my phone, brows drawn together. "You two