"Are you sure this will work?"
Gianna leaned her hips against the cold marble of the kitchen counter on Monday morning, her fingers wrapped tightly around a steaming mug of black coffee. Her eyes tracked Florence, who was currently moving through the space with military authority.
The Thorne matriarch was firing off a rapid succession of precise instructions to the early-shift culinary staff, ensuring the family's breakfast was perfectly done while simultaneously overseeing the preparation of a secondary, specialized menu meant strictly for Noah.
Florence paused, wiping her hands on a linen towel before offering a firm nod. "The number one way to a man's heart has always been through his stomach, Gianna. It's an age-old rule for a reason. Delivering this to his office yourself will effectively fracture his natural defenses. It creates an illusion of domestic intimacy."
