The kitchen was a blur of white steam and bitter tears. I stood over the stove, the blue flame flickering beneath the heavy silver teapot, but I couldn't feel the heat. My heart felt like it had been encased in ice the moment I saw Elena in that red silk dress.
Beyond the swinging wooden door, the sounds of a "perfect" life were playing out. I could hear the rhythmic clinking of expensive silverware against fine china—the sound of a world I didn't belong in. Elena's laughter was like a sharp needle, popping the bubble of hope I had been living in. She sounded so comfortable. She sounded like she already owned the keys to this apartment.
I am nothing to them, I thought, my fingers tightening around the handle of a wooden spoon until my knuckles turned white. To his mother, I am just a shadow that cleans the floors. To Elena, I am a charity case. And to Alex… what am I to him when the sun is up?
I looked down at my reflection in the polished surface of the kettle. I looked tired. My eyes were red from the onions and the silent crying. My hair was pulled back into a messy, practical knot, and my apron was stained with the water I'd spilled when my hands wouldn't stop shaking. I felt like a servant in a fairy tale where the prince had already found his princess—and it wasn't me.
I reached for the delicate china cups. These were the cups Alex's mother had brought from her own home—fragile, white, and painted with gold. Each one felt like a thousand dollars in my hand. I was so terrified of dropping them that my breath came in short, shallow gasps.
Suddenly, the heavy door to the kitchen creaked.
I didn't turn around. I couldn't. I assumed it was his mother coming to demand why the tea wasn't ready. I quickly wiped my cheeks with the hem of my apron and forced my voice to be flat and professional.
"It's almost ready, Ma'am. I am just pouring the—"
A large, warm hand suddenly clamped over my mouth, cutting off my words. A split second later, a powerful arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me slightly off the floor.
I panicked for a heartbeat, my eyes widening, but then the scent hit me. It was the scent of sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and the cold night air. It was Alex.
He didn't say a word. He dragged me backward, his boots silent on the linoleum floor, and pulled me into the small, dark pantry at the very back of the kitchen. He kicked the door shut with his heel, and suddenly, the bright light of the kitchen was replaced by a heavy, suffocating darkness. The only thing I could see was the faint glow of his grey eyes, burning with a fire that made my knees go weak.
He spun me around, pinning me against the narrow shelves. I felt the sharp edge of a spice tin press into my back, and the smell of cinnamon and dried herbs filled the tiny space. Alex was breathing hard, his chest heaving against mine.
"Luna," he groaned. The way he said my name… it sounded like a prayer and a curse at the same time.
"Go back out there," I whispered, my voice breaking into a thousand pieces. I put my hands on his chest, trying to push him away, but his suit jacket was warm, and his heart was hammering against my palms like a trapped bird. "Go back to your bride, Alex. Elena is waiting. Your mother is waiting. They want to talk about your wedding. They want to talk about your future."
"Don't you ever call her that," he hissed. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, his shadow swallowing me whole. "Do you think I want to be in that room? Do you think I want to sit there listening to my mother talk about 'contracts' and 'family names' while the only woman I want is in here, hurting because of me?"
"But she's perfect for you!" I cried out softly, the tears finally flowing freely now that I was in the dark with him. "She's a professor. She's beautiful. She has everything your mother wants. And look at me, Alex. Look at what I am tonight. I'm just the girl in the apron. I'm the help."
Alex's grip on my waist tightened until I let out a soft gasp. He didn't pull away. Instead, he dropped his head, his lips crushing against the sensitive skin of my neck. I felt a violent shiver run through my entire body. My head fell back against a shelf of pasta boxes, my eyes closing as the heat of his mouth claimed me.
"You are the only thing in this house that matters to me," he murmured against my skin, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I didn't know she was coming tonight, Luna. I swear to you. If I had known my mother was planning this ambush, I would have taken you and left this city days ago."
He pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. His thumbs reached up, wiping away the salt from my cheeks with a rough, possessive tenderness.
"I have to go back out there for ten more minutes," he whispered. "I have to play the part so my mother doesn't get suspicious. If she finds us like this, she will send you away before I can stop her. But listen to me carefully..."
He leaned in, his lips hovering over mine, the heat between us so intense I felt like I was melting.
"The moment Elena walks out that door... the moment my mother goes to her room... I am coming for you. And I am going to make sure you never feel like a 'servant' again. You are mine, Luna. Not Elena's. Not my mother's. Mine."
He kissed me then—not the polite kiss of a professor, but the desperate, hungry kiss of a man who was starving. It tasted of salt and spices and forbidden promises.
Before I could reach for him, he let go. He straightened his tie in the dark, smoothed his hair, and walked out of the pantry without a second look. I stayed there in the shadows, my legs shaking so hard I had to hold onto the shelves to stay standing.
I had to go back out. I had to serve the tea to the woman who wanted to take my place. But as I picked up the silver tray, I felt a new kind of fire in my blood. Alex wasn't giving up. And as long as he was willing to fight for me, I would wear this apron like armor. Because I knew that when the guests were gone, I was the only queen he would ever serve.