CHAPTER 5:BREAKFAST WAR

I woke up in silk.

Not my silk — his silk. His bed. His smell. Luciano's penthouse bedroom was all black and gold, like him. Cold but expensive.

And I was naked under his sheets.

Wait — not naked. Wearing his white shirt. Oversized. It smelled like him — expensive cologne and surgeon soap.

How did I get in his shirt?

Flashes — last night — I went to his room — he was in shower — I said "I couldn't sleep" — he said "I know" — he picked me up like I weighed nothing — my thick thighs around his waist — his mouth on my neck — his hands on my soft waist — "My queen is finally where she belongs" —

We didn't— We didn't do it. He stopped.

He said "Not until you beg."

And I slept on his chest. For the first time in 5 years, I slept without worrying about rent.

Now morning — 7 AM — Lily jumped on the bed.

"Isabella! Papa! You both slept here! Like mommy and daddy!"

Luciano groaned, pulling us both into his arms. He was shirtless. Abs. Tattoos. A billionaire who looked like a mafia.

"Good morning, my two queens," he said, kissing Lily's head, then looking at me — at my lips.

"Lily, go tell Mrs. Potts breakfast," he ordered.

Lily ran out.

Then he rolled on top of me — careful, not crushing my soft body — and kissed my neck.

"You drooled on me, Miss Reyes. House rule number five — my queens don't drool. They beg."

"I didn't beg last night," I whispered, blushing.

"You will tonight," he smirked, thumb on my swollen lips from last night's kiss. "In this shirt, you look like you are already mine. 16 never looked so expensive."

Downstairs, breakfast was war.

Vanessa was there. Skinny. In a Chanel suit. Sitting at OUR table like she still lived there.

"Good morning, Luciano. I came to see Lily," she said, smiling fake.

Then she saw me — coming down the stairs in his shirt, hair messy, crown necklace still on.

Her smile dropped.

"Oh. The nanny. Still here? In my husband's shirt?"

Ex-husband, I wanted to say, but my Bronx voice disappeared.

Luciano came down behind me, hand on my soft waist, possessive.

"My fiancée, Vanessa. She sleeps in my shirt now. Problem?"

Vanessa stood. "Luciano, be serious. You can't marry this — this —"

"Finish that sentence and you will never see Lily again," he said, cold, surgeon voice. "You left. She stayed. She made my daughter eat. She made my daughter hug. What did you ever do except complain she wasn't thin enough?"

Vanessa turned to me, eyes venomous. "Do you think he loves you? He loves a type. Chubby, desperate, easy. He will get bored when he sees your stretch marks in daylight. Billionaires don't marry girls from the Bronx who wear crop tops."

That hurt. Because I had stretch marks. On my thighs. On my belly. I hid them all my life.

I looked down, wanting to run.

Then Lily — my baby — shouted: "Don't talk to my Isabella like that! She is soft! You are hard! Like a broom!"

Silence.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. A real chubby queen laugh that shook my belly.

Vanessa stared.

I stepped forward — in his oversized shirt that barely covered my thick thighs — and said, my voice finally back:

"Ma'am, I am from the Bronx. We don't wear Chanel. We wear confidence. You left your daughter and your husband for yoga. I stayed one night and your daughter called me mommy. Who is desperate now?"

Vanessa gasped.

Luciano — he looked at me like he wanted to f*ck me on the breakfast table.

"Mrs. Potts," he called, not breaking eye contact with me. "Escort Miss Vanessa out. And tell security — she is banned from Fifth Avenue."

"You can't—"

"I can. This is my house. My daughter. My queen. My rules."

Security dragged Vanessa out, screaming.

Luciano turned, picked me up — my thick thighs around his waist in front of Mrs. Potts and Lily — and kissed me hard.

"That," he whispered against my lips, "was the sexiest thing I have ever heard. You defended my house. You are not a nanny anymore, Isabella. You are the lady of this house."

Lily clapped. "Kiss! Kiss!"

Mrs. Potts wiped tears. "Finally, a real lady for this house. Size 16, mouth size 100!"

I kissed him back. In his shirt. In his house. In front of everyone.

Fake was dead.

This was war. And I — chubby queen from the Bronx — just won my first battle on Fifth Avenue.

But Vanessa would be back. And next time, she would not come alone.

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