Surrogate for My Mafia Ex
It’s everything we could possibly want for a restaurant-quality weekend brunch.
I notice the maid from the other night, the one who tried to force me to eat moldy bread, setting down a pitcher of orange juice. She keeps her eyes glued firmly to the table, her hands trembling slightly, completely refusing to look in my direction. They clear the room almost as quickly as they entered, without a single word said or a snarky glance at me. Cade must have made it terrifyingly clear who I am to him.
Cade fills his plate with scrambled eggs and steamed vegetables and starts to eat mechanically.