"You don't have to explain yourself to me."

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Zoey Kagel

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Zoey Kagel

The city looks even more beautiful up here at night. Luke is in the kitchen, quiet after the phone call to his lawyer, whipping us up some dinner.

It smells wonderful. A tomato based pasta with chicken and herbs. I offered to help, but he said no, telling me to relax in front of the television.

"Where did you learn to make pasta from scratch?" I ask, watching him lay the sheets of linguine out to dry.

Luke has flour on his face when he looks over at me. "I learned from my nonna when we used to go out to visit her during the summer holidays. My mother was Italian and she lived in Rome for most of her life until she moved to Glasgow in her twenties for Uni."

I make my way over to him, grabbing a chair on the breakfast bar to watch him work his way around the kitchen. "I had my suspicions you had Italian heritage."

He laughs and nods. "Oh, yeah?"

"You must miss your parents," I whisper, worrying I went too deep too quick when his hand stills on the chopping board. "I just can't imagine life without mine."

An indescribable amount of pain washes over his features as he stares down at the counter, and I watch him whispering numbers until he pushes off the counter to head for the fridge.

I'm standing up from my seat. "Luke, I'm so sorry if I walked a line right there. It obviously hurts to talk about them and that's okay. We can change the subject."

The way he shakes his head like it doesn't matter isn't very convincing, but he carries on regardless, stirring the sauce.

"Eight years and it still feels like someone rammed a twenty inch blade through my heart," he says a few moments later.

It's impossible to comprehend the emotional agony of losing a parent. It's a thought that keeps me up at night. The fear of losing one of mine crippling.

I fold my hands together and rest them on the counter. "You loved them. It's going to take a while to heal—"

There's a loud banging noise coming from the entrance door. It stops us in our tracks and my heart literally attacks my chest so bad it takes my breath away.

I don't have the chance to move before Luke is rushing in front of me to block my view, reaching for his phone on the counter.

"Luke, baby!" A very high-pitched, feminine voice shouts, and he does this weird thing where he sags in relief before tensing up all over again. "It's only me!"

"Beatrice," he says lowly, sounding confused. "How the hell did you get in here?"

Beatrice strolls in here with a pair of gorgeously long legs, and even longer fire red hair that kisses the bottom of her spine, looking between the both of us. "Lukey, you know you gave me a key, silly!"

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