Destined

Chapter Nine

Elena

I don't know if it was because my period was coming or I just had a craving, but I desperately needed a good and overtly filled Nutella bomboloni. My stomach growled loudly at the thought of the cinnamon sugar-coated and chocolate-filled dessert.

Goddamn. I wanted one...or four. I could just go downstairs and make them. He did say he redid the kitchen for me, but maybe he had taken it back because of what I said last night. I wasn't a violent person, honestly, but when it came to my family, I evidently was overprotective.

I didn't want Enzo to die, and I don't think I wanted Oisín to die, either. I had blurted it out in anger, but I couldn't take it back. It felt pathetic to be this conflicted over a man who ruined my wedding, kidnapped me, and has me living in his house against my will.

I felt like crying. I think I was crying. God, just how pathetic was I going to be? I couldn't just wallow in my self-pity. It was bumming me out and draining to keep reminding myself of my situation. Wiping my tears, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to wash up.

It was early, so they'd all be sleeping, and I'd be quick in the kitchen. I got dressed, put my hair in a ponytail, and snuck out of my room. The lights were on, and I wondered if they woke up early or kept them on at night.

I went down the stairs and heard the rumble of voices and shouts. The closer I got, the louder the voices got, making me curious about who was awake. I followed the voices outside to the patio, and maybe ten men, including Oisín and Liam, were sitting outside.

They were either arguing or just talking loudly while smoking and drinking coffee. Their backs were to me, but then Oisín caught me staring and stood up. I closed the door and hurried back inside. He caught my arm and tugged me fast and hard against his chest.

"Good morning, mo ghrá amháin." He rasped, cradling my cheek. "You're usually up early when you want to bake something. What is my wife craving?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He claimed that he knew me, but this...this confirmed that he honestly did know me. It was...endearing and flattering, and I think a piece of me liked this.

I felt flustered and almost forgot that he had even asked me a question. He didn't look arrogant as he waited for my reply. He just stood there, breathtaking, dangerous, and patient.

"Bombolini." I sounded out of breath.

He hummed and traced my lips with the pad of his thumb. I trembled pitifully under his touch.

"I've never had them before. Will you save me one?"

"Yes."

He kissed my forehead and sighed as he lingered there for a moment longer. Then, finally, he pulled away too fast and gave me a small smile before heading back outside.

What the hell was that?

What the hell is wrong with me?

Shaking my head, I attempted to shake away the entire encounter and whatever he made me feel, but it felt useless as I wandered to the kitchen in a dazy haze. It was like walking on clouds, so light and effortless, and I wished someone would smack some sense into me.

I needed to waste my time in the kitchen, so I didn't think about anything else. Nothing cleared my mind like being in a kitchen did. Despite the process, measurements, and perfection I needed to cook and bake, it didn't feel that overwhelming.

It made me feel peaceful and calm. It was like this silent therapy that I did every time I felt stressed out. Lately, I wasn't just stressed out, but I felt like my mind was going to fucking explode. It was like a coping mechanism.