Merging Hearts (Smitten Hearts #1)

Chapter Thirty-four

Rain

I stand frozen, my eyes fixed on a point beyond Hazel’s head. Why is she doing this? Can’t she see how hard I’m trying to keep my distance? How much I’m struggling to not let her get to me more than she already has?

Sure, a part of me wants to acknowledge her, wants to be near her and bask in her presence, wants to indulge in whatever strange fascination going on in her head. But the shield I have built won’t let me. It’s fighting me, and I like that it is. This is all for my sake.

Once is a mistake, twice is stupidity.

“ Principessa , I—” I clear my throat in preparation to reject the proposal, but Hazel’s warm brown eyes light up with hope and my heart clenches. How can I bring myself together to hurt a woman who possesses eyes like that? What is she doing to me?

Just tonight.

“Dinner sounds fine,” I give in eventually.

A soft smile kisses her face. “Great. I made your favorite,” she chats as she walks toward the table.

My brow lifts. “My favorite?”

“Yes. I called Angela and she confirmed that it is your favorite.” I let out a chuckle and watch as she dishes the gnocchi on our plates. “Here you go. Creamy tomato gnocchi and cheese.”

“Are you acting like a chef already?”

“ ‘Acting like a chef’ ?” she gasps, adopting a tone that says I’m insulting her. “I am a chef.”

I raise my hand in submission and pick up the spoon when her head tilts toward the place, ordering me to have a taste. I take a bite and absentmindedly nod in approval. The gnocchi are soft, and the sauce tastes eerily like Angela’s. I’m impressed, but unsure whether it’s at Angela’s teaching or at how Hazel’s skill has managed to replicate the familiar flavor I’m used to.

“How is it?” Hazel asks with shiny eyes that beg for validation.

“The gnocchi can be softer, and the chicken isn’t that tender. The cheese made the sauce sharper, and—” I halt in my words when Hazel interrupts me.

“And? There’s more?” she questions in exasperation. “Are you saying that much is wrong with this food? Are you giving me constructive criticism or are you just making me mad?”

I shrug, munching on another spoonful of my meal. “You asked for my opinion.”

“And you call this an opinion?”

“Are you mad at me? You need to be able to take reviews if you want to be a chef.”

“Wow.” Hazel throws sharp daggers at me. “You really are hell bent on making me lose my mind, aren’t you? Now I understand why there’re so many views on that educational podcast.”

“What educational podcast?”

“Why You Shouldn’t Murder Your Husband In His Sleep.”

I choke on my gnocchi and let out a bundle of cough, while Hazel fills my glass cup with water. “You’re listening to a podcast on how to kill me?”

“ Why I shouldn’t kill you. I need someone to tell me there’ll be consequences for it. You can’t cook, but you can dish out ‘opinions’ like a food critic, hm?”

“I don’t hand out compliments easily. The first time Renzo drew an illustration of a two piece suit, I told him he should have used a sharper pencil. Mom said it was mean of me.” I’m doing it again—talking about my childhood with her. Hazel lets out a genuine beautiful laugh and my armor weakens. I decide to continue.

Just tonight.

“It was. You should have given him his credit. You said it yourself that it was his first time.”

“Yes. I was fourteen and he was twelve. He ran around the house showing it to everyone. I was the only one who had something different to say about it. I was also the only one who had it framed in his room eighteen years later.”

Hazel’s eyes double in size. “That framed illustration in your room is Renzo’s first drawing?” I affirm and her hand flies to cover her mouth. “Angela was right. Your love language is action over words.”

My mouth curls into a smirk as I take in her sentence. “You and Angela talk about my love language? Interesting. What else do you talk about me?”

Her face flushes with a coy smile. “We don’t talk about you at all. She … she just happened to mention it.”

“I’m sure she did,” I mock, redirecting my attention to the food. I can feel her gaze on me, watching me as if I’m doing something more special—like I’m a judge critiquing one of her masterpieces, but I refuse to meet her eyes. I focus on the food, pick up a utensil, and my cup of water—anything to avoid her gaze.

“About the other day—” I stiffen when she speaks. “In a way, I understand you running away. Because you ran,” she completes, pinning me with a look. “But you can’t be like this forever—running away and fighting yourself whenever you feel even a flicker of love and hope. There’s still so much love to be felt on earth. Don’t deprive yourself of it. And no, it doesn’t have to be with me, but I hope you’re happy one day.”

She’s wrong. I don’t have any more love to give, but I’m already so used to her I can’t imagine living with any woman that’s not her. Trust is not something I can give easily after everything that’s happened, but with her—there’s something about her that makes me question everything I thought I’ve written in stone.

“I’ll visit a therapist if I need one.” I jab at her. She twists her lips and shakes her head without saying a word, and I breathe out a laugh. Getting used to me, I see.

“How was the academy?”

“Won’t you ask me about the academy?” We both chorus. She laughs and covers her mouth. “I guess I was too fast. I thought you wanted to pretend you didn’t know I went. Even though you sent Joe to pick me up.”

“I don’t pretend.” I grit out.

“Yeah, you don’t. Anyways, it went great. I’m officially a student. And I met Henri Leclair.” I clench my teeth at that little piece of detail. Of course he’s around on the day Hazel has to register. I hate coincidences.

I take on a nonchalant voice. “Congratulations.”

“Do you know what the best part is?” I bet it’s meeting Henri Leclair? I was initially glad I gave this dinner a chance, but now there’s nothing more I want to do than leave this topic.

“What?” My voice stutters with heavy jealousy, planning to relocate to a new country if she points it out.

“I found out someone paid my tuition.” Her eyes search mine, but after some time, she focuses on her own food.

Bemusement contours my face. “Someone?”

“Yes. And I know it’s the same person who sent the email to Henri Leclair.”

“You’re still insisting someone sent an email for you?”

“I must have a secret fan. That has to be the explanation for it.” She says thoughtfully, ignoring my question. “Or a secret admirer?”

A mocking snicker escapes my throat. “I can assure you that’s not the case.”

“How would you know?”

“Right,” I slur with a small smile. “How would I know?”

“It’s so exciting that I have no idea who it could be.”

“It’s thrilling to accept gifts from unknown people?”

“Secret admirer,” she corrects.

My fists clench absentmindedly as a sudden thought grows in my mind. She isn’t aware that I sent the email, neither is she aware that I paid the tuition. Is this her true reaction to getting gifts from an unknown person?

“And if you do have a secret admirer? Then what?”

“Then I hope they know how grateful I am,” she replies, her voice soft and sincere. The next line of actions shock me.

Hazel bites her lip and balls her hands nervously, itching it toward my free hand. My muscles flex and I swallow, my throat dry. She extends her hand to touch me, but I swiftly pick up my cup of water, drowning it in three chugs.

Her smile falters for a moment, but then she recovers. “It’s like they believe in me. Like they saw something in me that I didn’t even see in myself. That must be it, right?”

She knows.

The air between us becomes electrifying, like a live wire hanging around. Now that I know she knows, relief washes over me at the same time a smirk appears. Yes, I believe in her. And yes, I see the raw passion and the shiny glint in her eyes when it comes to talking about food.

“Right,” I confirm with no context and watch as her grin widens.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to shake off the feeling that she’s taking over every aspect of my life. This time, I’m unable to find a lie—another lie to say she means nothing. The voice in my head, the one I’ve been trying to silence since I met Hazel, is whispering otherwise. It’s saying I’ve fallen, slowly but surely, into the depth of her warm eyes and the beauty of her smile.

And it’s right. I have fallen for her.

Now I only have to find a way to hide it from her. I have to hide that her gentle attempts to break down my walls have been successful. I’ve lost the battles with my heart, but I still find it hard to confront the feelings I’ve been trying to deny.