CHAPTER FIVE #2
“We learned how to survive on the streets. We learned how to protect ourselves and provide for ourselves when it felt like almost everyone was out to get us. We can learn how to navigate our love lives,” she told me.
“Maureen didn’t break us. Our enemies didn’t break us.
Neither will this. We deserve love, Sienna.
We deserve to be happy. We won’t fuck it up. ”
I nodded, not trusting my voice at the moment.
“I’m glad you came to Italy, Sienna. I don’t know what I would do without you, my best friend, my sister, my confidant,” Eve told me, voice trembling slightly.
“Stop. You’re going to make me cry,” I hissed, tilting my head back, trying to keep the tears from falling.
“I know, right. I need to check my makeup before I get out. We’ll finish this conversation after class. Probably over some wine,” she drawled.
“Sounds like a plan,” I agreed.
We both checked our faces in the mirror, making sure we still looked good. We did. We exited the car at the same time. The locks chirped when Eve pressed the button on the key fob. Walking side by side, we strode toward the building.
It was a good thing the class didn’t have weapon detectors, because we were both carrying. I glanced around as I walked, taking in my surroundings, looking for anything out of place. There was nothing that made me overly nervous or suspicious.
I couldn’t even see the men Stefano had tailing us. But I knew they were there, somewhere. My gaze landed on a black car. No one was in it. The car had been there last weekend also. In the same space.
It could be the car of someone from our class. Even so, my gaze lingered on it for a few seconds before I turned and entered the building behind Eve. I smiled at the ladies who were already present.
A chorus of ‘Hey, Gina, and hey, Eve,’ filled the air. We greeted the ladies as we headed to our own station at the back of the class. Eve was getting used to calling me Gina when we were in public, just like I was getting used to calling her Eve.
Those were our names now, our new identities. Just another change we had to make to stay safe, to stay with the men we loved. I pushed that thought aside. In the cooking class, there were eight stations, four on each side of the room.
Each station was set up for three people. Our particular class was never full, so there were always some empty stations. Most ladies chose to work at the front of the room, wanting to be closer to the instructor.
Eve and I chose the back. Eve liked to joke that the bad kids always sat at the back of the classroom or on the back of the school bus. I don’t know why that was, but she was right. It was always our station that got told to quiet down a little.
Or that the temperature was too high. My favorite was when the instructor reminded Eve to take the stirring spoon out of the pot before putting the pot in the oven.
Poor Eve.
Dissecting her enemies came naturally to her. But cooking was like alien territory to my friend. She just couldn’t navigate it. But she was trying. She really wanted to learn how to cook for Enzo.
She was learning to cook. I was learning to compromise. We were trying to change for the men in our lives. But I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. When it came to this relationship stuff, I was so confused.
I faced forward, focusing on the task at hand, trying to take my mind off my worries for a little while. Eve was at her station at the far end of our counter. I was at the other end near the wall. That left the middle spot open between us.
The ingredients we would need for today’s class were already laid out neatly at our stations, along with bottles of water for us to sip. I always drank mine or took it home with me because I was paying for that shit in the high-ass class fee.
Most of the class was already there, chatting, laughing, and looking over the syllabus. Today we were working on our baking skills. This should be pretty easy.
“My cake has to turn out good, because I want it to be dessert for me and Enzo’s dinner,” Eve told me.
“Mine too,” I said.
So far, every dish I’d brought home from cooking class had earned praise from my savage.
“What did Enzo say about the dish you brought home last week?”
“I didn’t give him that shit,” Eve whispered.
I burst out laughing, then caught myself as a few ladies stared back at us, smiling.
“Girl, it wasn’t that bad. A little burnt, but not too bad,” I told her.
She’d had her oven set too high, despite being told the exact temperature to use. I swear, sometimes, I wondered if she was trying to mess her shit up.
“I know I can do better,” Eve stated. “I’m hoping today I can actually prepare something that I’m proud of.”
“You got this.”
She nodded, looking determined to succeed. Of course, I would always root for her and be her biggest cheerleader. I really hoped her cake came out well. At least that would give her one less thing to worry about.
Though I wanted to tell her that cooking didn’t define her, I knew that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She wasn’t just doing this for Enzo. She was doing this because she wanted to better herself.
I held in my sigh. What could I do to better myself? What could I bring to the table in my relationship that would match what Stefano brought? And if I couldn’t bring anything other than my heart, how long was it before that stopped being enough?
How long before he realized I was more trouble than I was worth?