Chapter 29
After another quick shower, Lexie perched on a stool at the kitchen island, watching as Max moved effortlessly around the kitchen.
Her gaze lingered on the way his broad shoulders rippled beneath the fine wool sweater, his sleeves still rolled up from earlier.
There was something utterly captivating about seeing him like this—focused, confident, and so completely in control.
He stirred the sauce simmering on the stove, the rich aroma of tomatoes, garlic, and spices filling the air.
Then, with practiced ease, he pulled a pasta press from a cabinet, dusted it with flour, and began rolling out the dough he’d prepared earlier.
His hands moved with precision, slicing the sheets into perfect ribbons of pasta.
The sight of his strong fingers working the dough shouldn’t have been mesmerizing, but it was.
Lexie rested her chin in her hand, unable to tear her eyes away. “Do you do this often?” she asked, breaking the silence.
He glanced at her with a faint smile. “Cook? Only when I have someone worth cooking for.”
Her cheeks flushed and she smiled. “So, you don’t cook for yourself?”
Max shrugged, tossing the pasta into a pot of boiling water. “I do. But it’s more enjoyable when someone is there to appreciate it.”
She laughed softly. “Well, you’ve got one appreciative audience here.”
He plated their meals, the fresh pasta perfectly coated in the rich Bolognese sauce. He carried the plates to the dining table, setting hers in front of her before pouring them each another glass of wine. Sitting across from her, he watched as she took her first bite.
“You don’t like it?” he asked, studying her face intently.
Lexie jerked, realizing she’d been lost in her thoughts. She looked down at the bowl of pasta—the best she’d ever tasted—and quickly shook her head. “I love it!” she assured him. “I was just…”
His lips curved into a knowing smile and he winked at her. “I know what you were ‘just’ thinking,” he teased, taking a sip of his wine. “And I approve.”
Her cheeks warmed, and she laughed lightly, reaching for her glass. “You’re annoying, you know that?”
He smirked, clearly enjoying her flustered state. “So I’ve been told.”
For the rest of the meal, it was like stepping back in time to a year ago, before everything had changed.
It felt easy, natural—just Lexie and Max enjoying each other’s company.
She let herself pretend, just for a little while, that he was still just a ridiculously wealthy businessman and she was just a teacher falling for a dynamic, fascinating man.
“So, tell me about the essays,” Max said, interrupting her thoughts.
She blinked, surprised by the question. “The essays?”
“Yes.” He leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine casually. “What were they about? Any hidden gems among your students?”
Lexie hesitated, then smiled. “Actually, yes. One of the prompts was about personal resilience—how they’ve overcome challenges in their lives.
Some of their stories were incredible. There’s one student who wrote about learning English after immigrating here two years ago and how she now tutors other students who struggle.
Another described helping their family during hard times by getting an after school job to pay for groceries.
” She looked down, then back up at him. “The difference in their writing now, compared to what they submitted the first week of school, is dramatic, Max. They’re getting it.
Their sentence structure is improving, they’ re understanding imagery and how to express themselves. ” She smiled. “It’s…exciting.”
Max nodded thoughtfully, his eyes on her as she spoke. “Sounds like you’re making a difference.”
She shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. “They’re the ones doing the hard work. I just try to guide them.”
“You do more than that,” he said firmly. “And I’m sure they know it.”
His words left her momentarily speechless. She focused on her plate, twirling another bite of pasta onto her fork. “Thanks,” she said softly, unable to meet his eyes.
Max reached across the table, covering her free hand with his. “You’re remarkable, Lexie. Don’t let anyone, including yourself, try to convince you otherwise.”
His sincerity stole her breath, and for a moment, she couldn’t do anything but stare at him. Her heart ached with emotions she wasn’t ready to name, but she couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through her chest.
“Okay,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Max squeezed her hand before letting go. “Now, finish your pasta. I need to show you what dessert looks like in this house.”
Lexie laughed, the tension easing enough for her to take another bite. Despite herself, she found it impossible to stop falling for him all over again.
That night, when Max pulled her into his arms, Lexie felt herself relax against his chest, his steady heartbeat calming her as he held her close.
He didn’t say anything—just held her tightly to him before falling asleep with his arms wrapped protectively around her.
But as she lay there, her thoughts drifted back to the conversation she’d overheard earlier.
What exactly had he been discussing on the phone?
Who were the real criminals in this world?
The details about George Thermopolis came rushing back.
His campaign was built on promises—advocating for the rights of laborers, strengthening unions, creating more union jobs, and ensuring the blue-collar worker was protected.
It sounded noble, but Lexie now realized those slogans masked a deeper truth.
Thermopolis had a plan, a carefully crafted path to amass wealth by leveraging the labor of the very people he claimed to champion.
And that path led straight to the governor’s mansion.