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I scoff before walking away to do as she asked.
Ten minutes later and the food is ready. We both sit at the table in the dining room. It’s a long table, made to seat about twelve, but we’re seated right by each other. I smile as I stare down at my plate of food. She made pasta primavera, and it smells heavenly. I’m about to dig in when she slaps my hand away from the food.
“Uh-uh. We say grace first.”
“You’re kidding!” I exclaim.
“No. I’m Catholic and we say grace in my family. The only reason we didn’t this morning was because I was too out of it to care. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she adds, looking me straight in the eye.
I get the feeling it would be in my best interest to just go with it.
“Carry on, Sunshine,” I prompt.
She rolls her eyes at the nickname but doesn’t comment on it. She clears her throat before intertwining her hands. “Thank you, Lord, for this meal. And for the hands that prepared it. And thank you for sending Graham last night to help me out of the situation I found myself in. Amen.”
“Amen,” I repeat dutifully, staring at her face. I’m feeling a little awestruck.
Isabella glances up at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t think you’d be religious.”
I can’t remember the last time I stepped foot into a church. Maybe for a wedding? My parents didn’t raise us to be religious. Not that I have anything against it; it’s just never mattered to me. Isabella seems to care about it a lot, though.
And I don’t miss the fact that she mentioned last night. It’s clear it affected her way more than she’s letting on.
“Well, I am,” Isabella says. “You can eat now.”
I smile. “Thanks.” My eyes widen as soon as I take a bite of the food. “Holy fuck, that’s good.”
She makes a face at that. “You know you swear excessively, right?”
I groan. “Really, Sunshine? Now you have a problem with my swearing? You swear, too,” I point out.
“Yeah, but in moderation. I don’t add a curse word into every other sentence. You went to Oxford; I’m sure your vocabulary is more expansive than that.”
“You sound like my mother. Quit scolding me,” I mutter.
That makes her smile. “I do tend to mother people a lot.”
“And why is that?” I ask before taking another bite of my food. “You have younger siblings?”
“No, I’m an only child. But I had a huge hand in raising the twins so I guess that’s where it comes from.”
I nod in understanding. “I guess that’s why you’re such a bloody good cook, too,” I state. “Seriously, this is better than the pasta our chef back home prepares. Marry me?”
She scoffs. “Not going to happen.”
“Fine. But I’m going to have to keep you. Because this is truly amazing.” I grin before eating another forkful.
“You’re welcome.”
Neither of us speaks again until we’re done with our meal. Isabella and I are heading to the living room when I point out that she’s still in her clothes from last night.
“Oh, right,” she says, looking down at herself. “I don’t have anything to change into.”
“You can wear one of my shirts. You should probably shower, too. Just head up to my room.”
She peers at me and I chuckle.
