Chapter 5
Maya sat at the kitchen counter, her bandaged finger throbbing slightly, but mostly, she was sulking. Arms crossed. Bottom lip jutted out. Practically pouting like a kid who just got scolded.
Because, well—she had just gotten scolded.
The moment she’d offered to help again, Carina had shut her down so fast it nearly gave her whiplash.
"No. Assolutamente no. You are no use."
That was exactly what she had said. Not even sugarcoated. Just straight-up dismissed her.
So now, Maya sat there like a giant, useless baby, watching as Carina expertly rolled out fresh pasta dough with the kind of ease that only came from years of experience. She moved effortlessly, completely unbothered. Flour dusted her fingers, her forearms, even a little on the curve of her cheek, and somehow, it only made her look more effortlessly gorgeous.
Maya huffed, slumping further into her seat. “You could have let me at least stir something.”
Carina didn’t even glance up. “No.”
Maya groaned dramatically, letting her head drop onto the counter with a soft thud. “I feel so useless.”
Carina finally looked over, amused. “Well, sì, that is because you are.”
Maya shot her a glare. “Rude.”
Carina smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, she went back to kneading the dough, humming again, leaving Maya to stew in her self-imposed exile.
But sitting here, doing nothing, was not Maya’s strong suit. She needed something to do, something to focus on besides the way Carina’s hands moved skillfully over the dough.
So she did what she did best—she started poking.
Figuratively, of course.
“So…” Maya began, tapping her uninjured fingers against the counter. “What’s your deal?”
Carina sighed, still not looking up. “Maya, that is a very broad question.”
“Yeah, I know,” Maya said, leaning forward. “Tell me something real. Something about you.”
Carina exhaled sharply through her nose, but Maya didn’t miss the faint hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I think you already know plenty.”
Maya scoffed. “Oh yeah? I know you’re an actress. I know you used to be a real doctor. I know you somehow ended up here on this show. But that’s all… career stuff. And I almost forgot: You have a brother, but that`s it.” She tilted her head. “What about personal stuff?”
Carina finally glanced at her then, rolling out the dough with just a little more force than necessary. “Personal?”
“Yeah,” Maya pressed, resting her chin on her good hand. “Like… do you have a secret stamp collection? A weird hobby? An unhealthy obsession with true crime?”
Carina’s lips twitched like she was fighting back another smirk. “No to all of those things.”
Maya squinted at her. “Suspicious.”
Carina shook her head, muttering something in Italian under her breath before turning her focus back to the pasta.
Maya let the silence stretch for a moment before shifting gears.
“What about your brother?” she asked, softer this time.
She didn’t miss the way Carina’s shoulders tensed slightly. It was barely noticeable, but it was there.
Carina didn’t respond right away. She just kept working, pressing the dough out into a perfect sheet, her jaw tight. But then, after a few moments, she spoke.
“Andrea is… complicated,” she said carefully.
Maya stayed quiet, letting Carina lead the conversation however she wanted.
“He is brilliant,” Carina continued, her voice quieter now. “He is a doctor. A real one. Like me.” A tiny smile ghosted her lips. “However he has always been smarter than me, more disciplined, more determined.”
Maya frowned slightly. “I doubt that.”
Carina huffed a soft laugh. “Oh, it’s true. I was the reckless one. The wild one.” She sighed. “But Andrea… he struggles mentally. He has since we were young.”
Maya nodded, remembering what Robert had said. “He is bipolar?”
Carina stilled for a moment, then nodded. “Sì.” She set the rolling pin down and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. “He manages well. He is medicated, he has a good support system… but sometimes, there are episodes.”
Maya hesitated before asking, “Is that what happened today?”
Carina inhaled deeply through her nose, then exhaled slowly. “Yes.”
Maya chewed on her lip, feeling a sudden wave of guilt rise up. “I’m… I’m sorry about earlier,” she said quietly. “I was being a jerk.”
Carina finally met her gaze, studying her for a long moment. Then, she sighed, shaking her head. “No, you were just being you.”
Maya scrunched her nose. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
Carina smirked. “A little bit of both.”
Maya rolled her eyes but felt a strange warmth settle in her chest.
Carina turned back to the counter, carefully layering fresh sheets of pasta into a baking dish. Maya watched her for a moment, then cleared her throat.
“So… do I at least get to grate some cheese, or are you afraid I’ll somehow injure myself doing that too?”
Carina sighed dramatically but tossed her a block of parmesan and a grater. “Try not to lose a finger, per favore.”
Maya grinned as she caught it. “No promises.”
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The kitchen smelled absolutely incredible.
Maya sat at the counter, practically drooling as the scent of bubbling cheese, rich tomato sauce, and perfectly baked pasta filled the air. The lasagna was golden brown, the edges crisping up just the right amount, and Maya was sure she had never been so excited to eat something in her entire life.
Carina, looking way too pleased with herself, pulled on a pair of oven mitts and reached for the dish.
Maya, of course, picked that exact moment to open her mouth.
“So, do you always cook like this, or is this some kind of attempt to seduce me?”
Carina turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised in amused disbelief. “Che cosa?”
It was a split second of distraction—just long enough for things to go very wrong.
Because when Carina turned back to grab the lasagna, her grip faltered. The heavy dish tilted dangerously, threatening to slide straight out of the oven and onto the floor.
And Carina’s priorities?
Save the lasagna.
With lightning-fast reflexes, she managed to catch the dish just in time. But in the process, one of her hands—her bare hand—pressed against the scorching hot glass.
The hiss of burning skin filled the air.
Then came the Italian.
“Cazzo! Merda, porca troia!”
Maya blinked. “Wow.”
Carina, jaw clenched in pain, carefully placed the dish onto the counter, her main priority still making sure the food remained perfectly intact. Then, she immediately shook out her burnt hand, hissing under her breath.
Maya should have been concerned first. But instead, she snorted. “I have no idea what you just said, but that sounded intense.”
Carina shot her a glare. “I just burned my hand, idiota.”
Maya’s amusement lasted all of two seconds before she realized, oh shit, Carina actually burned her hand.
“Oh—oh my god, okay, hold on.” She shot up from her seat, rushing around the counter. “Lemme see.”
Carina waved her off. “It’s fine.”
Maya ignored that completely and grabbed Carina’s wrist, gently pulling her hand toward her. The skin on her palm and fingers was already turning an angry shade of red.
Maya winced. “Yeah, nope. That is not fine.”
Carina sighed heavily, but she didn’t pull away as Maya inspected the burn.
“You need to run this under cold water,” Maya said, already guiding her toward the sink.
Carina groaned but let herself be dragged. “I am a doctor, ricordi? I know how to treat a burn.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it, you’re the almighty Dr. DeLuca,” Maya teased, flipping on the tap. “Now shut up and do as you’re told.”
Carina rolled her eyes but let out a small sigh of relief as she held her hand under the cold stream.
Maya leaned against the counter, watching her for a moment. Then, unable to help herself, she grinned.
“So… was it worth it?”
Carina gave her a confused look. “Was what worth it?”
Maya gestured toward the perfect, steaming lasagna. “Sacrificing your hand for the lasagna?”
Carina exhaled sharply, then shook her head with a reluctant smile. “Assolutamente.”
Maya chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re insane.”
Carina smirked. “And yet, you’re still here.”
Maya opened her mouth to argue—but then shut it.
Because… yeah. She was still here.
And, weirdly enough, she didn’t want to be anywhere else.
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The first bite of lasagna was sinful.
Maya barely managed to get the fork to her mouth before a moan escaped her lips. She didn’t even care how it sounded—she was too busy melting into her chair as the flavors exploded on her tongue.
Carina, who had just taken a sip of wine, arched an eyebrow at her. “Dio, was that necessary?”
Maya’s eyes were still closed in bliss. “Oh my god. Yes.”
Carina chuckled, setting down her glass. “È solo lasagna, bambina.”
Maya peeked at her through half-lidded eyes, suspicious. “You just called me something in Italian, didn’t you?”
Carina smirked. “Maybe.”
Maya huffed, pointing her fork at her. “You’re so lucky your food is amazing, or I’d be more offended that you refuse to translate it.”
Carina, looking far too pleased with herself, took another sip of wine. The bottle sitting between them was some fancy Italian label Maya couldn’t even begin to pronounce. But whatever it was, it was good. Smooth, rich, with just enough warmth to spread through her chest as she took another sip.
The atmosphere was surprisingly cozy. The dim lighting, the crackle of the fireplace in the corner, the ridiculous luxury of the house mixed with its undeniable Italian charm. Maya couldn’t believe she had ended up here tonight, of all places—sitting across from Carina DeLuca, eating what was possibly the best meal of her life.
Carina spoke again, her voice slow, teasing, and just suggestive enough to make Maya’s stomach flip.
"Sei così bella quando mangi. È quasi un peccato che il cibo sia l'unica cosa che ti fa gemere così."
Maya blinked, caught mid-bite. “Okay. That was definitely flirty.”
Carina shrugged, swirling her wine.
Maya narrowed her eyes. “Translate, please.”
Carina smirked. “No.”
Maya groaned. “Ugh, you suck.”
“I know.” Carina leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm.
Maya rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight back the smile tugging at her lips.
As they continued eating, Maya decided to continue to ask questions. If she was going to be sitting in Carina’s house, drinking her fancy wine and eating her life-changing lasagna, she at least wanted to know something real about her.
“So…” Maya started, cutting another bite. “You live up here, in your fancy mountain lair, making people weak with your cooking. What else do you do when you’re not playing doctor on TV?”
Carina tilted her head, considering. “I ride horses.”
Maya paused mid-chew. “You… ride horses?”
Carina nodded, completely serious.
Maya squinted. “Like, regularly?”
“Sì.”
Maya sat back. “Huh.”
Carina smirked at her reaction and took another sip of wine.
Maya frowned. “That’s not what I expected.”
“Oh? And what did you expect?”
“I don’t know,” Maya admitted. “Something more… normal?”
Carina just smirked, looking like she was enjoying this too much.
Maya tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. “Okay. Next question. What’s your guilty pleasure TV show?”
Carina didn’t even hesitate. “Real Housewives of Naples.”
Maya’s jaw dropped. “That’s a thing?!”
Carina nodded solemnly.
Maya stared at her. “Okay. I don’t know if I believe you.”
Carina shrugged, sipping her wine.
Maya leaned forward. “Next question.” She smirked. “Ever been in handcuffs?”
Carina just smiled. “Maybe.”
Maya nearly choked on her drink. “Wait. What?!”
Carina didn’t elaborate.
Maya gaped at her. “You—you can’t just say ‘maybe’ to that question!”
Carina shrugged again, all innocent. “But io posso.”
Maya threw her hands up. “Okay, you are the weirdest rich person I’ve ever met.”
Carina just laughed, and damn it, Maya was starting to like that sound a little too much.
Maya gawked at her and then realized something. “Wait. Wait. Did you lie about the horses and the Real Housewives thing?”
Carina smirked, taking another slow sip of wine. “Sì.”
Maya threw her hands up. “Unbelievable! You just sat there, looking all sophisticated with your expensive wine and your ridiculously good cooking, lying to me.”
Carina chuckled. “It was too easy. Your reactions are very entertaining.”
Maya shook her head. “Okay, so tell me the truth then. What do you actually do when you’re not working?”
Carina leaned back in her chair, finally answering properly. “I like gardening.”
Maya blinked. “Gardening?”
Carina nodded. “Sì. I have a small spice garden outside. I grow basilico, oregano… but my favorite is rosmarino.”
Maya cocked her head, repeating the word. “Rosmarino?”
“Rosemary,” Carina translated smoothly.
Maya pursed her lips. “Huh. Didn’t expect that either.”
Carina smirked. “What did you expect?”
Maya shrugged. “I don’t know… you seem too—” She gestured vaguely at Carina. “Too elegant to be out there with dirt under your nails.”
Carina’s lips curled. “Ah, bella, I may enjoy nice things, but I also enjoy working with my hands.” She winked at Maya.
Maya’s brain short-circuited for a moment. She grabbed her wine, taking a long sip to avoid eye contact.
Carina grinned, clearly pleased with herself.
Maya cleared her throat and leaned on the table, deciding to press her luck with more personal questions. “Okay, next one. Do you have any guilty pleasures? Like, something ridiculous?”
Carina hummed, thinking. Then, with an air of complete nonchalance, she said, “I have a pink friend in my bedside drawer.”
Maya nearly choked on her wine. “What?!”
Carina smirked, swirling her glass. “You asked.”
Maya coughed, trying to recover. “Jesus Christ, Carina.”
“What? It’s normal. Molto sano,” Carina said with an innocent shrug. “Better than terrible exes, no?”
Maya was now very warm and it had nothing to do with the wine. “I—yeah—I mean—sure—I just didn’t expect you to say it so casually.”
Carina arched an eyebrow. “Would you prefer I lie again?”
Maya laughed despite herself. “You are so dangerous.”
Carina grinned.
Maya just shook her head, taking another sip of wine to cool herself down. The worst part?
She really wanted to ask more questions.
Maya swirled the last bit of wine in her glass, debating whether she really wanted to ask the question burning in her mind. But the warmth of the alcohol and the sheer audacity of Carina’s last statement—about her pink friend—gave her a rush of courage.
She tilted her head, studying the woman across from her, who looked effortlessly poised yet entirely at ease, as if discussing vibrators over dinner was just another Tuesday night topic. Maybe for Carina, it was.
Maya leaned in slightly. “Alright, since you’re apparently an open book…” She smirked. “Tell me about your exes.”
Carina didn’t even flinch. In fact, she smiled like she had been waiting for Maya to ask. “Oh, che domanda interessante,” she mused, tapping a manicured finger against the rim of her glass.
Maya instantly regretted it. But it was too late.
“I once had a girlfriend,” Carina began smoothly, her Italian accent thickening slightly, as it always did when she was about to say something both devastating and effortlessly sexy. “Gabriella. She was… molto bella, very confident. And we had…” She exhaled dramatically, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Molto sesso.”
Maya had just taken a sip of wine.
And promptly choked on it.
She coughed violently, barely managing to set her glass down before she could spill it all over herself. Carina, utterly unbothered, reached over with an infuriatingly smug smirk and patted her back, her touch light, teasing.
“Maya,” she said sweetly, watching her sputter like it was the most amusing thing she’d seen all day. “You asked.”
Maya wiped her mouth, inhaling sharply, willing herself to regain some semblance of composure. “I—yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually tell me all that.”
Carina tilted her head, feigning innocence, though the wicked curve of her lips gave her away. “I thought you wanted details.”
Maya groaned, pressing her hands over her face. Jesus Christ. It wasn’t just the words—molto sesso echoing in her brain like a damn siren song—it was how Carina said them. Slow, deliberate, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to Maya’s nervous system. And let’s be honest—she did.
Carina laughed, clearly enjoying every second of her suffering. “Oh, calmati,” she purred, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m just being honest.”
Maya peeked through her fingers, shooting her a glare that had absolutely no effect. “Excruciatingly honest.”
Carina just smiled, sipping her wine like she hadn’t just short-circuited Maya’s brain.
Maya exhaled, trying—really trying—to shake the image Carina had burned into her head. But it was too late. The damage was done.