Page 36 of Sweet Madness

Despite Shaw’s usual cold stare, I feel warmth prickling my skin. This man is a walking and talking contradiction. How is it that one moment he can make me feel small with one icy stare, and then the next he can make me feel like I’m walking on clouds with that same penetrating gaze?

Still, I smile as I lift his plate in the air and say, “Good morning, grumpy.”

Those whiskey-brown eyes narrow for a brief second before he enters the room, takes a seat at the kitchen island without breaking eye contact. When I think he’s going to ignore me and dismiss the food I prepared, he surprises me by reaching forward and taking the plate from my hands. “Morning, princess.”

Princess.

This time the nickname doesn’t feel like an insult or a joke. This time it feels like more—so much more.

My cheeks flush with warmth, a rush of butterflies dancing in my stomach at the sound of his hard yet sexy voice. I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face, feeling a surge of happiness bubble up inside me.

I pretend to roll my eyes, but secretly, I’m happy with the nickname. It reminds me of the happy moments we shared in the past. As those tiny bugs continue dancing in my stomach, everything seems to stop as his gaze meets mine with an intensity that sends my heart into overdrive.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

There goes my heart, pounding like crazy inside my chest.

It’s moments like this—moments that stop time—that make me feel alive, as if I’m walking on air. And even though a small part of me knows it will most likely come to an end, I hold onto the feeling with all my strength, savoring every second spent with this beautiful man.

Shaw

When I wake up this morning, a familiar smell fills the air, waking me. The house smells of vanilla, with bacon sizzling in the pan and freshly brewed coffee.

After I finished taking a shower and got ready for the day, I padded down the hallway, following the mouthwatering scent. I haven’t woken up to the sweet aroma of breakfast in years—not just because I don’t eat breakfast or anything sweet, but because it’s been a while since someone has cared enough about me to prepare a meal. The last time I ate this early in the morning was years ago, back when I worked at the White House and the president demanded my presence.

The tempting smell grows stronger with each step I take, filling my senses and awakening my appetite.

Pushing open the door to the kitchen, I am greeted by a scene I never thought I would witness. The once first daughter of the United States of America and famous heiress stands at the stove, expertly flipping what looks like pancakes on the griddle, with a dusting of flour on the tip of her nose, cheeks, and hair.

I cross the hardwood floor and stop on the other side of the breakfast bar that separates the kitchen from the dining area. I can’t help but notice how utterly charming and completely at home she looks right now. Her black curls, usually so meticulously styled, are tousled with flour, making her look adorable.

Why am I noticing these things? Ella is wearing an oversized lavender shirt, and I can’t be sure, but I think she’s braless. Her matching shorts are short, her feet are bare, and her curly hair is in a messy bun with a few loose strands framing her face. It strikes me that I am getting to know the girl, not the celebrity with millions of followers stalking her on social media.

Standing back, I watch as she moves with grace, flipping a thin, lacy pancake with a golden hue on the griddle. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the scent of sizzling bacon and fresh fruits.

Feeling my gaze on her, she looks up and smiles with her entire face, as if she’s genuinely happy to see me. I can’t understand why, since I’ve been a complete asshole since she first got in my truck, yet she treats me with kindness every time. I guess that’s who she is at her core—good, kind, and sweet. Nothing like her parents.

I used to think this girl came from another world, sent to Earth to sweeten Arianna and Sebastian Kenton’s hearts.

Stepping closer, I watch as Ella drizzles the thin pancakes with syrup and Nutella. The bacon sizzles in the pan, sending up little curls of smoke, while the coffee pot gurgles in the background. She lifts a plate in the air. “Good morning, grumpy,” she greets with a warm smile, her blue eyes shining. I stare unabashedly, taking in the delicate details of her face—the adorable chin, the straight line of her nose, and the prettiest eyelashes.

Then my eyes fall to her plump and pink lips. Her smile. That fucking smile.

I rub my chest, feeling a sense of peace wash over me. As a young boy, this was my favorite time of day—sitting down at the table to eat breakfast with Ma. It was a peaceful moment before the hustle and bustle of the day at the ranch began.

I stay silent, just watching her, when I notice her smile falter and her eyes start to lose their shine as she waits for me to grab the plate. Shit. I reach forward and take the plate from her hands, completely ignoring how my breath hitches when she smiles so beautifully. “Morning, princess,” I grumble.

I see Ella glancing at my plate shyly, her eyes reflecting a mix of anticipation and nervousness. Her words come out soft and hesitant, her voice betraying a hint of insecurity. “I—I hope you like it,” she murmurs, almost losing her words in the air. “It’s... it’s my first time making crepes.” Her admission hangs there.

The way she looks at me, as if preparing for criticism or insults—like she’s bracing herself to be hurt—makes something in my chest feel like it’s breaking. Fuck.

Her lovely eyes bore into me, waiting for something I don’t know what. This is why I dislike anything sweet. It’s too damn addictive, and I’m not just talking about food.

I force myself to break eye contact with her. My gaze falls upon the plate of crepes, adorned with a tempting drizzle of syrup and Nutella—a sight that usually makes me grimace. This is too much sugar. I don’t usually eat this shit. Yet, as I see her holding her breath in anticipation, something softens within me. She did all this for me. Don’t be an ungrateful fuck.