𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬
Emilia, a mixture of Enzo and Elianna. She isn't afraid of anyone and is a headstrong force to be reckoned with. For most of her life, Emilia had only had two goals in mind: attaining her degree and finding...
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Emilia's POV
I woke up to the sound of metal clinging to each other and sizzling sounds.
My eyes opened to see an angry Santo cooking away. It was obvious he was mad about something from the way he was aggressively chopping the onions and the scowl on his face.
He paused and held his head. "What the hell am I doing?"
His eyes suddenly locked with mine and he became angrier.
"Were you watching me all this time?" he asked angrily as he walked up to me.
"No," I said as I sat up. "I just woke up from your loud noises."
"What the hell were you thinking?" he shouted at me and I became scared.
I don't remember doing anything that would've upset him.
All I remember is that I was reading the article and I dosed off.
"Santo, what are you talking about?" I asked confused.
I just woke up and I was already being shouted at.
"How could sleep here when there's a perfectly good bed upstairs?" he shouted. "Do you know how much you could've hurt yourself if you fell or if you turned the wrong way?"
That's what he was mad about? He was mad that I fell asleep in the kitchen and not the bedroom?
Was he looking for reasons to be angry at me?
"Why do you care?" I asked him. "It's not a big deal. I accidentally dosed off."
He scoffed. "Care? I don't care."
"So why are you so worked up about this?"
"I just simply wanted you to know the consequences of your actions," he said before returning to the fire.
I smiled. "Sounds like you care."
"Forget it," he said as he brought me a plate with a croissant, poached eggs with fruits, and a salad. "Eat."
"Wow," I said under my breath.
I couldn't do this even if I tried my hardest.
Why couldn't I cook like my papá or Santo?
"Is something wrong? Are you allergic to something here?" he asked as he sat next to me with his plate.
"Where did you learn to do all this?"
He took a sip of his coffee. "I was hungry so I learned how to cook."
I laughed. "There's no way you learned to do all this just because you felt hungry."
He shrugged. "Well, that is what happened."
"Whatever," I said. "I've learned not to judge a book by its cover. Some foods may look good but they can still taste horrible."
