Page 3 of Lost Prince

I arch a brow. “Not sure why you’d think that?”

“Cookies. Isn’t that what you give kids when they’re acting out?”

I hold back my snort. “I could offer you a carrot if you prefer.” I nod over to my pile of cut vegetables.

His brow furrows again like he can’t figure me out. He takes a cookie and bites into it. His eyes widen slightly as he chews, savoring the taste. “This is good.”

“See, even adults can enjoy a cookie.” I turn to the refrigerator to get him a glass of milk.

"You're not afraid of me.” It’s more a statement than a question.

“Should I be?”

“Everyone else is.”

I shrug as I hand him the glass. “You don’t seem so scary now.” I grab a dustpan and a small handheld broom to clean up the broken mug.

“I’m sorry about that.” He sets his cookie and milk down and helps me clean up the mess he made.

“Nothing like a good cookie to defuse anger, eh?”

A ghost of a smile touches Lazaro's lips. It makes me wonder who he really is underneath the frustration and anger.

He looks at me with a mixture of curiosity and something I can’t quite place. Gratitude, maybe? Or perhaps just relief at finding someone who doesn’t treat him like a ticking time bomb.

"How long have you been working for my family?" he asks.

The way he says "my family" catches my attention. There was a hesitation there, as if he isn’t quite sure he belongs.

I dump the broken mug pieces into the trash. "About two months now. I started just after Mr. and Mrs. D’Amato married."

“No wonder you’re not afraid. You didn’t know me before.”

I arch a brow. “I’m not sure I’d be afraid of you if I did.”

He laughs, and it catches me off guard. The lightness of it. The free and pure way it emerges from him. Then it ends, almost like it caught him off guard too. I have a sense he doesn’t laugh much.

"You know, I get it. Feeling like you don't belong somewhere."

Lazaro's gaze sharpens with interest. "How could you possibly understand?"

I start cleaning up the strewn utensils on the floor. “I grew up in the foster system. Bounced from home to home, never staying in one place long enough to put down roots."

His expression softens slightly. "That must have been tough."

I shrug, offering a small smile. "Sometimes.” But I don’t dwell on the negative. What’s the point except to keep feeling bad? “It wasn’t all bad. It taught me to be adaptable, tofind adventure in every new situation. And it gave me an appreciation for the little things, like a warm bed or a home-cooked meal."

“Or a cookie?” He picks up his cookie, popping the last piece of it into his mouth.

“Or a cookie,” I agree.

Lazaro was quiet for a moment. "Is that how you ended up here? Looking for adventure?"

"Something like that. I've always followed my gut, let the wind take me where it will. This time, it brought me to the D'Amatos."

"And you're not… scared?" Lazaro seems genuinely interested. "Of the family, of me?"

I meet his gaze steadily. “Why should I be?”