Family Secret

Chapter 38

The kitchen looked like a storm had passed through it. Flour dusted the counters, streaked Alexia’s sweater, and even clung to her hair like snow. Eggshells littered the cutting board, and the rolling pin had somehow rolled itself onto the floor.

Nate, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, stirred the simmering sauce in the pot, the rich scent of tomatoes, garlic, and herbs filling the air. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to catch Alexia standing in defeat at the counter. Her big brown eyes met his, wide and almost pleading, her arms drooping at her sides, fingers sticky with dough. Bits of flour and egg were smeared across her cheeks, and she looked adorably exasperated.

“I can’t do this,” she sighed, her shoulders slumping.

Nate froze for a second, just looking at her. Even covered in flour and egg, she was breathtaking—more than that, she was real. He couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips before a chuckle slipped free.

“Here,” he said warmly, setting the spoon down. “Let me help you.”

He moved behind her, his presence wrapping around her like a shadow. His scent, sandalwood and bergamot, calming. Gently, he placed his hand over hers, guiding her motions with deliberate patience. “See, you have to measure the flour properly, not just eyeball it,” he murmured near her ear. “And crack the egg with one clean hit—like this.”

He showed her, his hand steadying hers as she tried again. She laughed when the yolk didn’t explode everywhere this time, but the sound caught in her throat when she realized just how close he was.

Nate hadn’t meant to lean in so far. His chest brushed lightly against her back, warm and solid. Her soft apple-and-vanilla scent mixed with his, filling his senses until it was almost dizzying. Without realizing it, his face drifted closer to her neck, close enough that his breath grazed her skin.

Alexia subtly shivered, goosebumps rising along her arms, though the sensation was far from unpleasant. She bit down on a giggle, her lips twitching despite the heat pooling in her chest.

Nate smirked against her ear. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head though her lips curved. “I just… never took you as someone who knew how to cook.”

He shrugged, his voice low. “Well, living on your own long enough… you pick up a thing or two.”

She tilted her head slightly, trying to look up at him without breaking the fragile spell between them. “So… no ex-wife? No girlfriend who cooked for you?”

The question made Nate pause. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He thought about the truth—that he’d never had a real relationship. Every woman in his life had been part of a mission, a façade for intel, never anything genuine. He was always the spy, never the man. But Alexia didn’t know that.

“…No,” he admitted softly, shaking his head.

Her head tilted more, her face angling toward his, their lips only inches apart now. His gaze dropped, unbidden, to her mouth.

And then he saw it—a tiny smear of egg yolk under her eye.

Before his mind could catch up, his hand lifted, cupping her cheek. His thumb brushed gently beneath her eye, wiping it away. But instead of pulling back, his hand lingered.

Alexia’s breath hitched at the simple intimacy of the gesture. Her eyes softened, then half-lidded, flicking down to his lips.

Nate’s heart thudded in his chest. Slowly, he leaned in, and she did the same.

Their lips were a hair’s breadth apart when—

BZZZZT. BZZZZT.

Nate jumped, nearly knocking the bowl off the counter. He scrambled for his phone, pressing it to his ear. “Dr. Nathaniel Atkins.” His voice was brisk, controlled, though his pulse was anything but.

Alexia bit her lower lip, trying to process what had almost happened. Her cheeks burned, her hands fidgeting against the counter.

Nate hung up a moment later, dragging a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh. “Another emergency at work… Um.” He cleared his throat, glancing at the mess around them. “Just—order out again, I guess. I’ll make the spaghetti and meatballs this weekend.”

The words sounded flat even to him.

Alexia nodded, forcing a small, steady voice. “Y-yeah. Pizza. The kids love pizza.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the weight of the almost-kiss heavy in the silence.

Finally, Alexia cleared her throat and gave him a shy, almost playful smile. “Don’t get hurt this time.”

Nate’s lips quirked into a smirk, though his eyes were still conflicted. “I’ll try… Night, Alexia.”

“Night, Nate.”

He glanced down at the floor, then shrugged his jacket on. But before stepping out the door, he looked back one last time, his eyes lingering on her as though memorizing the moment. Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Alexia let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, pressing a hand to her racing heart.

The city lights blurred past as Nate drove, his jaw tight and one hand gripping the wheel harder than necessary. His chest still felt constricted, like he couldn’t quite breathe right since leaving the kitchen.

What the hell was that?

He had been trained his whole life to control everything—his body, his words, his thoughts. Emotions were dangerous. Feelings were messy. Attachments were liabilities. They clouded judgment, dulled instincts, and made you weak. And weakness in his line of work could get you killed.

He knew this. He believed this. He had lived this.

Yet… when Alexia looked at him with those soft brown eyes, when she laughed, when she stood there covered in flour and still managed to take his breath away—he lost control. For a moment, in that kitchen, he hadn’t been Agent Steele. He hadn’t been the spy. He had just been… a man who wanted to kiss her.

And that was a problem.

Because spies didn’t kiss. Spies didn’t want. Spies didn’t feel.

But somehow, Alexia was different. Somehow, she slipped through the cracks in his armor, and he didn’t know if he could stop her.

Nate’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel as a cold thought pressed into him.

If he didn’t regain control, if he let these feelings grow, Alexia wouldn’t just be his weakness.

She would be his downfall.

Nate stepped into the dimly lit briefing room, the faint hum of the psychiatric ward above masking the quiet tension below. Kristen, Rose, and Kevin were already waiting, seated around the polished oak table that served as their war room.

Kristen’s cold, unblinking eyes shifted to him the moment he entered. “Agent Steele,” she said flatly, though there was the faintest flicker in her gaze—a glint so rare it made Nate’s stomach twist. “Your children… and Miguel Monroe. They both won the cruise, did they not?”

Nate’s jaw flexed. She already knew—she always did. Still, he gave a small nod. “They did.”

Kristen leaned back in her chair, the shadows making her face appear even more hollow, carved of stone. Her voice was steady, monotone, but threaded with something sharper than usual. “Good. Then this will be simpler than anticipated.”

Rose crossed her legs gracefully, her red dress far too striking for the underground gloom. “Simpler, but not without risk,” she said with a faint smile. “A cruise ship is a confined space. If something goes wrong…” she trailed off, letting the silence finish her thought.

Kevin smirked from where he lounged against the wall, arms crossed. “Which is exactly why we’ll be there.”

Kristen’s gaze snapped to the two of them. “Rose, Kevin—you will be joining the cruise as well. You’ll pose as affluent tourists. Blend in. Keep your distance, but watch for any irregularities. If The Resistance makes a move, I want eyes on it immediately.”

Rose tilted her head, her smile widening just slightly. “So, sip champagne, wear expensive clothes, and keep an eye out for traitors? I can manage that.”

Kevin gave a low chuckle. “I’ve always wanted to see the ocean anyway.”

Nate stood silently, his jaw tight, listening as Kristen’s words weighed heavier than the others seemed to realize. A family cruise, the Monroes, The Order’s shadow agents—and the twins caught in the middle.

Kristen’s eyes fixed back on him, cold and calculating. “Agent Steele, this is your chance. Use the children. Use the family. Get close to Cisco Monroe. On that ship, there will be nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Bring us results.”

Nate gave a short nod, but inside, his thoughts churned. The children, Alexia, the Monroes—all trapped together on a floating palace.

And Kristen had just set the stage.