I keep my eyes carefully trained on the form in my hands. "The cake is the only thing I'm interested in speaking to you about."

"God, you're even more beautiful than I remember." Dante's voice is low, rough. "But just as feisty."

Something flutters in my stomach at those words, but anger quickly suppresses the sensation.

"What do you want?" I demand. "Why the hell are you here?"

"I should think that would be obvious," he says. "I'm here to ...