Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
A soft noise like a yawn sounds from the hallway. Quickly, we pull apart, putting a respectable distance between us in time for Petra to enter the room.
“Oh, good, you’re back,” Petra says. I pray she doesn’t think twice about Eden’s flushed cheeks and my creased suit.
“Hey Mom,” Eden says, a little breathless. “What’re you doing out of bed?”
“I was feeling better this afternoon, so I decided to walk around for a little bit.”
Eden smiles at her mother. “That’s great, Mom. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
Petra hums in agreement, her gaze landing on the presents under the tree. “My goodness, Eden, did you buy the whole store?”
“Oh, well…” Eden wrings her hands together. “Christian helped me shop for presents for everyone.”
Petra turns to me, her gaze shrewd and curious. “You went shopping together?”
“I had the afternoon off,” I say, keeping my tone casual, even as my pulse picks up. Despite the fact that I tower over Petra, I find her assessing stare unsettling. This woman has the power to take away the most important person in my world.
“It’s getting close to dinnertime.” Eden takes her mother’s hand and guides her toward the door. “I was thinking we could make kotlet de volaille. We haven’t made it in a while.”
“That does sound nice,” Petra agrees, letting Eden bring her to the kitchen.
I spend another minute in the living room, trying to collect myself and calm my sprinting pulse. When I finally join the women in the kitchen, Eden and Petra are in full Hell’s Kitchen mode, pulling various ingredients from the cabinets, fridge, and spice drawer.
“What’s on the menu tonight, chefs?” I ask.
“Kotlet de volaille,” Eden says. “It’s basically the Polish version of Chicken Kiev.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Petra raises an eyebrow. “You like to cook, Christian?”
“I’m no Iron Chef, but I know my way around a kitchen.”
“In that case—” Petra points at the potatoes on the counter. “—why don’t you peel the potatoes for the placki ziemniaczane?”
“Potato pancakes,” Eden translates.
“Very well,” I say. “I’ll do it with relish, though I can’t shake the feeling that I’m merely being placated.”
Eden laughs. “Don’t take it personally. Mom’s kind of a control freak when it comes to Polish food.”
“They’re my mother’s recipes,” Petra says with a shrug.
I find the peeler and begin skinning the potatoes, stealing every glance I can spare in Eden’s direction. When Petra’s hands start to shake, Eden discreetly takes over.
“Mom, remind me how much oil goes in the pan?”
“Here, I’ll do it.” Petra washes her hands and then moves over to the stove, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Eden has now taken up her previous post.
I can’t help smiling to myself at how thoughtful Eden is regarding her mother’s limitations. Every minute I spend with her makes me fall more and more in love.
The three of us keep up the light conversation as we finish making dinner. Just as the three of us are sitting down to eat, the elevator dings in the foyer.
My jaw clenches as Brittany waltzes into the dining room.
“What’s all this?” Her lip curls as she surveys the table.
“Polish stuffed chicken and potato pancakes,” I tell her, gaze narrowed. “There’s more food in the kitchen, if you’d like to join us.”
Part of me hopes she already ate.
“I’d love to have dinner with you guys.” Her lips pull apart in a wide smile, and I’m instantly on high alert.
Brittany disappears into the kitchen and emerges with a plate of food and a handful of silverware. I watch her closely throughout the meal, wondering what her game is. I catch Eden watching her, too. But as rude as Brittany has been in the past, she’s the picture of decorum tonight.
“We’ll have to decide on a menu for Christmas dinner,” Petra says. “You’ll be here for Christmas, won’t you, Brittany?”
My daughter nods. “Yes, I will.”
“Do you have a favorite dish or cuisine?”
Brittany takes what seems like an excessive amount of time to chew and swallow her chicken. “Not especially. I’m much more interested in the presents. Speaking of presents, what are you getting me this year, Dad?”
I eye her warily. “If I told you, that would ruin the surprise.”
“Oh, but I’m just dying to know. How about you let me guess?”
“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “You get one guess.”
“How about…a white gold charm bracelet from Cartier.”
My whole body goes taut as my mind wanders to the charm bracelet I bought for Eden this afternoon, the same one she made sure to hide in her room instant we arrived home.
“Nope,” I say curtly. “Good guess, though.”
“Really?” Brittany crosses her arms. “I guess I just assumed, since I saw you and Eden shopping there this afternoon.”
Eden’s eyes widen in fear. I fight to keep my expression neutral as I raise my glass of red wine to my lips.