Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 158(@200wpm)___ 126(@250wpm)___ 105(@300wpm)
“Christmas Eve dinner?” I repeat, attempting to process his out-of-the-blue request.
The restaurant is closed for the holiday week, but that means I’m supposed to be with my family—more importantly, my sister and best friend, Anabelle.
“Yes. I know this is last minute and everything, but I’m sure we can get everything you need.” Last minute? It’s freaking tomorrow. What in the world is he thinking?
His phone buzzes, and he pulls his cell out before I can form a proper response aside from “are you out of your fucking mind?!” My eyes try to peer over just in case it’s Franco, but I begin to teeter so I straighten myself up. He doesn’t notice as he just sends off a quick text and stuffs the phone back into his pocket.
He looks at me with wide eyes and I explain, “I’m supposed to be hanging with my sister for the holidays.”
Ignoring my reason for declining, he smiles and says, “The castle’s beautiful.” I’m about to protest when he adds, “You and your sister can hang out in your own suite if you want. It’s a pretty magical-looking place.”
“Are you sure he’s going to want me there? It’s not like he knows me. He’s only had my food.” I leave out that brief kiss because they’ve both probably forgot it.
“Trust me when I tell you he wants you there.” I could swear the way he says it has nothing to do with a meal. I take a deep breath to control my racing heart because I can’t get my hopes up that he’ll ever want me.
“I suppose I can convince my sister to go. She loves food, so that’s my best enticement. Is there anything specific that you want for dinner?”
“Can you make your usual for him as well as the traditional Christmas turkey dinner?” he asks.
“Sure. If that’s what you want. How many people am I serving?” I haven’t forgotten his order, and it has become one of the restaurant’s most requested meals.
“About ten, but since we might want more, prepare for twelve.” Wow, I’m getting more nervous by the second.
“Sounds good,” I say, even though every part of me is trembling inside.
“Thank you, Isabelle.” Fabio smiles with such a heartwarming authenticity that I know his words aren’t just hollow.
He helps around the restaurant, alerting me that he’s already purchased the food for some traditional Christmas meals as well as Franco’s favorite dish, and that it’s all in the cooler. “If I load it into your trunk tonight, it should stay nice and frozen until tomorrow so you don’t have to take it out. We’ll do that when you get there.” Damn right. It’s going to get down to ten degrees overnight.
“Sounds good. I don’t want to have any relapses.”
“You haven’t been hurting too much, have you?”
“No. I’m good. Most of the staff has picked up my slack. I’m feeling much better and don’t have to take anything more than an over-the-counter pain reliever.”
“That’s great. I can’t thank you enough for doing this. Also, it would be great if you could make it there pretty early.”
“What time is early?”
“Ten. We’re expecting a storm later on, so it would be good to get ahead of it.”
“That’s smart, and besides—the food could use the prep time.”
“You’re a godsend, Isabelle,” he says, grabbing my biceps and kissing my cheek. “My mother will be thrilled to have you there. Hell, all of my family will be begging to hire you privately as their personal chef.”
“I doubt they would offer more than you pay, so it would be a hard no.” Unless it was Franco. For him, I’d make him anything he wants for free, although he’d have to keep me locked away so no one would steal my excellent cooking. Goodness. The image of Franco and I being trapped in his castle together would be the highlight of life.
I finish up at the restaurant, and Fabio helps me load my vehicle. Actually, he pretty much does all the work and even closes the trunk for me, although I suppose it is a nice thing to have a man’s help getting stuff done. It’s the damn reason my shoulder messed up on me in the first place. I might be a chef, but I’m pretty dainty and when we moved into our home, I lifted the sofa wrong. Being forced to use it every day has only made it worse until I had that surgery six weeks ago.
“Goodnight.” I get in my car and as expected, before I even pull out of my spot, I have a text from my boss with my crush’s address. I wish I had this years ago, and then I would have found a reason to accidentally get lost up there.
I call my sister with the Bluetooth on my steering wheel. “Hey, are you done for the day?”