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“So? That’s what he deserves.”
“Maybe so, but you’ve spent your whole life trying to atone and remove yourself from his sins. From what I remember, you punished yourself daily. I doubt that’s changed. So unless you want his death on your conscience—”
“Fuck you, Henri. What do you know about my conscience?” But even as Priest squeezed his eyes shut, he knew that Henri understood him almost as well as Julien did, which only served to piss him off more. “Why tell me any of this at all?”
“Because you deserve to know. Because you would’ve told me if things were reversed. I thought you’d want a heads-up.”
Priest shook his head. What a fucking nightmare this was turning out to be. “I hope you’re not expecting a thank you.”
“From you?” Henri scoffed. “Never. But Priest?”
“What?” Priest said, as his fingers tightened around the phone.
“This number you called from today, it’s private. That’s good. But change your cell. I hate pain as much as the next man, and who knows who’s listening.”
Priest didn’t have anything to say in response to that. He knew exactly what Henri was telling him: Change your number in case someone discovers we’ve talked and they try and get it out of me.
“Consider it changed.”
“Call me next week, that’s when I’ll know more. See you around…Priest,” Henri said, and as Priest hung up, all he could think was: I sure as fuck hope not.
Chapter Four
CONFESSION
It’s true what they say:
Love makes you do stupid, crazy things.
Or, in my case, break a few laws.
JULIEN WALKED INSIDE the space that had become a second home to him since moving to Chicago, and took in the familiar and comforting atmosphere of the kitchen that greeted him.
Along three of the outer walls ran stainless-steel food-prep stations in the shape of a horseshoe, and at the far end was the hand- and dish-washing area. In the center of the kitchen, where the true magic happened, there were four industrial-sized gas ranges with ovens facing one another, and overhead were the enormous exhaust hoods to funnel out the steam and heat produced over the course of hours spent on prep and cooking.
Under the counters were the pots, pans, mixers, and food processors—anything and everything one would need to make it through a night of cooking in a five-star restaurant. But Julien led Robbie past all of that to the walk-in refrigeration unit where they could decide what they were going to cook today.
“Have you ever been in a restaurant’s kitchen, princesse?”
“Only in my dreams,” Robbie said, and when Julien looked at him over his shoulder, Robbie grinned. “Okay, that would be a no. But I feel like I practically lived in one for months because I watched this show where a super-hot French-American chef won. You might’ve heard of it.”
Julien rolled his eyes and continued over to the fridge. “You might want to retie that coat of yours. It’s a little chilly in here,” he said, and then unlocked and opened the locker door to walk inside.
“Wow,” Robbie said, and knotted the belt at his waist as he stepped in behind Julien and looked at the rows of food in front of them.
“Right now we only have the bare minimum of everything, so the crew can familiarize themselves with the menu we’ll be serving. But if you have an idea of something you’d like to cook, let me know and I can see if I have what we need.”
Robbie scanned the shelves in front of him, and as he walked deeper into the unit, Julien watched him go, curious what he would pick out for them.
“Did you always want to be a chef?” Robbie asked, as he walked past a shelf full of colorful fruits and vegetables.
“Always,” Julien said, as Robbie picked up a cantaloupe and brought it to his nose.
“Really?”
“Mhmm. Almost every memory I have as a child somehow involves food. Whether it be cooking it or eating it. My dad worked a lot and my mom loved to cook. So she and our chef, Aurélien, would teach Jacquelyn and me their favorite recipes. It seemed like a natural choice in the end.”
“They must be very proud of you, then,” Robbie said, as he put the fruit back on the shelf.
Not even a little bit, Julien thought, but said nothing as Robbie continued to pick up different pieces of produce to examine. He wasn’t about to lay all of that history at Robbie’s feet today—not now. He wanted to share his passion for cooking and creating, give Robbie a chance to breathe after the heaviness he’d walked into last night with Priest. But as Julien stood there, he was finding it difficult to push aside the memories now invading his personal space.
“They live in L.A., right? Your parents?” Robbie continued, unaware of the emotions his questions were bringing to the surface, and Julien could tell he wasn’t asking to be pushy or nosey but because he truly wanted to know more.
