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She turned back to him as she was putting on an apron. “Are you kidding? That will take hours.”
He grunted.
She gritted her teeth. “Why do we need a seven-layer, strawberry-lemon cake?”
“Because I said so.” There was an incredulous note to his voice as though he couldn’t understand why she was asking. “I think it should be our signature dessert. If you can make one.”
“I can make one.” She hoped. She’d never actually tried but there had to be a recipe she could follow. “But I don’t see the point of making it now. The restaurant doesn’t open for another few weeks.”
“The point is to make sure you can make it. No use putting it on the menu if it tastes like shit.”
She rolled her eyes. Renard thought everything she made would be shit. Until he tasted it. Then the best she ever got from him was an “it’s okay.” Last night she’d had a dream where he’d asked her to taste one of his dishes. She’d turned to him and told him it was “okay.” Then she’d run like hell.
Jamie let out a delighted cry as he played with his favorite toy, an old stuffed elephant, and she smiled. Kind of hard to run like hell with two infants in tow.
“All right, I’ll make the cake.”
He didn’t reply. As though he’d never considered she’d do anything else.
A few hours later she was cursing that bastard. The cake wasn’t working, her back was aching, and she’d had to stop several times to soothe the boys, who were both restless today.
Great. Just great.
“Doesn’t look like any sort of strawberry-lemon cake I’ve ever eaten before.” Renard gave her cake a disparaging look.
She glared up at him. “I’m getting there.”
“Could have fooled me.”
She moved away to grab a cold soda out of the fridge. She needed a break. She tried to twist off the top. God damn it, why couldn’t Saxon stock cans like everyone else? Instead, he had these fancy sodas in glass bottles. Why did they make these things so hard to get into? Caleb let out a cry as she reached for a knife to pry the top open. The knife slipped and sliced into the side of her hand. With a cry, she dropped the bottle and the glass shattered.
Fuck. Shit.
She held the cries inside through sheer force of will, even as she doubled over in pain, holding her hand close to her chest as though that would ease the agony.
“Hell! What the fuck did you do that for?”
“Well, I didn’t do it on fucking purpose!” she spat back at Renard, pushed beyond endurance. “The knife fucking slipped.”
There was silence. Even Caleb had stopped making noise, as though shocked by the tone of her voice. Jesus, get it together, Aspen. She sucked in a breath then cried out as Renard wrapped her bleeding hand in a clean towel.
“Hold it up,” he snapped at her, pushing her hand up into the air.
She gritted her teeth against the pain. The boys started crying, big fat tears running down their faces. Shit. She had to get herself together.
“It’s okay, darlings. Mommy’s all right. It’s just a little cut. Nothing to cry about.”
“Looked like more than a little cut to me,” Renard muttered, leading her over to a chair. He pulled it out and pushed forcefully on her shoulders until she sat.
“I’m trying to reassure them,” she told him.
He glanced over at the boys and she thought he was going to argue. Then he nodded. “Children should be protected.” He turned to the boys. “Mommy’s going to be fine. Stop your crying now.”
She shook her head. She was surrounded by men who seemed to think that everyone else would just jump to do their bidding. Including six-month-old boys.
“They’re not just going to . . .” she trailed off as she realized they had stopped crying. She gave both boys a look. “We’re going to have a chat after—” Drat. What the hell was she going to do? She’d seen the gash in her hand and it didn’t look good. What if it was so bad she couldn’t work?
Fuck. Fuck.
