The one thing that I absolutely adored was his kitchen. He had an eight-burner La Cornue range, two sinks, a kitchen island the size of a car, and a walk-in pantry that was bigger than an average clothes closet.
I walked into the kitchen and pulled the chicken out of the fridge along with the other ingredients to get dinner started.
Wolfe was on the couch in his sweats, texting someone on his phone with the large TV showing a soccer game. We never watched TV at my villa. I had one in the living room, but I only had it on for background noise.
He left the couch and joined me in the kitchen. “I can have the maid cook for us.”
“No, this is my joy,” I said as I rinsed the chicken in the water from the faucet before I patted it dry.
“Can I help?”
“I don’t need help.”
“Alright.” He leaned in and kissed me as he squeezed my ass. He went into the pantry and pulled out a bottle of wine before he uncorked it on the counter. He poured himself a glass then sat on one of the barstools across the kitchen island. He pulled out his phone and continued whatever he was doing while I worked in the kitchen.
It was a comfortable silence, me cooking the chicken on the stove while the potatoes boiled in the pot. The kitchen and living room started to smell like a home-cooked meal, and the enormous house started to feel cozy like it’d finally been broken in.
When everything was finished, I plated it and carried it to the dining table.
He sat across from me and feasted on the food with just his stare. “Damn, this looks good.” Clouds of steam rose from the food because it was piping hot and fresh. My dining table couldonly seat four people, but his could fit twelve. Everything in this house was thrice the size.
He cut into his chicken then swiped it through the fluffy mashed potatoes before he took a bite. “Fuck, that hits the spot.”
I liked to cook because it was a hobby and a passion, but his love for my food was another incentive. He did so much to make me happy, and I was glad I had something to offer in return.
We ate in silence for a while, the two of us enjoying our meal until our stomachs started to feel warm and full.
He stared at me across the table, taking his time chewing his bite. “How are you?”
After I’d gotten home yesterday, I’d taken a long shower and gone to bed. It wasn’t even eight in the evening when I slid into the sheets and drifted off. I was probably exhausted from not sleeping the night before, and the emotional turmoil of my conversation with my father knocked me off my feet. I was just exhausted, physically and emotionally. When I’d woken up today, I’d felt a bit more like myself. “A little better…I guess.”
He gave a slight nod but didn’t follow up with further questions.
I never told him what had happened. I was just too distraught to put it into words at the time. What I needed was a safe place to come undone, and he gave that to me without objection.
I pushed a piece of chicken around with my fork and rolled it in the mashed potatoes.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s okay.” I continued to play with my food for a bit before I found the courage to look at him again. “He repeated what hesaid to you, that he doesn’t trust you. I gave him a piece of my mind about all that, but he’s so fucking stubborn.”
“Thank god you don’t get that from him.”
I gave a weak chuckle. “Yeah, definitely.”
He moved his elbows to the table and brought his hands together as he waited for me to continue.
“He said it was unfortunate that I can’t see through your lies and manipulation. And if I want to continue this relationship with you, then I’m not the right person to run the business.” I still couldn’t believe my father had tried to manipulate me like that, by withholding a promised position to ensure my cooperation. “And I agreed and left.”
He inhaled a slow breath that said so much without his actually saying a word.
“Our private relationship is not a reflection of your trustworthiness to my family, but he didn’t see it that way. We couldn’t agree on a single thing, and he wouldn’t see my perspective on any of it, no matter what I said. So I didn’t have a choice but to leave.”
“You did have a choice.”
My eyes had moved to the table, but they flicked back to him.
“But you chose me.”
