Page 34 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

Of course, nobody picks up on my psychic request.

“No, please stay!” Cat–sweet, generous, doesn’t-know-she’s-ruining-my-life Cat—exclaims. “We’re celebrating, and the more, the merrier.”

“Yeah, Mama Bishop!” Ryan adds. “We haven’t seen you since graduation.”

“Come to my house anytime,” Mama Bishop says. “You need someone to feed you! Obviously my tesoro hasn’t done his job, because you look far too skinny.”

“I cook for Ryan plenty,” Beau mutters.

“Hello, Alessandra,” Nate says, standing and reaching out his hand. Beau’s mother scoffs at the handshake attempt and pulls him into a bear hug instead. Even though she only comes up to midway up Nate’s biceps, she squeezes so hard that Nate’s eyes bug out.

“Shush. Call me Mama, Nathaniel,” she says. “After all, I’ve known you since you wore Superman pajamas.”

“You wore Superman pajamas?” Pippa snorts. “You, Nate Walsh, the man who even takes a shower in his Tom Ford suits?”

Nate raises his chin, ignoring her and putting a hand on Cat’s shoulder. “This is my wife, Cat.”

“I already know who she is,” Alessandra says warmly. “My tesoro showed me pictures of all of his friends’ wives. That’s Maura, and that’s Pippa.” She nods to each of them.

She doesn’t even look at me. My teeth dig into my bottom lip.

“Pippa and I aren’t married yet,” Ryan clarifies.

Alessandra waves a dismissive hand. “You will be soon. Boys, I’d like to introduce you all to Giulia, my friend Sofia’s daughter. She’s moving to Toronto for culinary school, and Beau has promised to show her the ropes.”

My cheeks hurt from the effort of smiling when my face would rather crumple into a hideous frown. Alessandra’s knowing expression reveals it all. She’s sure that once Beau sees the Italian goddess she had shipped over, he’ll fall at her feet and propose right there.

“Giulia, why don’t you take a seat here, by Beau?” Cat suggests sweetly, gesturing to a chair.

“Grazie,” Giulia says. My blood turns to ice when Beau gets to his feet and pulls Giulia’s chair out for her. I’m sure it’s because he has to play the gentleman in front of his mother, but really, couldn’t he be at least a little rude?

“So, are you going to George Brown?” Beau asks her.

Giulia nods. “Is that where you went?”

Beau snorts. “No way. I grew up in kitchens, and everything I know I learned by doing.”

“Beau was practically my sous-chef by the time he was eight,” Alessandra says proudly. “He always worked in the family restaurant.”

“Well, restaurants,” Beau clarifies. “My parents opened a few different restaurants. A food truck, a diner, even a catering business for a while. I saw it all, and I learned how to make a pretty decent burger by second grade.”

My hands clench into tight fists, my fingernails driving moon-shaped divots into my palm. In front of his mother, Beau makes the story of his childhood sound more bohemian and charming than I know it really was. As much as Beau loved it, his parents basically used him as child labor as they moved across the country, trying and failing to open restaurant after restaurant.

The food was never the problem—Alessandra taught Beau to make incredible dishes, just like hers. But Beau’s parents were never on the same page, and they fought constantly as opportunity after opportunity failed to pan out. Sometimes, I think I’m angrier about it than Beau allows himself to be.

“I worked in my family restaurant, too,” Giulia says. “When I left secondary school, I wanted to get far away from food. I was tired of chopping onions and washing off tables. I went to university for chemistry instead.”

“So how did you end up in culinary school?” Beau asks.

She shrugs. “You can’t really escape food. Not when you have to eat it every day. I got to thinking about the way that chemistry and cooking are the same.”

“Let me guess. Molecular gastronomy?”

“Exactly. That’s what I hope to do.”

Beau smiles, and I feel like I’m watching a great first date. They already have so much in common, and they’ve only been talking for two minutes. I must be in hell. The flames must be burning around my feet.

As much as I want to throw a glass of wine in Giulia’s beautiful face, I know I can’t. The feminist inside me is too strong, reminding me that it’s not Giulia’s fault that she’s being thrown at my boyfriend like a tossed pizza crust. I can’t be jealous of her because as far as she knows, Beau’s fully available.