AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Isabella,
Where are you staying in New York? I’ll get your suitcase to you.
Gabe.
It wasn’t exactly poetry, but at this stage, it was the best he could give. He didn’t want to anger her further with any more mixed messages.
He didn’t hear back for hours. Gabe used the time to organise a tow truck for the hire car and deal with the rental company. It was the kind of logistical exercise he relished. Black and white, detail orientated, one foot after another until it was dealt with.
Sometime after lunch, an email pinged on his phone. He clicked into it faster than lightning.
Date: 29 December
Subject: RE:Your suitcase
Hi Gabe,
I’ve bought what I need so the suitcase can go to my assistant in Australia.
PO BOX 382-1a, Broadbeach, QLD.
As I said, naturally I’ll cover any costs incurred. Please forward her an invoice.
Thanks,
Isabella.
He made a guttural noise of frustration and put his phone down far too heavily, glowering at the window. He’d wondered if she might do something like that – and he’d been right.
She obviously wanted nothing more to do with him, and he couldn’t even blame her. The things he’d said about her and their relationship had painted it in the worst possible light. He’d just wanted people to stop asking him about her and their relationship, that was all.
A long time ago, Gabe had made the decision that he didn’t deserve happiness or the kind of happily ever after everyone else in his family seemed to have found – he’d taken Carmen’s future and he deserved to carry that with him every day – that was his marriage, in a sense, his dying commitment. He’d never wanted a relationship, and he still didn’t. But he couldn’t bear to think of Isabella thinking he’d actually meant what he’d said to Nico. He couldn’t bear to think of her imagining that she meant nothing to him.
He had to find a way to fix that at least – he owed her that much.
16
BEING IN THE KITCHEN was good for Isabella. It was like slipping into a pair of comfortable old slippers. She knew what to do, how to behave. Everything about it was familiar. She’d spent two days prepping for the New Years Eve dinner and now, everything was ready. The exclusive venue with views out over Times Square had been decorated with a single table and eleven chairs after a last-minute addition of some mega donor, who’d paid five times the ticket price to secure a seat.
She hadn’t had time to look into the details, but the contribution alone meant she’d never dream of saying ‘no’.
Nerves – the good kind – fired through her as the hour drew close for guests to arrive. She had just enough time to go back to her hotel and change into a fresh outfit – sleek black pants, a gold metallic singlet which she wore under a crisp white chef’s jacket with her YouTube show’s name emblazoned across the left breast.
She wore minimal make up and secured her hair in a high bun. In a tilt of the cap to the event, she added a pair of dangly earrings, gold to match her top. After the cooking was done, she’d be expected to join the table, to share stories over cognac. It was a photo opportunity to raise profile for her professionally, and also to highlight the charitable work she was involved in.
All in all, it was a night Isabella had been looking forward to for a long time. But Gabe was everywhere. He’d taken over her mind as she’d cooked, as she’d chopped, as she’d rinsed her knives; he’d been in her head as she’d kneaded bread, whisked zabaglione, cracked eggs. She’d seen him as vividly as if he’d been there, and her heart had never once stopped aching.
She’d cooked a feast fit for eleven kings and queens but she herself had barely eaten in days. An apple with her coffee in the mornings and a dry biscuit in the afternoons, perhaps a piece of toast for dinner, but nothing more. She couldn’t do it.
Meeting with her publishers had required a maximum of effort – to appear happy and vibrant, to talk excitedly about a book that now bore all the flavours of Gabe’s recipes, and his grandmother’s traditions. Her heart was impossibly heavy.
She caught a taxi back to the restaurant and ran through the final checklist with her team, educating the waitstaff on the dishes, presenting each with a tasting platter so they could speak confidently about what was being served, describing each wine that would pair with the dishes. She ran through the motions as she’d done for countless other dinners in the past, putting herself into work ‘autopilot’ mode until the first guests arrived.
She supposed she should be grateful to Gabe. Obsessing over him, grieving him, had meant she’d had very little time to dwell on the fact she was about to cook for some of the most famous individuals in the world.
A pop star was the first to arrive, her music famous globally, bright, bubbly and unmistakably kind, she raved about Isabella’s most recent recipe book so that Isabella felt more comfortable. A couple were next – Hollywood actors and devoted philanthropists. They knew the first guest. A recording industry executive was next, followed by two financiers, a rock star, a woman who was famous for property development in Manhattan, a world number one tennis player, and then a Senator.
