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Isit enough for me? Something in his tone makes me think he’s not just asking about my charity work, but my life in general.
“I wanted to open up a community restaurant,” I say after several protracted moments.
“A community restaurant?” He scrunches his brows.
“It’s like a combination soup kitchen and restaurant. Anyone can eat there. If you can’t afford to pay, you can do so by volunteering at the restaurant. All the food would be healthy, locally sourced gourmet meals.”
“Why didn’t you pursue it?”
“That requires money.” I smile sadly. “Anytime I want to do something that costs a substantial amount of capital, I need approval before the royal household agrees to open the privy purse, as I call it.”
“And they told you no.”
I taste the potatoes, content with the rich flavor. “They believed it wasn’t the right project for someone of my…status. But I’d bet all the money in the privy purse it was my grandmother’s doing. She may not have been able to stop me from attending culinary school, not once my father stood up for me. But she could certainly use the so-called powers of the purse to prevent me from continuing to pursue this passion. Essentially tie my hands in the hopes I’d give up and come home.”
While I don’t know for certain that’s why the royal household refused to support my initiative, based on my grandmother’s past actions, I can all but guarantee that’s precisely what happened.
“But they’re okay with you helping trafficking victims? You’re still using your culinary background to teach them those skills. Are you not?”
“I sold it as an education program. Some of these girls were taken from their homes when they were barely teenagers. They’ve been completely reconditioned to believe their only value is in selling their bodies. My organization tries to remove that idea from them. Give them a safe place to learn everything they missed when held prisoner. And one of the necessary survival skills just happens to be cooking.” I wink, giving him a mischievous smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes.
“It sounds like a great program, and much needed, since we all know how prevalent human trafficking is here in Europe.”
“Precisely.”
“But why settle?”
“What do you mean?”
He refocuses his attention on carving the chicken, his strong hand working the knife into the breast bone.
“If you’re going to put your time and effort into something, shouldn’t it be something you truly love? That you’re passionate about? It sounds like you’re much more passionate about the idea of starting a community kitchen. I could be wrong, but teaching young women how to cook isn’t the same as running a kitchen like you have been today.”
He lifts his eyes to mine, and I have to push down the butterflies erupting in my stomach from the sincerity within his dark, penetrating orbs.
“I’ve watched you all day. You’re a natural. And you seem genuinely…happy.”
“Iamhappy.”
“What about Tristan?” He licks his lips, obviously not too keen on mentioning him. “He’s wealthy. Why not ask him?”
“We don’t have that kind of relationship.” I grip my masher tighter as I work on the next batch of potatoes that Archie just placed in front of me. “Plus, I never told him about it.”
Creed darts his gaze toward mine. “Why not?”
“I never told anyone about it. Not after the royal household told me no. Figured it didn’t matter.”
“But you’re telling me?”
I stop mashing and meet his eyes. “I am.”
“Why?”
I shake my head, searching my brain for a valid reason, coming up empty. “It just feels…right.”
A slight smile curves on his lips as he traces his stare over my features.
For the briefest of moments, I’m transported back nine years. To the night of my twenty-fifth birthday. The last time we worked in a kitchen together.
