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Henri had given me a list of Renzo’s favourite dishes. I’d also taken advice from his doctor, who had suggested I avoid any foods which were too rich, given the small amount he had been digesting of late. So, I got to work making fresh linguine with lobster in a light tomato sauce in the palatial kitchen as the afternoon edged towards evening.
Kneading and proving the dough for some ciabatta rolls, as well as going through the painstaking process of making the pasta, helped to calm the tangle of nerves in my stomach. But it bothered me to realise how nervous I still was, an hour later, as I climbed the staircase to Renzo’s suite of rooms in the East Wing with his supper.
I knocked sharply on the door. Silence. I knocked twice more, but there was still no response. Renzo knew I was here, he was expecting me, Henri had confirmed as much before he left. I knew he had to be in there, because I hadn’t heard any movement in the house while I worked.
The nerves in my stomach tangled into a tight knot.
Terrific.
For one brief moment, I considered leaving him to stew for tonight. And eating the dinner I’d prepared myself.
That’s the coward’s way out, Jess. You agreed to take this job, so you could finally put that night into perspective. Seeing him again is all part of the process.
I cleared my throat. And called out.
‘Mr Camaro, it’s Jessie Burton, your new chef. I’ve got your supper. Shall I bring it in?’
‘Je n’ai pas faim!’The shout was raw and rusty, the tone full of animosity, but even so the sound of his voice—the fluent French flavoured with his Italian accent—had a shiver rippling down my spine. And triggered the aching pain in my abdomen...
The tray shook in my hands, and I wondered if I had made a massive mistake coming here. It took every molecule of courage I possessed to ignore his shout, push open the door with my backside and walk into the room.
The sitting room of the suite smelled musty, the furniture barely visible in the shadows. The room was much cooler than the rest of the house. I could see the door was open leading into his bedroom, but heavy drapes cut out the light from the stunning sunset I had noticed from the terrace.
I forced myself to cross the sitting room. I tapped on the open bedroom door with my foot then walked in.
‘I said I am not hungry. Do you not understand French?’ The gruff shout from the bed startled me, but I didn’t look round, the knot of nerves in my stomach rising into my throat.
‘Yup, I understood. But I’ve made it now, so I might as well leave it here in case you get hungry later,’ I said briskly, as I marched across the dusty carpet, placed the tray on the dresser beside the balcony doors.
Determined not to be cowed by his attitude, I threw open the drapes and forced open the doors onto a large terrace.
Light streamed into the room, covering the dark wood furniture with a golden haze—but the blast of evening air did little to dispel the scent of despair and hopelessness which hung in the air.
A vicious curse made me swing round. And my gaze landed on the man in the bed—highlighted by the setting sun.
I bit into my lip to hold on to the shocked gasp which wanted to burst out of my mouth.
I had expected Renzo to look different. But I hadn’t expected him to look completely unrecognisable.
The once effortlessly charming and expertly groomed seducer—whose beautiful face and hard lean physique had been able to make any woman sigh—glared at me out of a gaunt sallow face covered in a thick beard. His hair was long and unkempt, his movements laboured and clumsy as he pushed himself up in the bed. The sheet—which from the smell now reaching me I suspected hadn’t been changed in weeks—fell to his waist, revealing the sunken lines of his once magnificent torso. The scars and tattoos I could still remember in far too much detail stretched over the defined ridges of his ribs.
The tangle of nerves was joined by an unwanted surge of horror... And pity.
He looked as if he hadn’t eaten properly in months. And the tight muscle flexing in his cheek suggested he was in some discomfort, a pain which wasn’t just caused by my unexpected presence in his room.
‘Get the hell out of my bedroom,’ he rasped.
I nodded, determined not to react to the surly tone, and the stupid pulse of sympathy.
‘I’ll be back to pick up the tray in the morning,’ I said, because for some stupid reason I didn’t want him to get the last word.
I was hightailing it out of there, though, the tangle of nerves threatening to strangle me, when he growled. ‘Arrête.Who are you? Do I know you?’
I was so shocked, I turned towards him. He was still glaring at me, but now his fierce gaze roamed over my face. My heart galloped into my throat as the familiar sadness coalesced into a ball of misery in my stomach.
‘I’m Jessie Burton. Belle’s cousin,’ I murmured. ‘We met, a long time ago, when she worked for you,’ I added evasively.
It wasn’t a lie, but it was also a long way from the whole truth.
