And it’s then I remember that Black Gold hasthreerestaurants downstairs: one for greasy junk food, one for high-end gourmet, and one for pastries and hot beverage.
Meaning, he could’veeasilysent up food ages ago.
Son.Of.A.Bitch.
He’s been starving me on purpose.A petty, deliberate punishment.No wonder he didn’t want me leaving the room.
Righteous indignation flares under my skin as I slowly turn to glare at him, now comfortably settled behind his desk, pleased with himself.
“Ti degheneraat,you know that?”I hiss.
“Pick a dialect and stick to it,” he drawls, bored.“You toss around so many I can’t tell where the hell you’re actually from.”
“That’s Russian for ‘you’re adegenerate,’ asstwit.”
He smiles.Smiles.The smug little shit.“You’re welcome.”
My hands twitch with the urge to smash this delectable plate of food right into his face.Alas, my growling stomach reminds me that’s not an option.
Ceding him the win, I unwrap the silverware and dig in.
Andoh…
Oh...
This dish isperfect.The flavors, divine.Every bite, a symphony.
Maybe… just maybe… it was worth the wait.
A knock comes at the door just as I’m stuffing in a perfectly crisp roasted potato.
Stefano doesn’t even look up.“Come in.”
A slender blonde woman walks in, closing the door behind her.When she notices me, she offers a slight nod then looks to Stefano.“Should I come back later?”
“Don’t mind her.”He stands, shrugging out of his jacket.“She’s merely an unplanned nuisance.”
“Ditto,” I mutter under my breath, forking another slice of potato.
“You’re right on time,” he continues, tossing his jacket over the back of his chair and moving toward the leather recliner in the corner.“It’s been a verytestyday.”
The woman crosses to the side table beside the recliner, retrieving a small wooden box.She flips it open to reveal several tiny glass bottles, each labeled in neat script.Essential oils.
Stefano settles back in the chair like a Roman emperor, and the woman gets to work, fingertips massaging his temples, forehead, scalp, neck, behind his ears…
Chamomile.Peppermint.Lavender.
The familiar scents drift through the room, tugging at old memories.I’ve seen this ritual before.Countless times, sprawled on the floor of my dad’s office while his personal masseuse worked to ease the pain of his chronic migraines.The patterns, the oils, the dimmed hush of the room…it’s all too familiar.
With the thought of Dad comes a quiet twinge in my chest.This is the longest I’ve ever gone without speaking to him.Dad’s always been my person.My favorite human in the world.
But my mom is his.And she and I…we don’t see eye to eye.
If I called him now, just to hear his voice, he would try to convince me to bend.To do what she wants.To be the obedient daughter again.
But I’m not willing to let her win.Not this time.
After devouring every last morsel, leaving nothing but lobster shells gleaming in buttery defeat, I sit back and sneak a glance at Stefano.
