‘The size of your suitcase suggested you’d packed for a short stay. This is a solution to a potential problem. Unless you plan on wearing those jeans every day for the next week?’
True, in the strong Belizean sun, they felt hot and sticky on her skin. Not to mention they were totally inappropriate for the job she was here to do. When she cooked, she preferred looser, comfortable clothes.
But still. ‘I could’ve sorted my own wardrobe.’
‘You’re here on my schedule. Making time for you to go shopping doesn’t feature on there.’
‘I wouldn’t have—’
‘It was no big deal, Ruby. Let’s move on. It’s time to step up your game. I want to see how you fare with a three-course meal. Michel will assist you if you need it.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d like to eat at seven, which gives you two hours.’
The arrogant dismissal made her hackles rise. The distance between them made her feel on edge, bereft.
She assured herself it was better this way. But deep down, an ache took root.
Michel, Narciso’s chef, greeted her with an openly friendly smile when she entered the kitchen.
‘What do you have in mind for today for monsieur?’ the Frenchman asked. Deep blue eyes remained contemplative as he stared at her.
‘He wants to eat at seven so I was thinking of making a special bruschetta to start and chicken parmigiana main if we have the ingredients?’
‘Of course. I bought fresh supplies this morning from town.’
The mention of town made her wonder when Narciso had bought her clothes. Had he shopped for them himself or given instructions?
Shaking her head to dispel the useless wondering, she followed Michel into the pantry. ‘Oh...heaven!’ She fell on the plump tomatoes and aubergines and squealed when she saw the large heads of truffles carefully packed in a box.
Freshly sliced prosciutto hung from specially lined containers that kept it from drying out and Parma ham stayed cool in a nearby chiller.
Michel took out the deboned chicken breast in the fridge. ‘Would you like me to cut it up for you?’
‘Normally, I’d say yes, but I think it’s best if I do everything myself.’ She smiled to take the sting out of the refusal.
He shrugged. ‘Shout if you need anything.’ After helping himself to a bottle of water, he left her alone.
Ruby selected the best knife and began chopping garlic, onions and the fresh herbs Michel kept in the special potted containers in the pantry.
The sense of calm and pure joy in bringing the ingredients together finally soothed the unsettled feeling she’d experienced for the last forty-eight hours.
Time and anxiety suspended, and her thoughts floated away as she immersed herself in her one salvation—the joy of cooking.
She started on the caviar-topped bruschetta with ricotta and peppers while the parmigiana was in the last stages of cooking.
Setting it out on a sterling-silver tray, she headed upstairs to where the crew had set the table.
Her feet slowed when she saw the extra place setting, then she stopped completely at the intimacy created by the dim lighting and lit candles. Her stomach fluttered wildly as steel butterflies took flight inside her.