Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61872 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
A petite man with corkscrew brown curls springing out from under his big white chef’s hat is leaning over an oven. He's the one singing along with Pavarotti. His voice rises to a crescendo.
The chef’s aura is sparkling yellow with touches of pink. Buttons watches him almost fondly, an expression so far from his usual prim and proper look, it gives me whiplash.
When the music dies away, Buttons clears his throat.
The shorter man whirls around, his curls flying this way and that. A stream of Italian flows from his mouth. I only catch a few words– mio cuore, my heart, and non dovresti, you should not.
“Chef Giampi,” Buttons says in a voice a few degrees more relaxed than his usual stuffy tone. “May I present to you, Miss–”
“Please just call me Tabitha,” I interrupt.
“Ah yes,” Chep Giampi looks at me like I’m his long-lost sister. He runs over, sketches a bow, grabs my hand, and kisses it. “It is a pleasure to meet you. What brings you to my kitchen today?”
My stomach enters the conversation, gurgling loud enough to rival the opening strains of Nessun dorma. Chef Giampi runs to press a floury finger to the music system. The music volume cuts down to a barely audible hum.
“La colazione?” The chef opens the oven and a yeasty blend of baking dough and cinnamon sugar hits me. My stomach roars.
“Yes,” Buttons guides me to a stool at the island. “The lady is hungry. I’ll make tea.”
Giampi rushes around, flinging dish towels and opening and closing cupboards. Buttons works more methodically, opening a fridge and setting a bowl of fresh figs in front of me.
“Start with these,” he says and busies himself with a red tea kettle.
I grab a fig and pop it into my mouth to silence the beast in my belly, but then I feel rude. “I don’t want to intrude. If it’s too much trouble–”
“No, is no trouble!” Giampi shouts. He’s at the other end of the butcher block, half disappeared in a cloud of flour. “I make you sfogliatella, the way my nonna told me. You will think you have been kissed by an angel.”
Sfogliatelle is a lobster claw, a decadent pastry filled with cream. “I really don’t need…”
“Allow him to bake for you,” Buttons advises. He sets down a full tea service: a little pitcher of milk, a bowl of sugar, a sturdy tea mug with a matching saucer. All the pottery has the same print as the vases and walls. “The pastry will not go to waste. There are plenty of soldiers here to eat them.”
“Soldiers?”
“Oh yes. Master Dieter has generously allowed the staff a month off for the holidays, but his mercenary types are still here.” He sniffs like he doesn’t approve.
Mercenary types? Maybe that’s who I heard when I was trying to escape. Soldiers patrolling.
“Really?”
“Yes. Perhaps you’ve seen them training in the courtyard?”
“Um, no. I haven’t really gotten out of my room that much…”
“That is why I was coming to fetch you. No reason for you to be cooped up, unless you decide you want to rest.”
“Oh no, I’m rested enough.”
“Then this is just what you need. We enjoy the company.”
“Thank you. I didn’t really want to eat alone in the dining room. I mean who does that?” I wrinkle my nose.
“Il Senore prefers to eat solo,” Giampi says.
“Il Senore being Master Dieter,” Buttons says. The two of them weave around each other in a practiced dance. When they’re close to each other, both their auras change to pink and blend together seamlessly. Pink is heart chakra energy. Love.
I need to stop staring. “Well, I'm not him,” I say, unfolding the napkin Buttons placed by my side, along with a place and cutlery. “Where is he anyway?”
“He is in his office. He had some business to attend to,” Buttons says. “He has holdings all over the world.”
“Really?” Maybe I can get these two lovely people to tell me more about my captor's habits. I can figure out how I can use them against him and escape. “Please tell me more.” I prop my chin on my hand. “I want to know everything.”
Gabriel
Being away from Tabitha all morning is torture, yet I tell myself it’s what she needs. I can’t smother or overwhelm her. She will require time and space to get used to her new surroundings. Her new life with me.
I note her location on my phone when I come out of my meeting via the trackers installed in her wrist cuffs. Huh. She’s in the kitchen.
That’s a strange place for the lady of the castle to be. I mean, I don’t require her to manage the kitchen, it is beautifully managed by my chef and Buttons. Even though there’s no reason to suspect something’s gone wrong, I find my step quickening as I make my way to the castle kitchen.