His Two Hidden Masks: Steamy International Billionaire Romance

Chapter 11

Iawoke to sunlight, hitting my face from a crack in my heavy curtains. Still bone-tired, my brain replayed the insanity of the night. Memories of total bliss, embarrassment, and relief flooded my mind.

My predictable life was officially off-book, and for once, the idea that everything was changing did not send me spiraling.

I stretched and looked at the fading dancing cherubs on my fresco overhead. Their chubby and joyous faces no longer made me jealous. That morning, I smiled with them.

The fog of shame and depression that clouded my world for six months was less dense. Looking at that bright slice of winter sunlight cut across my bed, I knew it was a beautiful and crisp blue-sky day.

I closed my eyes, enjoying the last moments of warmth beneath my covers. It had been so long since I had felt this light and unburdened.

I closed my eyes, and in a flash, a childhood memory bubbled up in my mind. Giggling and laughing, I was five years old and running down the carpeted hall on the second floor of our palazzo.

Sara called my name from the foyer. “Ready or not, here I come!” Her voice was full of smiles. We were playing hide-and-seek, I remembered. I loved opening her bedroom door and sneaking into her wardrobe. It was the best hiding place in the house.

I loved our games. I’d loved her. It had been years since I had thought about hiding in Sara’s room. I opened my eyes, wondering what it would be like to open that wardrobe again. Would it help me remember my sister more clearly? I hated how she faded a little more every year.

I’d noticed something about memory, something about my grief. I didn’t think of my sister much during the dark days after my broken engagement. I thought of her most when my heart was full, when something wonderful happened that I wished I could share with her.

She would have loved meeting Dylan, and even more, she would have loved hearing all about my chocolates, my Bella Baci. She would also nudge me before school and say, “Rise and shine, Sunshine.”

“Rise and shine,” I said softly, noting this was the first morning I had climbed out of bed smiling in a very long while.

I stepped onto the cold marble floor of my room, dreaming of the sweet smell of melting chocolate and the soft kisses of Dylan Street. I stretched my arms in the air, imagining the wooden spoon in my hand while I dissolved cane sugar into heavy cream.

I thought about the way my fingers tingled as they ran across the muscular dips in Dylan’s abs. I loved the moment the sugar heated enough to melt like the slow burn of desire, the release as it dissolved into the milk.

Making love and making the most gorgeous and perfect caramel were pure bliss. I giggled, realizing that cooking now reminded me of sex. Did everything remind me of the “down and dirty?”

I slipped on yoga pants, a t-shirt, and hoodie for the walk to Andiamo. My chef’s coat was waiting for me at the restaurant. The morning was cold, but it was always hot in the kitchen, and I loved it.

Today, I didn’t feel compelled to be anyone, but me. I pulled my hair into a high ponytail, preparing to wind it into a bun before I started work. I did a final check in the mirror.

My face was washed clean of my dramatic makeup from the night before. I added a thin layer of gloss and smacked my lips.

It occurred to me that sometimes change came on hard and fast. I needed to grab ahold of my dream and hold on tight. I was done hiding. I did not want to miss another thing.

The Street acquisition was out of my hands. If my father refused to give me a seat at his table, so be it. It was time I set up a table of my own. Bella Baci was my dream, and if my family wouldn’t fund me, I would pivot for this Carnival season and make a plan to fund my future. I would find another way.

“Who are you?” I said, glancing at my reflection, seeing a spark of determination in my eyes. “Whoever you are, I like you,” I said out loud. “I like you and you’ve got this.”

Dylan told me I was more powerful than I knew. Wasn’t it time I believed him? Things were moving forward in a way that was unexpected, but it didn’t mean it was wrong. Since the moment I met Dylan in the moonlight, life continued to offer me surprises.

Once upon a time, I was a good Venetian daughter, engaged to a supposedly good Venetian man, and now I wasn’t. What else was in store for me if I continued to be open the infinite possibilities of the universe?

Auntie Aurora followed her cards. I followed the approval of my family, and here I was, for the first time, forging a different path for myself.

What a surprise. What a gift. What an opportunity. Who knew optimism could taste as sweet as sex, or one of my chocolate caramel candies.

Andiamo opened onlyfor dinner in the dining room and outdoor patio. The staff managed room service and lunch using the hotel kitchen. As I walked across the campo, the early morning cold bit through my layers.

“Good morning,” I said, opening the heavy wooden door. The kitchen was dark, my voice echoed through the empty room. In the quiet of the morning, this space transformed into my Bella Baci workshop.

In a few hours, Auntie Aurora would arrive to prep for the evening with Vincenzo, the sous chef. I knew Auntie was disappointed I decided not to cook with her full-time when I had the chance after graduation, but she understood.

The Andiamo was tied to Mia Sorella and Roberto. I wanted to support my family, but from a distance. My Bella Baci used the Andiamo kitchen for now, but it was clear I needed to come up with another plan after Carnival.

I buttoned up my white chef’s coat, and laid out my ingredients on the Carrara marble counter. Butter, cane sugar, cocoa, vanilla, heavy cream, sea salt, and small bottles of infused flavor had been prepping since the wedding. I had glass jars of simple syrup infused with vanilla, jalape?o, Earl Grey, lavender, lemon verbena, mandarin, raspberry, and rosemary. It looked like a witch’s apothecary, and I loved it.

I wound my ponytail into a bun to keep my wavy hair in place. “Time to make magic,” I said, and clapped my hands. The gas stove clicked on, the spark of the flame sending my heart racing.

I dropped cubes of butter into a big copper pot. As the butter melted, I stirred, adding the sugar and testing for the slight resistance in the mix that signaled the heat was too high. I didn’t want the ingredients to catch and burn.

I used a wooden spoon that Auntie Aurora gave when I graduated from culinary school. She was the most supportive of my decision to switch my major when I’d realized medicine was not my calling. The handle worn, this spoon was polished by years of use.

I stayed close to the pot while I stirred, the heat warming me in my core. The smell of the sugar as it melted into the butter filled the kitchen. I lowered the heat and poured in the heavy cream, constantly stirring and watching the temperature to keep the milk from curdling.

I sourced my ingredients from Tuscany. Everything local, all Italian, all touched with love. My parents had so much pride in our region, but they hadn’t figured out how much staying local and eating high quality ingredients mattered to the tourists year after year.

I stirred the pot, watching as the color of the mix melted into a perfect golden brown. Sweat gathered on my brow as the first signs of a boil bubbled to the surface. I counted the beat of the bubbles, looking for both the right size and rhythm.

Working with sugar, the line between boiling and burning was incredibly thin. I raised my wooden spoon in the air, timing the caramel drip as it stretched into a perfect line.

Time was of the essence, so I moved swiftly, pouring the caramels into the silicon molds. The secret was to move not too fast, and not too slow. Hitting my mark felt so satisfying.

I finished four batches of caramel, and was almost done with the fifth, when I heard the rush of the kitchen door that led into the restaurant open and close behind me.

“Is it nine a.m. already, Auntie Aurora?” I said.

“Bella.” A voice sliced through the room like a knife through soft butter.

I stiffened. Roberto. “Fuck.” I gasped and dropped my prized wooden spoon into the pot. “Fucking hell.” I lunged to pick it up, only to fail and watch it sink. “I’m busy, Roberto.”

I heard him exhale, his irritation only pissing me off more, as I scrambled to find a set of tongs. This near-boiling mixture would catch and ruin if I didn’t keep stirring, or worse, taste of charred wood.

I grabbed a pair of tongs, fumbling with them as Roberto strode across the room. I glanced back to see him standing behind me. He wore a dark suit, a grey shirt, and a black tie. His eyes shadowed and expression dour, he looked like he was preparing to attend a funeral against his will.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on a chef,” I said.

“You aren’t a chef,” he said. “You make candy.”

I ignored him and continued digging for the spoon. What an asshole. The tongs were not cutting it. Fuck it, I thought, picking up another spoon to stir and feeling the wooden one stuck to the bottom.

“I am surprised to see you up so early,” he said.

He was clearly insinuating something. Was he spying on me now? My temper flared as I bumped against the lost spoon wedged at the bottom of the pot. I couldn’t stir properly. I blew a loose hair off my forehead.

“When I sleep and when I rise are no longer your concern,” I said, my back to him. Victory, I got the wedged spoon to move. I lifted it high, grabbed it with the tongs, and resumed stirring.

“It’s not my concern, as long as your behavior does not impact our business.”

Well, holy hell. I pushed my back-up spoon deep into the pot and felt the telltale catch of burned sauce sticking to the bottom of the pan.

“Double damn.” I cursed myself for being sloppy and letting Roberto rattle me. “It’s burned.” I moved the pot off the hot burner and turned off the gas. “What do you want, Roberto?”

He leaned against the marble countertop, arms crossed. “I am surprised you are still bothering with this little hobby of yours. You heard your father. The company doesn’t need this…”

“I do not need you to act as a translator,” I said. “I heard my father.”

“Bella, we may not be together anymore, but I hate to see you being set up to fail.”

“You don’t need to worry about me anymore, Roberto. And if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

I didn’t believe any of his concern. It was bullshit. There was an edge to his voice that was sharp. Now that I had some distance between us, I realized I had mistaken so many of his lectures for support.

“Move your foot,” I said. I lifted the pot and stepped over his legs. Passing the sink, I pulled out a trash bin and poured the rapidly cooling mixture into the garbage. With every passing second, the ruined caramel hardened.

“You should know that I ran into Dante Camarda this morning while getting coffee.”

My stomach tightened. I kept my back to him, eyes fixed on the window so I could see his reflection behind me.

“He said that Carnival has been madness at the station. Crazy events unfolding all over town.”

“Oh, really.” I willed myself to stay stone cold.

“Yes.” He wrinkled his nose. “Dante wanted to make sure we took care to lock the hotel and restaurant at night. Apparently, someone broke into the Lido Glass Factory last night. They didn’t take anything, but Dante said there is video surveillance of the whole thing.”

My mouth watered and my stomach clenched, threatening to vomit. Dante Camarda, the worst kisser of my life, was conspiring with my ex-fiancé. Venice felt so incredibly small to me sometimes.

I pivoted to look at Roberto, my face burning. The smug look on his face erased any hope I had that he wasn’t connecting me to the fiasco at the glass factory.

“Roberto, please,” I said, knowing my face was probably a bright shade of scarlet.

“Please, what?” he said. “I want to hear you say it. And ask me nicely.”

“No,” I said, my voice controlled. I was done getting down on my knees for any man unless I wanted it with every part of my body. Yes, I was embarrassed to hear my tryst with Dylan was exposed, but Roberto’s arrogance and demeaning tone pushed me to a place I’d never stood. “Fuck you, Roberto.”

His eyes bugged. He laughed, hands in his pocket telegraphing nonchalance. “All right then.” He exhaled. “What you do is no longer my business. Who you fuck or allow to fuck you, not my business, as well.”

“At least we are aligned on one thing,” I said.

“Bella,” he said, his tone softening, which put my radar on high alert. “You must know I care about you. I always have. But we are not together anymore.”

“You care so much, so why are you threatening me, Roberto?”

“I’m not. I’m just letting you know what I heard. If your father finds out you were with his business partner last night…” He shook his head as if trying to banish the thought. “…I don’t know what he will do.”

I froze. Roberto didn’t know it was Dylan. He thought that I’d been in the glass factory with James. I’m not sure it mattered. They were both a part of Street Entertainment.

“So, did you watch it?” I asked. The question tasted bitter in my mouth. If he still truly cared about me, perhaps I could convince him to help me contain this mess.

He stared at me, not answering. His silence was all I needed to hear.

“Get out,” I said. Now, I was a runaway bride with a sex tape. No amount of chocolate or alcohol in the world would fix this.

“All right then.” He inhaled, and I wondered if he regretted pushing me this far. “Your father made his choice, Bella. And now it’s time for him to see what happens next in this acquisition.

I am a part of this family now, whether or not you are with me. I expect you to start treating me with respect. Soon, everyone in this family will have no choice.”

What the fuck was he talking about and why did it sound like he was threatening more than me?

“Roberto, please. What the fuck do you want from me?” I blurted. “I’m sorry we ended. I’m sorry that I let it go so far. I’m sorry that you hate me now. Once, we cared for each other. Can we find a way to make this less terrible, please?”

He paused as if considering my question. His face softened with a sad smile, and hope glimmered. Had I broken through?

“Roberto,” I whispered.

His green eyes met mine. I watched as a mask fell across his face like a shadow. His lips tightened. He tugged on his coat jacket and straightened his tie. The moment was gone. His feelings remained buried under boulders of anger and pain.

“Good day, Bella.” He walked away.

I felt numb. All traces of the man he was before I left him on the altar were gone. He was more than broken-hearted. Roberto was hell bent on revenge, and I now feared that my entire family was in his crosshairs.