11. Risotto
RISOTTO
*Arborio rice is the only appropriate rice. Anything else is a fake.
It’s not like I was going to cancel the date. The date, the one I’d dreamed about for years and years and years. Definitely not because I couldn’t do my hair just right or wear the perfect outfit, right?
It didn’t matter that serving dinner that evening had been torture.
On Thursday night, Winnifred had informed Ondine and me that she was holding a last-minute dinner party and wanted a four-course meal prepared for eighteen.
That, unfortunately, had meant that I’d had to sacrifice my day off to do prep work, a large percentage of which went to getting up at three in the morning to get the best fish at the market in Hunts Point, then spending several hours working on the requested mille-feuille , along with its layers of strawberry and pandan-flavored pastry cream.
While Ondine finished the cooking, I had been called upon to serve dinner in my old maid uniform.
None of the political luminaries, including Senator Hubbard, who seemed quite recovered from his hospital journey, paid any attention to the chef quietly refilling water glasses and ensuring each course arrived perfectly plated.
I had no idea whether Mr. or Mrs. Lyons knew about my upcoming rendezvous with Daniel. I didn’t exist to these people.
I did, however, exist to both the Lyons sons.
Daniel’s boyish winks made my cheeks burn while Lucas’s steady, unreadable gaze followed my every movement.
Each time I set a plate in front of him and caught a whiff of leather, ink, and soap, my knees wobbled.
He would murmur a quiet “Thank you, Marie,” that only I could hear, his storm-gray eyes would meet mine, and the rest of the room would fade until it felt like we were the only two people in it.
It made zero sense.
By the time I served the final course, my hands were trembling as I prepared to escape to the conservatory, though I wasn’t sure whether it was anticipation or anxiety driving my eagerness to leave.
The humidity hit me as I entered the greenhouse, along with the sweet, heavy scents of night-blooming jasmine and vanilla orchids.
Daniel was already there, lounging on the same concrete bench where Lucas and I had sat, a crystal tumbler in his hand and a bottle of his favorite scotch, Balvenie 21, at his feet.
For a moment, he reminded me of Dionysus despite the white button-down, navy chinos, and leather boat shoes that screamed yacht owner.
His hair gleamed in the moonlight, and when he smiled, my favorite dimple appeared.
The one that had always made me forget my name.
I could remember it right now, though.
Maria Annetta Zola.
Easy.
Huh.
“There she is.” His eyes passed over me with clear appreciation. “Damn, gorgeous. I swear, I couldn’t stop staring at you all evening—that sexy little chef shirt does nothing to hide what you’ve got going on.”
His gaze lingered on my décolletage in a way that made me want to cross my arms over my chest. Joni wouldn’t cover anything, though. At least that’s what I told myself as I stood up straight and didn’t slouch.
“Sorry I’m late.” I tugged at the thin straps of my camisole, unable to stop fidgeting completely. “Service ran long. Your parents’ friends like their nightcaps.”
“It’s the only thing I have in common with them.” He rose from the bench, swaying slightly. “Want some? I snagged the good stuff from Dad’s office.”
Fear skittered down my spine. “You should put it back. I write the orders for that bottle, and it costs the earth.”
Daniel grinned like I’d said something funny. “You’re cute. What, are you worried someone’s going to accuse you of stealing?”
Now I was. Accusations of theft were the kiss of death for anyone who worked in domestic service, and my career as a chef was just getting started.
“Besides,” he continued before tossing back the rest of his liquor. “I needed a little liquid courage.”
The admission surprised me. Daniel Lyons, needing courage? “Courage for what?”
“How else can I talk to the prettiest girl I’ve met in years?”
It was a line. I knew it was, which made me an idiot to blush at the practiced compliment. Just like it also made me stupid to wonder why he hadn’t said “prettiest girl ever .”
Shouldn’t he think so if we were, in fact, soulmates?
For the first time in my twenty-five years, the notion felt kind of silly.
“Look at you.” He continued gesturing toward me with the empty tumbler. “You came back from Paris like some kind of Roman goddess or something. My very own Helen of Troy.”
There was something vulnerable in his tone that tugged at my heart and made me come closer. This was more like the Daniel I’d imagined—uncertain, real, human.
“That’s Greek,” I murmured. “And I don’t think she was a goddess.”
“I was never very good at school, Marie.” He came a little closer, enough that his vanilla-citrus scent wafted through the scotch fumes. “But I bet you know that too.” His eyes, so warm and blue and kind, sparkled like hot springs, begging me to sink in.
“You don’t need to be intimidated,” I told him. “I’m still just me.”
“No, you’re not. You’re…” He paused to look up to the sky, visible through the glass ceiling. This far from the city, some of the stars came out. My favorite constellation, Orion, was poised for battle above us. “You’re everything I never knew I wanted.”
My breath caught. “I am? Why?”
Also, what did that even mean?
I could feel a miniature Joni on my shoulder, shaking her head. Why was I interrogating him now?
Daniel took my hand and tugged me to sit on the bench with him. “Tell me about Paris. I mean, tell me everything. What did you do there? Chef school, I know. I’m not actually as dumb as Lucas thinks. But what else? Who did you meet? What changed your life?”
I bit my lip. It had taken him this long to ask me anything real about myself, and yes, I had noticed. But if I were being honest, there was a reason it didn’t bother me: I didn’t have much to offer.
Paris had been life-changing. I had found myself there, as people tended to say.
But at the same time, I hadn’t turned into a daredevil who had experienced a new adventure every night.
Things that were completely normal for most visitors to Paris—exploring a new neighborhood, talking to strangers, or trying to speak a little French—took me weeks or even months to try.
“I…well, mostly I studied.” He didn’t need to know I divided my entire first month in Paris between the Institute, French class, and the Saint-Germain market. “The program was demanding, and?—”
“Come on, gorgeous. Don’t lie.”
Daniel’s hand was a heavy weight on my shoulder. It should have been reassuring. I should have felt tingles down my spine. There were , in fact, little butterflies in my stomach as his thumb worried the strap of my camisole. But that was all.
“There had to be more than just classes. A beautiful woman like you, alone in the most romantic city in the world? I bet they were chasing you down the streets. You must have had some crazy nights.”
I shifted, a little uncomfortable now. After hearing him talk about his summer between yachts and nightclubs, I could confidently say he was looking for stories I didn’t have. “I, um, made a few friends. One in particular, Louis?—”
“A guy? Should I be jealous?” His eyes sparkled with amusement, and his dimple reappeared.
I chuckled. “Hardly. Louis is a music student by day and a drag performer by night. He also prefers other men most of the time.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Daniel mused, though he didn’t seem all that worried in the first place.
“You must have had some wild nights out with him, though. Did you go on stage with the drag queens? Shake it with them to some disco? I bet you slapped on the war paint even better than those ‘ladies.’”
I cringed at the overt stereotypes. As it happened, Louis had not been able to get me to come out with him to any of his night performances or to any other club in Paris.
The idea of dark crowds and too much liquor freaked me out.
I had, however, made us dinner several times while he changed into his alter ego, Celeste.
And I could honestly say that she was stunning and not the slightest bit cliché.
“No wild nights?” Daniel pressed. “No French lovers? Marie, you’re killing me here. Give me something to imagine.”
Killing you, how? I wanted to ask. Did he want me to have had some torrid love affair in Paris? Was he looking for me to tease him or torture him?
He was playing another game, one my sisters would understand completely.
But it felt like a foreign language to me.
“Do you want to know about my favorite thing to do in Paris?” I tried.
Daniel leaned in eagerly. “Please.”
I looked up, imagining the sky in Paris, which, like the city of my birth, was too obscured by light pollution to see the stars.
“There are several music conservatories in Paris. So, to get performance experience, some of the students put on impromptu concerts, often in the little churches that are all over the city, and you don’t find out about them until you walk by one and see a flyer on the door.
Five euros or sometimes nothing at all to hear world-class Chopin or Rachmaninoff.
” I sighed with bliss. “It’s so peaceful.
On my days off, I started to explore the neighborhoods more.
I would look for the concerts on a Sunday, and then I could go into these little medieval churches, some of them more than a thousand years old, some decorating with priceless paintings from the masters, and I would spend hours just sitting and listening, totally immersed in art. ”