Chapter 24
Cucina Gossip
Aria Amora
It never ceased to amaze me how every kitchen I’d stepped in so far seemed like a room made for a vintage Italian movie set.
Maggie Beautiful’s cucina, or as she requested I call it, the cucina that belonged to the castello, was a dream.
It reflected the rest of the castello, warm woods and bronze details, with too many ovens and counters to count. It was as busy as any Michelin five-star kitchen, the number of bodies almost overwhelming, but it never felt stuffy.
Maggie Beautiful, Scarlett, Carmen, and Juliette, along with a few of their son’s wives and other women close to these women, including me, had our own table.
We were each cooking a variety of dishes.
Some traditional Thanksgiving fare. Some we’d learned from having Italian roots or living with Italians for so long.
It hit me square in the chest how much my grandmother would have loved this scene.
Even though some of these women technically worked for the family, Maggie Beautiful had a wonderful relationship with each one, it seemed, including the “head” cook, who Maggie Beautiful called Mamma Maria Maria.
Mamma Maria Maria was a bit intimidating to me.
She directed all the women, except for our table, around the kitchen with a wooden spoon and a scowl on her face.
There was nothing tight about the woman.
She was warm and hearty, except for her lips and her arm when she raised it at one of the women who seemed to be her sous chef.
I wouldn’t get in Signora Maria Maria’s way, but if I accidentally did, I was taking bets in my head on who was going to win. I had the most absurd vision of her and I colliding, then her getting me in a headlock and not letting go.
She seemed to have powerful arms, especially since she seemed to have years of practice with the wooden spoon. She was pointing it in whichever direction she wanted the chefs to go, almost like a sergeant would do to her troops.
Nonna was quick with her slipper, but she had nothing on Mamma Maria Maria’s quickness with the spoon. A few times I stopped preparing my dishes just to watch her.
When Ermanno entered the kitchen, he took one look at her, said whoa, and ran out, Pisolino on his heels.
A grin lingered on my face, and then it turned into a full-on smile when Juliette said, “She doesn’t intimidate me with her wooden spoon,” in a whisper.
“I went to Catholic school almost my entire life.” Mamma Maria Maria must have caught wind of the conversation.
She turned her narrowed eyes on Juliette, her wooden spoon ready to whack some ass.
Juliette turned her eyes down, and we all laughed. Juliette shot us the bird behind a ceramic bowl.
Maggie Beautiful sighed, taking an artichoke ball from Juliette’s pan and popping it in her mouth.
Neither she nor Scarlett was understating it when they said she couldn’t cook.
She said she was going to give it a try, since the song “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant” had been stuck in her head for months, but she started a small fire when she dropped a greasy Italian sausage on the stove.
Mamma Maria Maria was there to put it out.
I didn’t think Mamma Maria Maria would’ve been as kind to any of us, and especially her chefs, if the fire had been started by anyone except for Maggie Beautiful.
Mamma Maria Maria took Maggie Beautiful by the shoulders, speaking words of encouragement to her in Italian.
Scarlett grinned at me when she told me Mamma Maria Maria was basically telling Maggie Beautiful she was too beautiful to cook.
“Mamma Maria Maria doesn’t want Maggie Beautiful burning down the kitchen,” Scarlett whispered. “The kitchen that belongs to the Luca Fausti.”
Maggie Beautiful smiled after Mamma Maria Maria left her station for a moment to throw away the charred and still smoking dishrags she used to put out the fire. “She’s always had a bit of a crush on Luca. After her husband died, she’s worn black ever since and doted on my husband.”
“Would you serve this to the king?!” Carmen attempted to do Mamma Maria Maria’s voice. She tilted her head down and raised her eyes. “That’s what she shouts at all those poor women she bosses around when she doesn’t feel the food is good enough for the king.”
Maggie Beautiful waved a hand. “She’s a perfectionist, and although sometimes I think she can be a little harsh, the food is always so delicious and beautiful.”
“Hmph,” Carmen said, her hands full of raw meat.
“You’ll keep her once you take over this kitchen, won’t you, Ari?”
I looked up from my focaccia dough. “What?”
All the women were looking at me.
Maggie Beautiful smiled at me, her eyes crinkling on the sides.
“This is going to be yours one day to run. I don’t care much about all of this, but you seem to like this sort of thing.
You’re maternal, and even though you haven’t been married for long, it seems like being a wifey is what you’re going to love to be.
Personally, I love being Luca’s wife, it’s my favorite, but…
I prefer to eat than cook. Read my magazines instead of decorating. ”
“In other words,” Scarlett said with a smile, “she loves to be beautiful and lounge.”
Maggie Beautiful pointed a finger at her. “Exactly! The only time I believe sweat looks sexy on me is in the bedroom.”
Maggie Beautiful’s question, though, had caught me off guard.
I hadn’t thought that far into the future.
It was one thing to be married to a Fausti, but another thing entirely to be married to the next king.
It seemed like Luca and Maggie Beautiful hosted a lot of dinners and such, and they were constantly being invited to events.
Scarlett nudged me. “No matter what, you’re going to need some help. Pick and choose what’s important to you, then follow tradition for the rest—meaning, rely on help that you can trust.”
“Great advice. And if you’re worried about people not doing a great job for you, fear will take care of that. Not many people will do you wrong.” Juliette wiped her hands on a dishrag. “No one wants to disappoint this family on purpose.”
“Well, not everyone.” Carmen flicked a piece of meat back into the bowl from her fingers. “Some will do it on purpose. Those with a vendetta and a death wish.”
“People who fit in those two categories…” Juliette made a whirly motion around her temple.
A loud clang came from one of the sinks, and it was loud enough to capture everyone’s attention.
A young woman stood at the sink, her back to us, and she seemed to be trying to control her breathing.
The loud clang had come from her flinging a bunch of dishes into the sink that had been on a platter. Seemed like a lot of the glass broke.
Maggie Beautiful narrowed her eyes at the same time Scarlett did.
“Bet she wouldn’t do that if Captain Maria Maria was in here,” Juliette mumbled underneath her breath.
Carmen flicked a piece of meat at Juliette’s apron, and it stuck. “Look at that.” She was laughing. “I just mixed turkey with chicken.”
“You’re just mad because I beat you home.” Juliette stuck her tongue at Carmen.
“Lactose intolerance does wicked things to people, and gives them superhuman speed in a race,” Carmen said. “I demand a rematch.”
“Fine,” Juliette agreed. “But that still doesn’t explain that chick’s temper.”
“No,” Maggie Beautiful muttered. “It certainly doesn’t.”
I had to agree. Something was wrong with the woman. She was breathing loud enough for us to hear, almost screeching to herself, mumbling in Italian, but none of it sounded good.
Ermanno chose to walk into the kitchen then, and when he noticed the woman, his eyes narrowed. Did he know her? No. He was looking at her like he was trying to place her.
When the woman finally turned around, her eyes came straight to mine.
She had witchy green eyes. So different from mine.
So different from Scarlett’s, even. She had a truly beautiful face, though, with a soft complexion and features, except for her nose, which was straight and narrow.
It was almost like all the pieces of her face didn’t fit, but they did—and they created a pretty picture somehow.
She wasn’t slim but had curves. A small waist that turned into an hourglass shape.
The woman mouthed something at me, but it wasn’t her mouth that I was concentrated on.
It was those spell-casting green eyes, made even more noticeable by her jet black hair, which was pulled tightly into a bun, a handkerchief covering her head.
It was like her eyes were directing the curse her mouth was casting.
I refused to look away from her, though. I’d never seen the woman in my life, and apparently she had a real issue with me. It wasn’t my issue, though, and whatever it was, it was on her. Wasn’t the first time a woman didn’t like me for any apparent reason. Wouldn’t be the last.
I narrowed my eyes at her as if to ask….problem? My reaction clearly pissed her off. She took a step in my direction, I stood from my seat, and then Ermanno stepped in front of her.
“Think twice about taking another step in her direction, Signorina,” he said to her in a quiet but menacing, for his age, voice.
It took a moment, but her eyes finally fell to him. It was like she was surprised this young man had stopped her from getting to me.
“Who are you to tell me what to do?” she said quietly, and I could’ve sworn Ermanno called her a pig witch, but it wasn’t as quiet as he intended it to be. I wasn’t sure if that was some Italian insult or what.
Three things happened at once. I went to move Ermanno out of the path of her insistent stare, Maggie Beautiful went to stand between them, and Mamma Maria Maria entered the kitchen, her eyes taking in the scene.
Mamma Maria Maria chose action. She whacked the woman on the ass with the spoon hard enough to flare out the woman’s house dress.
Mamma Maria Maria shouted at her in rushed Italian, telling her to move, to get to the dishes, which Mamma Maria Maria had yet to see—the way the woman had flung the platter and destroyed the nice dish.
The woman didn’t listen to her. Her eyes were still locked on mine, and as she turned toward the door, she mouthed at me—you will regret it all.
She slammed the door shut so hard, the crack!
of it echoed through the suddenly silent kitchen, all except for Mamma Maria Maria, who dropped to the floor at the sound.