Chapter Four
The quieter my fathers are,
the more trouble I’m in.
~ Chloé
CHLOé STARED AT the revolving door of JULIEN the next afternoon and wondered how long she could stand there before someone came out to ask her what the hell she was doing. But she needed a minute before she stepped inside, a second to brace herself for what she was about to face.
For a little while there, Ethan and Zayne had managed to distract her enough that she’d been able to push aside what she had to do today. But as she looked at the gold script on the window of the restaurant, she knew there was no escaping it now.
Reality had come calling, and it was time to go in and face the music.
She took a deep breath and pushed through the door, not at all sure what she expected—but the silence that greeted her was not it.
Okay, so there was no clap of thunder or flash of lightning striking her down for her white lies. But as she made her way past the hostess stand and in through the main dining room, she could’ve sworn she heard the rumble of ominous storm clouds in the form of her fathers’ silent disapproval.
Where was everyone? There was no laughing, no greeting, just dead silence. That didn’t bode well for her.
She hurried past the bar and noticed that Justin was nowhere to be seen—he’d probably decided it was safer to stay away, and really, she couldn’t blame him.
Last night had been contentious to say the least, but she was feeling much more levelheaded today.
Some time apart had been exactly what she needed to calm down.
It’d given her a moment to reflect and try to understand where her fathers were coming from.
She was their daughter, so of course they were going to be upset that she was dating not one but two older men. But hopefully they’d had a chance to calm down too, and her dad and her père could have her back when they went to talk to her papa later tonight.
Chloé made her way through to the kitchens out the back, and just as she was about to push through the doors, she heard her name.
She turned to see her dad standing in the open door of his office.
His arms were crossed, his lips pulled tight, and there were dark shadows under his eyes.
She couldn’t remember ever seeing him look less than put together, but it definitely appeared as though he’d had a long night—and not in a good way.
“Hi.” She wasn’t sure why, but her stomach felt jittery. She made her way over, and he moved aside to let her into his office.
“Hello. I wasn’t sure whether we would see you today or not.”
“Why wouldn’t you see me? I’m on shift, and I’d never miss that without calling.”
“After last night?” Dad turned his back on her and made his way around his desk. “I don’t know what you’d do anymore.”
Chloé swallowed and began to fiddle with the strap of her handbag. “I know you were upset—”
“ Upset ? Upset is putting it mildly. Try flabbergasted. Try furious. Try anything else that is beyond upset, because that is what I felt last night.”
Chloé lowered her eyes. “I know, and I’m sorry you had to find out that way—”
“Are you?”
“Of course.”
Dad let out a sigh and shook his head. “We’re not doing this here. We’ll discuss it later. For now, I want you to go and get changed and get ready for shift. We have a full house tonight.”
“Is Papounet back there?”
“He is, and if I were you, I would stay out of his way. Our staff doesn’t need to know what’s going on, and I will not have you causing a scene.”
Chloé opened her mouth to say something, but when her dad looked to the computer in front of him, she decided it might be best to just zip her lips and keep quiet. She turned and all but ran for the door, quickly shutting it behind her.
So much for things calming down. If anything, her dad seemed tenser. But then again, he’d had to tell her papa about what had happened, and she couldn’t imagine that was an easy task—hence why she’d been avoiding it.
She looked at the stainless-steel doors and wondered what she would find when she walked through them.
She couldn’t remember a time where her and her père had been anything other than the best of friends.
She loved coming to the restaurant, loved watching him cook, and now here she was, scared to walk into his kitchen.
Chloé blew out a breath and pushed through the double doors. When she stepped inside, the delicious aromas of French cuisine hit her nose. Several staff members were bustling around getting ready for the afternoon/evening crowd, and they smiled and waved when they spotted her.
Chloé returned the gesture, for the first time since yesterday feeling a sense of normalcy, but that quickly ended when the pantry door opened and her père walked out.
Dressed in his chef whites with an apron wrapped around his hips, he was the very epitome of chef . He held a bundle of vegetables in his arms, and when he spotted her, his feet came to a stop.
“Bonjour papounet.”
“Bonjour.”
That was it. That was all he said. There was no bright smile, no hug, just one word before he stepped around her and walked over to the prep station.
Chloé cursed under her breath and walked into the locker room, where she stashed her bag and reached for her uniform. She had a spare that she left there for occasions such as these. It wasn’t like she’d been about to go home last night and get the one she’d ironed the day before.
It was going to be a looong night. She could feel it, and whenever there was tension in the kitchen, the rest of the staff could tell.
That was nothing new, though—chefs were known to be crazy, some hot-tempered, and every now and then the stress of a food critic or unhappy customer would cause a distinct shift in the air, and the entire staff knew it was time to keep quiet or risk getting their head bitten off.
The thing that was new, however, was the fact that she was the reason for today’s tension.
Chloé tied her apron and then headed out into the kitchen, where she found her père chopping vegetables as though he wished it was someone’s head—probably hers, if she had to guess.
Just go over and talk to him. It’s that easy, really.
She took a breath and made her way over to him. If she’d expected him to look her way, she would’ve been in for a disappointment. But lucky for her, she’d set her expectations low.
“So, uh, what’s the special today?”
“The same thing as yesterday.”
He scraped the onions and carrots aside and then started in on the next batch.
“Oh, I thought there might be a Sunday special.”
“Has there ever been a Sunday special?”
Okay, he had a point, but there was a first time for everything, and honestly, she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Mon Dieu, this was awkward. It was obvious he was still upset with her, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t know what to say to make things better.
“Would you like me to take over what you’re doing?”
“ Non , I’ve got dinner tonight. If you would take care of dessert, I think that would be best.”
Chloé’s brain immediately flashed back to last night and butter pecan ice cream—but, realizing how inappropriate that was, she quickly shoved the thought aside. Her père was making his wishes very clear: you stay out of my space and I’ll stay out of yours.
She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening, but they were all busy at their stations, and why wouldn’t they be?
They didn’t know that her life had gone to hell in a handbasket last night.
They didn’t know that the fathers who usually adored her couldn’t stand to be in the same room with her right now.
So, the best thing she could do was follow her dad’s advice: put her head down and do the work. Get through service without making a scene, and they could all talk about this afterward.
Until then, she’d just have to pop a couple antacids to help the churning in her stomach, and hope she could make it until closing time.
* * *
ZAYNE STRETCHED OUT on one of the loungers on their rooftop and stared up at the blue sky. It was a beautiful day, warm, with only a few clouds overhead, and as he watched each of them take shape, he couldn’t stop thinking about how nervous Chloé had seemed when she left for the restaurant.
They’d done their best last night to lighten the mood and distract her a little, but as soon as morning rolled around, it was apparent the nerves had kicked back in.
She’d looked as though she was heading toward the gallows with how quiet and reflective she seemed, and he couldn’t help but feel for her.
He wasn’t sure how this would all end up, whether or not she would even remain theirs after everything played out.
But he understood what she was going through right now, had been there himself too many times to count.
That walk of shame, heading in to face the people you had somehow disappointed.
Yeah, he had firsthand experience with that. He’d been disappointing his family for as long as he could remember. The major difference was that Chloé gave a shit what her fathers thought of her—whereas he’d stopped caring years ago.
“You’re very quiet over there.”
He looked over to where Ethan sat with his sunglasses on and a book in his lap. Sundays were always Zayne’s favorite because it was the one day Ethan gave himself off, and selfishly, Zayne enjoyed his man’s attention focused on him.
“Wasn’t meaning to be. I was just thinking about how nervous Red seemed before she left.”
Ethan shut his book and slid it onto the table in front of him. “You’re worried about her.”
“No, I mean, not really.” Zayne chuckled. “If anyone can take care of herself, it’s Red. I just know how I used to feel whenever I was being summoned for committing a cardinal sin.”
“And how was that?”
“Scared, proud, rebellious.”
“You? Rebellious? Never.”
Zayne grinned. “I see that in her. I just hope it turns out better for her than it did me.”