Chapter 6
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Celebrities are weird. Best not think too hard about it.
Clara
After taking a bite of my homemade fettuccine, Morana slaps her hands against the table, and I stiffen.
It’s horrible, isn’t it? But, no. I tasted it.
I tasted it, and it was amazing. What’s wrong with hers?
Did she oversalt it? I didn’t see her pick up the shaker.
Is she gluten free? Oh my goodness. She’s gluten free, isn’t she?
Have I killed her?
“I’m dragging Kyran out of bed. It’s a crime to miss out on this meal. A crime.” Pushing her chair out, she marches from the kitchen, leaving me shellshocked, and everyone else…perfectly fine?
I scan the other members of Lukas’s family, just to make sure. Apart from Kyran, Kaleb, and Crimson, everyone who was at dinner yesterday has gathered around the table for lunch today.
Maybe Italian was a bad idea for the first main meal of the day?
We did have lasagna last night. Lukas definitely works out and probably has a strict diet he adheres to, so this is a lot of fat within the same twenty-four hour period.
I’m such an idiot. I should think these things through better…
space out meals more effectively…research nutrient balance and what best helps him look like… well…a tower of muscle.
Big muscle men like him probably do not get that way by eating fatty foods.
Terrified, I glance at Lukas, ready for his rampant disapproval and a stern talking to.
He is shoveling food into his face like a hungry hippo. Swirling nearly his entire plate of pasta onto his fork, he stuffs it in his mouth, and disintegrates into vapor. Eyes closed, he chews, breathes, swallows, then says, “Yes.”
My heart jumps. “It’s good?”
“Good is insufficient.” His eyes snap open. “Viktor, I need a better word.”
“Divine,” Crisis interjects—because Viktor is also very busy eating like his life depends on it. “Exquisite. Sublime. Maelin, your sister’s not allowed to cook anymore. Only Clara. All hail Clara.”
Maelin, equally in a trance, murmurs, “No notes.”
“None,” Zakery confirms. “Someone tell Kyran to coerce a woman home with him. We’re clearly good at picking them. The genepool needs to take advantage of this gift.”
Maelin giggles when her husband waggles his brows at her.
“He’d have to leave the house first.” Lukas chuckles, already reaching for seconds. Setting his refilled plate down, he looks at me, then lifts a hand toward my hair, brushing a bit of flour from my bangs.
I startle, reaching for the strands. “Sorry. I’m a mess… I should have cleaned up before sitting down to eat.”
“Shh. You’ve been working hard all day for me.”
“Us,” Crisis states.
“Me,” Lukas repeats, pinning the lock behind my ear. “Eat up, buttercup. You’ve done such a good job, and you should enjoy it.”
I have done a…good job? Picking up my fork, I twist, gathering the tender noodles onto the prongs. They’re softer than store bought dried. “I still need to work a little bit on the consistency I think.”
“Really?” Lukas asks. “I think they’re delicious. And the sauce…incredible.”
Flushing as heat suffuses throughout my limbs, I smile. “You think?” I chew my lip as I dip a corner of some white bread I found in the kitchen through the sauce on my plate. “It’s nothing special. I’d like it to be a little thicker, but…if you like it like this, I won’t meddle.”
“Don’t trust his unrefined palate, Clara,” Viktor mumbles around a mouthful. “You’re the pro here. We’re ruffians who have been surviving off my mac and cheese recipe for way too long. Your worst dish is still a delicacy to us. Trust your knowledge, and continue to wow us as you outdo yourself.”
Oh dear. I sure hope I can live up to this confidence. All I’m doing is following recipes I find online. It’s not even my effort at this point. Anyone can follow clear instructions. I’m an imposter.
“It’s delicious,” Morana’s saying as she marches back into the kitchen, Kyran in tow. “Best pasta I’ve ever had.”
“Mmf,” Kyran grumbles, intelligently, squinting eyes fixed on Morana’s hand around his while he shuffles into the room.
She plops him down in his seat, reaches across him with his plate, and piles a mound of noodles high before dropping it before him. “Eat. Love. Rave.”
He does not eat, love, or rave. Instead, he complains, “Viktor, can we make a rule that Morana’s not allowed to wake me up? It’s abuse.”
“Baby,” she clips.
“Dominatrix,” he mutters.
A smirk broadens her lips as she leans in. “I could be. But not for you, brother dear.”
I’m uncertain whether Kyran turns red…or green. I am certain that he melts into his chair as Morana returns to hers. Stuffing food in his mouth, he chews thoughtfully, then says, “Amazing. Ten out of ten. Phenomenal reviews on Yelp. Someone get me a glowstick, I’m raving.”
I’m not positive, but I think Morana kicks him under the table.
Viktor says, “Do I need to come over there?”
“No,” Morana chirps, sighing merrily into a bite of pasta.
Relief swells as conversation meanders steadily away from the food, and accomplishment soars inside me once everyone’s done eating, leaving nothing but an empty pot behind.
People liked my food.
People loved my food.
This is incredible. This is the most incredible feeling I have ever experienced.
I love this.
I love this.
I’m allowed to have more of this?
From behind, fingers tease my hair as I gather ingredients to get my cheese bread dough rising for dinner tonight, and I look up at Lukas.
Regaining a flush, I ask, “Do I still have flour on me?” I really need to clean up.
I can’t just plow right from cooking one meal to cooking the next when I’m a mess.
Mise en place, and all that.
“No.” His fingers keep playing, even in the absence of flour. “Whatcha doin’?”
Chewing my cheek, I turn to the bread flour I’m opening.
“I was going to start some cheese bread. To go with dinner.” I didn’t plan a proper dinner beyond the bread.
My heart drops. I’m already failing at this.
But surely it’ll be okay? We have plenty of stuff I can make into meals.
I don’t have to plan everything ahead of time.
So long as I make sure food isn’t going bad, it’s probably fine. “Do you have any requests?”
“Sandwiches,” Kyran notes as he delivers a stack of dirty plates to the sink counter beside Morana. “Cheese bread sandwiches. Toasted.”
Morana scowls at him. “Let her cook, and keep your sandwich obsession out of it.” She tosses him a washcloth. “Now, go wipe down the table.”
He dips his head in a bow. “As you wish, my liege.”
“Morana,” Lukas says, referencing the dirty counter full of dishes, “I can take care of this.”
“No thanks. I need the points.” She doesn’t look at him as she opens the washer and begins rinsing and stacking, which I was going to do, after I got the dough rising. Do I not need to do the clean up here? Even though I’m the one who made the mess?
“Points?” Lukas prompts.
“Don’t bother,” Kyran mutters at the table. “She’s insane. She has a whole little system.”
“More scrubbing, less talking,” Morana states.
Lukas laughs. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt a system.” His attention shifts from the dishes to me. “How about things over here? Can I help you with anything, cupcake?”
I scan my ingredients. “Do you know how to bloom yeast?” My stomach clenches. “Sorry, that was arrogant. You can bloom the yeast, if you’d like? Or you can mix the dry ingredients?”
“Sweetness, I have absolutely no idea how to bloom yeast, or what that even means, so you’re not the slightest bit arrogant. You’re just observant. Dry ingredients I might be able to handle a bit better. I know what those are.” His smile settles the tension in my gut.
Tightening my apron over my nice new Amare outfit, I get my recipe book and show him. “This is what we’re making. I’ll get the yeast blooming.”
“Wow. You don’t know how to bloom yeast.” Morana scoffs, hands plunged in soapy water as she takes care of the pans that don’t fit in the dishwasher. “Lameee.”
Instead of getting offended, Lukas chuckles. “I’ll learn. Clara’s gonna teach me.”
I am?
“Such wisdom would be wasted on you,” Morana snarks, no fear for her life. Lukas is, like, eight of her. What is she doing?
Kyran drops the washcloth he was using to wipe down the table on the counter. “Do you have to bully everyone?”
“Why? Jealous?”
“Maybe,” he mutters.
“Sisters bully. Get over it.”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Kyran twists on his heel. “I’m going back to bed.”
“Need me to tuck you in?” Morana ribs.
Expression cool and deadly, Kyran holds his sister-in-law’s gaze. “If you ever come within a foot of my bed again, Morana, I am pulling you into it and not letting go. Goodnight.”
Oh. My. Goodness.
Forbidden romance??
Am I witnessing the buds of a forbidden romance? The scandal! The intrigue.
Before I can tell if Morana’s blushing, Lukas’s broad chest steps into my line of sight.
“You labeled the dry ingredients separately by color,” he murmurs.
“That’s so cute. Let’s see… Flour first. How many…
grams?” He straightens up and lifts his brows.
“Feels like I’m playing with the big kids now. ”
Blushing, I clarify the practicality so I don’t come off as pretentious, “Weight measurements are more precise. I didn’t want to risk messing up with standard.”
“Smart.” Lukas nods, getting one of the three scales I couldn’t stop him from buying at the store yesterday. I suppose it’s a good thing now. We won’t have to fumble through sharing one while I get the yeast portion together.
Peace broken only by the running dishwasher and the sound of Morana clunking pots and pans saturates the kitchen, lulling me into a—likely false—sense of security. Yet every time I glance toward Lukas, he’s diligently and carefully weighing ingredients to add to the mixing bowl.
Even after Morana’s finished cleaning up and left, the stillness remains. As the thumping mixer pulls the dough ball together with enthusiasm, calm lingers.
Lukas isn’t being weird like last night.
He’s not being uncomfortable. I’m okay. This is fine.
Good, even. Fun, maybe? I’m going on a second full day without having been molested.
Maybe I can use one of the other journals he bought for me and make a little sticker calendar to keep track of my days without molestation.
Once I get enough stickers lined up, surely I’ll be able to begin trusting the sense of security.
I hope, anyway.
I don’t know what I’ll do if I can never shake this anxiety.
“You’re doing a great job,” Lukas tells me, and my shoulders bunch.
Cautious, I fix my attention on him.
Leaning back against the kitchen island, he watches the mixer with a smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle. “I’m excited for dinner.”
Tension filters out of me. “I was thinking I’d make crème br?lée for dessert.”
His teeth flash in a bright smile, and he references the little comments he saw dappled all over the crème br?lée recipe in my notebook last night. “Fire.”
I wince, chewing my lip. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“You’re precious,” he says, shifting his attention from the mixer to me. “I’m so glad you came home with me.” Lifting a hand, he beckons, so I inch toward him, fluttering slightly when his gentle fingers cup my cheek.
This is it. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for the worst.
The “worst” being a gentle kiss on my forehead.
Barely a graze of his lips against my skin.
His touch slips away, and by the time I find the strength to peek at him, he’s stretching his arms above his head, baring rippling pectorals that battle the confines of his t-shirt.
“I better head to the gym and get my afternoon sets done before tonight.” Crossing an arm over his body, he presses into another stretch while he rolls his neck back.
“You’ll let me know if you need anything, won’t you? ”
I don’t think there’s a single thing I could possibly need or want after our shopping trip yesterday, but I nod anyway.
His gaze homes in on me, lingering. “I mean it,” he warns. “If you need anything at all, tell me. I’ll take care of you. I want to. I love seeing you happy like this.”
More flutters. “Thank you, King.”
He grins, rustling my hair before he strides away.
Dazed, I watch him go, then I shake my head, remember I have dough kneading, and check to see that it’s come together. I need to get it ready to rise… I need to…
Lukas wants to take care of me.
The thought returns, harder and louder, so I shake my head again, dump the dough on the counter, and tell myself not to mess with my hair before I hand knead the last bits into an elastic round.
Lukas’s weird behavior doesn’t concern me. It does not matter to me what millionaires do with their spare time or what wild hobbies consume them. I am just trying to survive the insane hiring process I seem to have fallen into.
I smile as I shape my loaves.
And I’m doing a great job.