Chapter 11 #2
"I enjoyed cooking and baking even as a boy. But it’s certainly in the family.
It was obvious early on that I’d take over the company someday, so my parents spent every free moment creating cakes, tarts, and dishes with me.
We traveled around the world, dined at the finest restaurants, visited breeding farms in Asia, spice dealers in Turkey, and even went to Switzerland, which has by far the best chocolate in the world. "
It’s true. I smile as I watch him getting enthusiastic. I love it when someone has that kind of passion, when they get to live their dream. It’s contagious, and it makes me feel good too.
"That’s why you’re getting a very special menu tonight. I’m trying something new, and you’re my guest."
"Then I’ve come at just the right time."
"Oh yes. Ready for the appetizer and salad?" Gabriel asks, looking at me. I nod quickly and fold my hands.
He sets the table, and I can’t help feeling happy to be served.
First he pours me a glass of water, then places a black bowl filled with a colorful salad in front of me.
"This is an arugula and mache salad with pears, walnuts, and goat cheese. I’m sure you’ll like the combination."
It’s such an unusual, adventurous-sounding mix — but I’m curious enough to be surprised.
Gabriel goes on, his voice low and even:
"The salad leaves have a nutty note. The thinly sliced pear adds sweetness. The roasted walnuts not only give the perfect crunch but also complement the greens. The goat cheese is cut into small cubes for a creamy bite. It’s finished with a honey-mustard dressing that brings everything together and balances sweet and savory.
A light appetizer, but full of flavor — the perfect start. "
"Oh wow…" I say, swallowing. "I’ve never had a salad like this before."
But Gabriel isn’t done yet.
"With the salad comes an appetizer and a complementary white wine. The Sauvignon Blanc is a dry white with fruity notes and herbal aromas. It is beautifully paired with the goat cheese. The wine’s sweetness balances the caramelized onions in the goat cheese tartlets without changing their taste."
As he speaks, he sets down the next dish. "Phyllo pastry filled with goat cheese and tangy caramelized red onions."
Gabriel sits next to me, lifts his glass, and toasts me. I take mine and clink with him.
"To a wonderful evening," I say.
"And to a wonderful collaboration." Gabriel takes a small sip of wine and sets it aside. I do the same. I just have to make sure it stays at one sip, so I don’t lose control again.
"What exactly is phyllo pastry?" I ask.
I can see it’s thin and crisp but have never heard the name before.
"It’s from Greek, also used in the Middle East. Very thin, used in things like baklava or borek. You can think of it like puff pastry, if that’s more familiar."
Ah. Now it makes sense.
I taste the salad and tartlets. Incredible. All the things this man can do.
"This is amazing. I can’t even remember the last time I had something so delicious."
English cuisine is sadly not exactly famous for being good. The French, Italians, Japanese, Koreans, Chinese, Vietnamese, Thai — all celebrated. But English food? Not so much. That’s why you rarely see restaurants abroad featuring the best of our beautiful kingdom.
Yet here’s Gabriel. A genius. A man who truly understands good food and conjures up the best dinner I could hope for.
"Then it was about time," he says with a small smile.
He eats like a gentleman, savoring each bite. No gulping, no smacking. Every mouthful is a pleasure. He closes his eyes now and then, smiles, nods, then glances at me as if to make sure I’m enjoying his dishes too.
"My parents run an inn in Scotland," I tell him. "They only serve buffets, and always the same dishes depending on the season. There’s a lot to do — thirty-two beds, and many guests to take care of. The food’s good and complaints are rare, but you can’t compare it to this."
"Wait until the main course," Gabriel says, clearing the empty dishes and plating two large servings on the counter.
"You never wanted to work there?" he asks.
"I did. But then I came to London and studied. After that, I really wanted to stay, so I worked a lot. You know my résumé."
"Inside and out," he says.
"I actually wanted to go back now and help them until I figured out my next step. But then your offer came along. So, for now, I’m here."
Gabriel returns with the two plates and leaves me amazed again.
"Will your parents forgive me?"
"If you invite them to dinner sometime, definitely…"
What on earth is on my plate?
Gabriel pours us more wine as I look at him, puzzled.
"Gladly." He shows me the bottle. "A Chablis. Chardonnay. An elegant white, mineral, fresh, and light — perfect for a fish dish."
So, it is fish. I wasn’t quite sure.
"For the main course, we have monkfish medallions with lemon butter and saffron risotto."
Oh wow. Monkfish.
"I’ve never had anything like this. You’re completely spoiling me."
I look at the beautifully arranged plate, fascinated, then try the fish. It’s amazing.
"Firm. Juicy. It hardly tastes like fish. It’s more like lobster as a flavor."
Gabriel nods. "Fascinating, isn’t it?"
"Yes. Absolutely."
After the main course comes dessert. The question is on the tip of my tongue. It’s a bit bold to ask, but I can’t resist.
"So… you do realize I’m going to want you to cook for me every day now, right?"
“Since I love cooking for others, I’m sure it’ll happen more often.
But we’ll also be out and about a lot, so there won’t always be time,” he says as he comes back to the table carrying dessert.
“Lemon panna cotta with berries.” But that’s not all—on a long tray beside it are neat little confections.
“Petits fours, filled with pistachio and raspberry ganache.”
“But you bought those, right?” I ask, staring at how perfectly shaped and glossy they are.
“No, also homemade. There are plenty more in the fridge. The biscuit base gave me over fifty pieces. I’ve already taste-tested a few, I’ll admit.”
He picks up his dessert spoon, so I decide to leave the petit fours for later and dig into the panna cotta first.
“I tried to research you, but there’s hardly anything to find. Why do you keep your private life so strictly secret?” I ask him. “People really know nothing about you.”
“And that’s exactly how it should be. Just because I run a company doesn’t mean the world needs to know my birthday, my marital status, whether I have children, or even if I’m allergic to something.
Unfortunately, there are people who will use those details against you.
And I have no intention of ending up in gossip magazines.
I love my work, but I also love my private life. ”
I nod quietly.
“Do your parents feel the same way?” I ask.
He pauses for a moment, then takes another spoonful of panna cotta. Clearly not a topic he’s eager to discuss. “If there are certain things I shouldn’t ask, please tell me. I just want to know who I’ll be living and working with before I dive headfirst into this whole adventure,” I explain gently.
A luxury mansion and an exquisite dinner aren’t enough on their own to make me commit.
“My father died several years ago. Shortly after Rosie was born.”
Damn, no wonder he reacted that way. I’d walked right into a hornet’s nest.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, guilt washing over me. The last thing I wanted was to stir up something so painful.
“My mother has lived in seclusion ever since. She avoids contact with the outside world. Only I visit her, as often as possible. No one else is welcome in her home.”
“I understand.” That makes it clear I’ll probably never meet her, which is a shame. “Not even Rosie sees her grandmother?”
“No. It’s complicated.” He offers a small smile and goes back to his dessert. I let the subject drop immediately.
“What does your week look like?” I ask.
“Business as usual. But on Friday I have an important appointment in Rome. I’ll fly out in the morning and return Saturday evening. Will you come with me?”
A short trip to Rome? Absolutely!
“Yes. Gladly.” I keep my fear of flying to myself—better not give him a reason to leave me behind.
“Do you have your passport with you, or is it still at home?”
“It’s still at my place, but it’s valid. Chloe and I planned to fly to Barcelona in November, to soak up some sun before the Christmas season. It’s just become so damn complicated since we left the EU.”
“Yes, a bit,” he agrees, “but it’s good you’re prepared for that.”
“Do you speak any Italian?” I ask curiously.
“Yes. I can get by in several languages. The usual ones. My parents made sure I learned the basics—important words and phrases.”
“Which ones?” I ask, intrigued. “I only speak Spanish and a little French.”
“Italian, Spanish, French, Greek, Turkish, Chinese, Korean, and Japanese.” The list is long.
“I’m still working on Portuguese and Thai, but that has to wait until next year.”
Wow. Impressive.”
“When I meet someone and I know they’re proud of their roots, I memorize a few sentences. It always makes a good impression. Customs, jokes, little traditions—things like that go a long way.”
“Any tips for Italy?”
“Never call pasta noodles. No pineapple on pizza. And most importantly: never break long pasta. Never. Under no circumstances." Gabriel smirks as he adds: "For you as a woman, it would also be worth noting that men there love to flirt. For them, it's completely normal."
“Okay, I think I can handle that. And why exactly are you flying to Rome?” I ask, nibbling one of the petit fours at last. I'm really loving the pistachio cream.
“I’m meeting with an olive oil producer. His oils are very popular with restaurants here, and we need to increase our supply. Plus, he has new varieties I want to try on site.”
"Okay, I'm intrigued! In any case, I'm looking forward to experiencing such a trip with you."
"In the future, we'll be traveling a lot. I need to handle several negotiations with buyers. Asian cuisine especially is becoming more and more popular."
"If I decide to stay after the trial week," I remind him, which makes Gabriel smile gently.
"Right. If." He lifts his glass of water and toasts me. I do the same and take a sip. "Tomorrow I'll train you. Just be ready by nine so we can drive to the company."
"Okay. I can do that."
"I have another important appointment, but I'll handle that on my own. In the meantime, feel free to look around the house, try things out, eat, drink, borrow books from the library, check out the cinema room, or take a bath. Whatever you want."
Did he just say library?
"When will you be back?"
"In about an hour. Maybe two. But the evening is all yours."
"Can I do anything else for you? Or prepare something for you tomorrow morning so you can sleep in?" As a personal assistant, I should really start right away and make things easier for him.
"Surprise me." Gabriel gets up and starts to clear the table, but I stop him.
"I’ll take care of it. You go to your appointment, and I'll explore the house, snoop around a little, and make sure I put together a plan for tomorrow morning, so you get something decent to eat. Monkfish and confections are probably beyond me, but I’m sure I can manage a few boiled eggs."
"Boiled eggs?" Gabriel grins.
"Rock-hard boiled eggs. Maybe even still a little raw. We'll see. Let's be surprised."
"Okay." Gabriel leaves the dishes where they are and says goodbye. "If anything comes up..."
"I’ll be fine."
"If my sister shows up, you have my number. Please call me right away if she brings Rosie, okay?"
"I will."
Gabriel leaves through a side entrance that connects to the garage—where no fewer than six cars are parked. He takes one of the sports cars and drives off. And here I am. Alone in a luxury mansion.
Gabriel’s luxury mansion.
Alone with myself. Alone with my thoughts.
Alone with a library. My book-loving heart leaps. Well then, I’ll have a look around, unpack my things afterward, take a bath, and later try to get some sleep.