Читать книгу Ultimate Romance Collection - Rebecca Winters, Amalie Berlin - Страница 109
ОглавлениеTUCCIA STOOD THERE with her hands on her hips. “You honestly expected that I would change my mind while you were gone? That I didn’t mean any of the things I said?”
“It would be understandable,” he said, sounding so reasonable she wanted to scream.
“Naturally you have every right to believe I’m not up to the task. No one would believe it.”
“I have faith in you, but I want to give you the freedom to back out of this if you think you might have spoken too hastily.”
As they sat down to eat, he handed her a copy of the Il Giorno newspaper to read. She came face-to-face with a two-month-old picture of her and Jean-Michel attending the opera in Paris. The headline read, Sicilian Princess still missing.
“You’ve done a good job of disappearing, Tuccia. So good I believe you have an excellent chance to reach Catania unobserved with your disguise. I had no right to suggest you go to New York. You’re a grown woman and can make your decisions. It’s time you were allowed to function without interference from anyone.”
He ate a second helping of veal. The minutes were ticking away. Maybe he was wishing she would leave for Catania, then he’d never have to give her another thought in his life.
Her appalling selfishness sickened her. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was disgusted with the overindulged princess who’d created an international incident. He’d have every right!
It was miraculous he’d let his mother talk him into bringing her to Milan, except that Tuccia’s aunt was a force to contend with. Because his mother worked for Bertina, she probably didn’t know how to say no to her.
Unable to handle her own ugly thoughts any longer, she got to her feet and clung to the back of the chair. He looked at her while he finished off the bread.
“Cesare?” she began.
“Yes?”
“When I was at your mother’s last night, I was frightened out of my wits at what I’d done to escape my prison. Terrified would be a better word. That is until this morning, when you snatched me away from the jaws of death at great risk. I know that sounds dramatic, but that’s how it felt to me and still does.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
She struggled to say the rest. “You’ve saved my life. If you’re really willing to teach me how to make pastry, and you think I can learn, I’d like to try. I want to help you honor your commitment to your partners who are depending on you. I haven’t changed my mind about any of it. But if the police don’t find me first, I can only pray your friends won’t discover I’m a fraud who has made a mess of everything for you.”
The blue of his eyes darkened as they stared at her out of dark-fringed lashes. The male beauty of the man caused her to feel desire for him even to the palms of her hands.
“I believe you. No matter how you see yourself, Tuccia, in my opinion you’re the bravest woman I ever met and I believe you can take the challenge head-on,” he said in a husky tone. “What brought you to this decision?”
After the unexpected compliment, Tuccia had difficulty swallowing. “I couldn’t let you get away with thinking I’m not worth my salt.”
There was a gleam in his eyes. “I’m impressed by your willingness to put yourself in the hands of a stranger.”
“That part is easy, Cesare. Because I’ve been friends with your mother, you haven’t been a stranger to me, even if we didn’t meet until last night.” She was embarrassed because she could hear the throb in her voice. All it had taken was meeting him to be crazy about him.
He got to his feet and started clearing the table. “She likes you enough to have begged me to help you escape. That shows the strength of your friendship. It’s good enough for me.”
“I’m just sorry I’m the clay you have to work with to try and make a pastry cook out of me. But I swear I’ll work my hardest for you.”
“You’ve convinced me. Shall we get busy?”
“Yes. What will we make first?”
“The most clamored-for dessert in Sicily. I’m sure you’ve eaten virgin breasts before.”
Tuccia should have been ready for that one, but it was so unexpected heat scorched her cheeks. She went over to the sink to wash her hands. “You can’t be a Sicilian without having eaten those cakes. But when I was little, the cook at the palazzo was offended by their name so she called them nun buns.”
A chuckle escaped his lips. “They have several names. Mamma grew up in an orphanage run by the nuns,” he continued. “They were known for being great cooks and made those special delicacies for which they’re famous. She taught me everything she learned from them. Tonight we’ll get started on the first of three different kinds.”
“I didn’t know there was more than one.”
“You’d be surprised at the varieties.”
She knew he was talking about the cakes, but her blush deepened anyway.
“Some of the ingredients have to be refrigerated before completing them, but we’ll finish everything before you have to go bed. In a few days’ time we’ll present them to my partners as your specialty when I introduce you. A bite into them and they’ll believe they’d been transported to heaven.”
Laughter peeled out of her. “I hope you’re right!”
His laughter filled the kitchen. “Why don’t you sit down and we’ll go over the recipe. It’s known only to my mother and me.” He walked over to one of the sacks and pulled out a notebook and pen. She shouldn’t have been surprised all that knowledge was etched in his brain.
“Shall I write it down while you dictate?” she asked as he handed her the items.
“I think that would be best for you. To read your own writing rather than try to figure out mine will save you time in the long run. That notebook is going to be your bible. Don’t ever lose it. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she said in a tentative voice.
* * *
Last night Tuccia had appeared to Cesare like a fantastic female apparition that had made him think maybe he was hallucinating. This evening she wasn’t just a heavenly face and body. In the last eighteen hours she’d taken on substance and exhibited a keen intellect that had been growing on him by the minute.
In her desperation to remain hidden from the world for a while, she’d begged him to teach her. He knew she was frightened. This woman, who’d been raised to be a princess, was running on faith.
Right now she reminded him of a young child, submissive and obedient to her parent. Cesare was humbled by her determination to grab the lifeline he’d thrown her. He’d brought the newspaper with him to help remind her that anything—even learning how to cook pastry—was better than being forced to go back to her old life.
“The first item you’ll be making is called pasta frolla for the shells. These are the ingredients: four cups of flour, one cup of granulated sugar, two sticks of sweet butter, one tablespoon of honey, five medium egg yolks, lightly beaten, and lemon zest. After you’ve kneaded it and put it in the fridge for an hour, you’ll make the ricotta cream filling. That requires one cup of sugar, two pounds of ricotta, orange zest, cinnamon powder, one drop of vanilla, a quarter pound of candied citron and chocolate shavings to taste. Lemon glacé will be the final step that includes one and a half cups of granulated sugar, a quarter cup of lemon juice, and a sprinkle of raspberries. I realize this sounds like a lot, but it’s straightforward. You’ll like forming the shells. Are you with me so far?”
She looked up with a faint smile. “Yes. I can’t wait to find out if I share your optimism.”
Her response was encouraging. “Come on. We’ll get started on the dough. While you find us a bowl in the cupboard, I’ll put the first set of ingredients on the table.”
He oversaw everything, but made her do all the work. She added the ingredients, making little mistakes, but soon she’d formed it into a ball.
“Okay. Now knead it.”
“I know how to do that from watching the cook.” But once she got started, the dough kept sticking to her fingers. “This is impossible!” she cried in frustration.
Cesare burst into laughter. “Wash your hands, and then dust them with flour before trying it again.”
“But that will wash half the dough away.”
“No problem.”
“That’s what you say,” she mumbled, but did his bidding and started over with the kneading. “This is much better.” She finally lifted her head and smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now pat it into a disk and wrap it in wax paper. An hour in the fridge and it will be ready to shape into tart shells. While the dough is getting cold, you’ll start making the filling.”
Three hours and three tries later she’d produced a pan of tarts she was willing to let him taste. After she’d decorated them with the lemon glacé, she designed the tops in an artful way with raspberries and chocolate shavings.
With a hand he could tell was trembling, she put one on a dish and handed it to him. “Will you be the first to sample my pièce de resistance?”
Cesare knew what this moment meant to her and he bit into it. She’d followed the recipe to the letter. He found no fault with the taste or texture and was so proud of her effort after three tries that he wanted to sweep her in his arms. Instead he kissed her hot cheek.
“Congratulations, Tuccia. My partners will tell you these tarts are perfect.” He swallowed the whole thing and had to be careful not to swallow her, too.
“Thank you. I know they’re anything but. The shells are still uneven and in this batch I put a little too much cinnamon in the filling when I tasted it.”
“The fact that you know what you can improve on makes you an excellent cook already. How does it feel to have made a masterpiece created by the nuns?”
She took a deep breath. “If these tarts meet your exacting criteria, it’s because you were my teacher. To answer your specific question, after I got over being nervous with you standing there watching me, I had more fun than I would have expected.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
“It amazes me that I’ve eaten desserts of every kind all my life and never paid attention to the intricacies that go into the preparation. That’s what frightens me. This was just one dessert. When I think of the dozen others I have to learn how to make, I feel totally inadequate.”
“Keep in mind that all it takes is one step at a time. I’ll wrap up your pan of mounds and take them with me.”
“Why?”
“I want my partners to try them.” He heard her groan. “After the dishes are done, I’ll say good-night.”
While he called for a limo, he watched how hard she worked to clean up the flour on the table and floor, let alone her clothes. She’d proved she was worth her salt, but this had only been her first lesson. Another few days of this and the last thing she would tell him was that it was fun.
He had to give her full marks for putting the kitchen back together with little help from him. “You’ve done a great job, Tuccia. I’ll be back in the morning and we’ll talk about what’s going to happen. I hope you get a good sleep.”
She walked him to the front door. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for shielding me and giving me this chance.”
“I’m equally grateful and impressed that you’re willing to try something so different from the world you’ve come from to help me. Who knows? We may pull this off yet.”
She flashed him a tired smile. “‘May’ being the operative word. Bona notti,” she called to him.
* * *
On Cesare’s way to the castello, her parting words resonated inside him. She’d said good-night to him in Sicilian, using the Palermo dialect. It reminded him of the language he used with his own family, making him feel more connected to the princess.
That was bad. He couldn’t afford to have intimate thoughts about her, but that was a joke because he could still feel her body pressed against his in his mother’s kitchen. That was a moment he couldn’t forget if he wanted to, even if she’d just run away from her fiancé.
Cesare had offered to help her so she could gain her independence. He hadn’t done it to take advantage of her. The last thing he intended was to come on to her. If he did that, he’d be every bit as bad as the lecherous comte Cesare’s mother had described.
You are just as bad, Donati.
By the time the limo dropped him off around the back of the castello, he realized he had to tell his partners the truth about her. If they couldn’t handle it—and he was pretty sure they couldn’t—he would understand. So would Tuccia. Even though he hadn’t been around her long, he knew she’d pretend it was all right.
It was five to ten when he stole through the passageway to the back stairs not used by the hotel clientele. Halfway to his room on the second floor in the private section, he ran into Takis coming down the stairs from the turret bedroom he and Lys used when they were in Milan. They had their own home in Crete and flew back and forth.
“Cesare—You’re back! We didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow. What have you got there?”
“You’d be surprised.”
Takis frowned. “What’s going on?”
“I had a slight change in plans. Where are you headed?”
“To the kitchen.” Takis smiled. “Lys had a sudden craving for ice cream.”
“So it’s true about pregnant women.”
“Si. One day it’ll be your turn to find out.”
A sudden vision of a pregnant Tuccia in her yellow silk robe flashed through Cesare’s mind, disturbing him.
“Eh, amico. What’s wrong?”
Diavolo. What wasn’t? “Everything’s fine.”
“The hell it is.” Takis could read him like a book.
“Your wife needs you. Is Vincenzo here or in Lake Como with Gemma?”
“In order for us to be together tomorrow and meet the new cook, they never left for home.”
“Perfetto. See you two in the morning.”
Not wanting to prolong this any longer, Cesare bounded up the rest of the stairs. When he reached his suite, he put the tray of tarts on the coffee table and went in the other room to take a shower.
Later, after throwing on a robe, he phoned his mother and found out the police had been by the villa asking questions about Tuccia.
“I said I didn’t know what they were talking about. I’d been at the hospital all day and told them to check the nursing station at San Giovanni if they needed verification. That was enough for them and they left. I’m positive they won’t be back.”
“Grazie al cielo.”
“Bertina is overjoyed no one can find her niece.”
It might interest his mother to know Cesare’s relief was just as great. The more he thought about Tuccia’s detestable royal engagement, the happier he was that he’d played a part in her escape. As for the rest... “I take it Ciro is still in the ICU.”
“Oh, yes. The nurse told me she would call me when they moved him to a private room so I could visit.”
“That’s good.”
“Tell me how you are. How’s Tuccia?”
“We’re both fine.” He’d told Takis the same thing. Fine covered a lot of territory, good and bad. “Don’t worry about anything. Get some sleep, Mamma. That’s what I’m going to do.”
Not wanting to answer any more questions, he hung up wondering if he’d be able to get any while he was torn apart by thoughts of Tuccia and what would be the best thing for her. Now that he’d agreed to help her, he had to see this through one way or the other. But he couldn’t seem to stop from touching her. Earlier tonight he’d kissed her.
Cesare was about to turn out the overhead light when there was a knock on the door. Instinct told him it was Takis. He crossed the room and opened it to discover both him and Vincenzo standing at the threshold.
“Shouldn’t you two be with your wives?”
Vincenzo’s silvery stare had a way of pinning you in place. “We think you need us more.”
“I’d hoped to have this conversation in the morning.”
Takis shook his head. “Let’s talk now or none of us will get any sleep.”
How true. But the fear that his partners might not be on board with his plan to train Tuccia had been bothering him. Deep inside lurked another fear that if she left Milan to do something else, she wouldn’t tell him where she’d gone and he might never see her again.
“Come in.” They walked in his sitting room and sat down. He paced for a minute before coming to a stop. “I don’t want to keep you up all night, so here’s the bottom line. The person I’d hired for our ristorante is in the hospital in Palermo as we speak.”
In the next breath Cesare explained everything that had happened from the moment he’d arrived at his mother’s villa until now. He told them about Ciro’s sudden illness and Tuccia’s plight.
“I took her to the pensione where Gemma stayed. She’s safe there for the time being. During the flight I came up with a solution to both problems.”
In the next breath he told them of his idea to turn her into the temporary new pastry cook for the castello until Ciro was well. He only left two things out; the fact that she’d been the one who’d begged him for the job, and his intense attraction to the principessa. Cesare had never burned for a woman like this in his life.
“Hearing about her disappearance is like a dose of déjà vu for me,” Vincenzo commented.
Cesare nodded. “When Mamma admitted why she was hiding Tuccia, I could understand. It took me back to that morning in New York when you told me and Takis about your escape from your father at eighteen years of age. She’s twenty-five, but still in much the same situation as you were back then.”
“That was a horrific time. I can well imagine what Princess Tuccianna is going through right now.”
“But she’s my responsibility, not yours. Tonight on the way up here I decided I had to be out of my mind to think up such a ridiculous plan.” She’d been so desperate, he hadn’t been able to find the strength to turn her down. “On the jet she talked about another plan she had in mind to stay in hiding. I don’t doubt it would work for a while.
“Once she’s gone I’ll be acting pastry chef while I search for the right person to replace Gemma. I can only hope Ciro might recover much sooner than the doctor estimated.”
Without commenting, Takis eyed the covered pan on the coffee table. “Are you going to let us taste her first endeavor?”
“I was just going to ask the same thing,” Vincenzo commented.
“There’s no point. I’m not willing to drag you two into this mess.”
“Why don’t you let us decide.”
“No, Takis.” He shook his head. “All we would need is for the press to find out she’s working within the walls of the castello. We’d be charged for obstructing a police investigation. I’d face an additional charge for flying her here. It would cause an international scandal that could ruin our business.”
At this point Vincenzo had gotten to his feet. “Not showing up for her wedding would be a disappointment to her fiancé and parents, but it isn’t a crime. As far as I can see, no crime has been committed by anyone. She turned to her aunt for assistance. That woman called on your mother who enlisted your help. The police don’t know that.”
“Vincenzo’s right,” Takis chimed in. “Besides, Tuccia is over twenty-one and is welcome here as a staff worker. If she wore a disguise and used a fake name, it’s not our fault we didn’t recognize her.”
“Thanks, guys, but the police wouldn’t see any of it that way.”
“How are they going to find out?”
Cesare rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. “I don’t know, but you can be sure there’ll be a leak somewhere.”
Takis looked up at Cesare. “Mind if we find out what a good teacher you are?”
“Go ahead. She’s never cooked anything in her life, but she followed Mamma’s sacred recipe for Sicilian nun buns to the letter.” He uncovered the pan so they could take one.
Both men started eating and didn’t stop until half of the decorated mounds were gone. Tuccia could have received no greater compliment.
Vincenzo lifted his head. “You swear you didn’t cook these yourself?”
“I stood over her shoulder. That’s all.”
“She really made these on her own?” Takis looked astounded.
Cesare nodded. “It took her three tries. She even cleaned up the mess in the kitchen afterwards.”
“Do you think this was a one-time accident, or is the princess the proverbial diamond in the rough?”
“I’d like to see her make half a dozen Sicilian desserts at the pensione before I could answer that question, Takis. Today it was fear that drove her. She’d do anything to stay hidden. But to master the art of fine pastry making and love to do it is a gift only a few people possess. Within a few days she could hate it.
“As for her working here as the pastry chef, it would mean dealing with the kitchen assistants. I have no idea how she would handle them under pressure. For all of those reasons I’m going to tell her this won’t work.”
“Not so fast,” Vincenzo interjected. “Before you say or do anything, why don’t I ask Gemma to visit her tomorrow? Let her lay out what a day in the kitchen would be like for Tuccia. She’d be able to ask my wife questions about the routine and the personalities she would have to deal with.”
“But Vincenzo—Gemma learned from her mother and studied pastry making for ten years at the finest school in Florence. She would laugh in disbelief at such a ludicrous idea.”
Vincenzo shook his head. “We’ve all heard the news about the princess who ran away. No one would be more understanding than my wife who saw first-hand what went on between my father and me years ago. Takis and I agree those nun buns the princess made were divine. I think it’s worth going to the trouble to give her a chance. I know Gemma will feel the same way.”
“You don’t want her on her feet at this late date in her pregnancy. Neither do I.”
“Cooking for hours every day is entirely different than having a serious talk with Tuccia.”
Takis nodded. “He’s got a point, Cesare.”
“I don’t know. I have a lot to think about. Tomorrow when I go down to the pensione, I’ll probably discover she wants to leave. Whatever is decided, I’ll let you know. I guess you realize I’m indebted to you two for being the best friends any man could ever have. Now go to bed. That’s an order.”
Both men stole the rest of the mounds from the pan before walking out the door.
Cesare tossed and turned all night, too eager to see her again to sleep. Early the next morning he got dressed and left the castello in his hard-top sports car parked around the rear. He took the empty pan with him.
When he reached the village, he stopped at a trattoria for takeout: breakfast for two. To his dismay he realized that he was so excited at the prospect of seeing her again he couldn’t think about anything else. Though it had only been a few days, Tuccia had taken up space in his mind and heart.
He’d known desire for women and had enjoyed several short-term relationships, but they’d always stopped short of marriage because some crucial element had been missing. That was what he’d always told himself. But this was different because so far Tuccia appealed to him on every level and had already colored his world.
He reached the pensione at eight and got out of the car. After knocking on the door, he expected her to answer in tears and be anxious to get to the train station.
