Page 55 of A Million Shades Of Love and Betrayal

We followed my mom through the house and into the backyard. The table was set up with a delicious-looking spread of food and the aroma was to die for. My dad, a tall, imposing man with a graying beard, was staring at the food, ready to dig in. He looked up and grinned when he saw us.

"Rafael, good to see you, son." He smiled as he rose to his feet to greet us. "And you must be Yasmin," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Angelo."

"It's nice to meet you, Angelo."

“Please, have a seat,” my mother said, gesturing to the table. We all sat down, I positioned Yasmin next to me, offering her silent support.

“So, Yasmin,” my mother began as we settled in. “Rafael has told us so much about you. What do you do for a living?”

“I was a teacher, but I recently quit my job and went into the hotel business,” Yasmin replied, her voice steady. “It's always been a passion of mine.”

My father nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds interesting. Do you find it difficult to balance work and your personal life?”

“It can be challenging,” Yasmin admitted. “But I think I'll be able to find a good balance, it's been working so far.”

“And how did you two meet?” my mother asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

I smiled, recalling the memory. “We met outside of my hotel. We bumped into each other, and the rest is history.”

"You own the hotel?" Yasmin asked, eyes wide with shock. I nodded, wondering if I forgot to share that information with her. Mom and Dad shared a look but didn't say anything.

“Anyway,” Yasmin shook her head, moving on. “We struck up a conversation, and Rafael was so genuine and interested in what I had to say. It felt like we had known each other for much longer than an evening.”

“Sounds like fate,” my mother said with a smile.

"This looks amazing," Yasmin changed the subject. "Did you make all this, Carina?"

My mom beamed, clearly pleased at having her point out her expertise in the kitchen. "I did, with a little help from Angelo. I've always loved to cook, and I think Rafael and his dad have grown to love my food."

"We sure have," I spoke, reaching for a loaded potato ball. "Yasmin, you have to try this. It's my favorite."

As we started to fill our plates, the conversation naturally flowed. Yasmin asked my parents about their lives, how they met, and what brought them to the city. It was a story I'd heard many times, but hearing it again, with Yasmin's genuine interest, made it feel fresh.

"So, Carina, how did you learn to cook like this?" Yasmin asked as she savored a bite of the plantains.

My mom laughed softly, a nostalgic look crossing her face. "Well, it’s a bit of a long story. I grew up in Jamaica. My mother and grandmother were both excellent cooks, and they passed down their recipes and techniques to me. Every Sunday, the whole family would gather, and we’d cook together. It was our tradition."

"That sounds wonderful," Yasmin said, her eyes shining. "I can almost picture it."

"It was," Mom agreed. "When I moved here, I wanted to keep that tradition alive. It's my way of staying connected to my roots and sharing a piece of my heritage with my family."

My dad, who had been listening quietly, added. "And she's very good at it. When we first got married, I was the envy of all my friends. They couldn't believe how lucky I was to have a wife who could cook like my Carina."

"My mom is from Jamaica," Yasmin announced, shocking them both.

"She is?"

"Yeah, she was born and raised there. She moved to Paris when she was in her late teens, that's where she met my father."

"You must have learned a lot."

"I have," Yasmin smiled warmly. "I'm still learning."

I smiled, watching the exchange. It was nice to see my parents so at ease with Yasmin. "Yasmin's a pretty good cook too," I mentioned, nudging her playfully.

She blushed, laughing. "Well, I wouldn't say I'm on Carina's level, but I enjoy cooking. My mom taught me a few things."

"What's your favorite thing to cook?" my dad asked, genuinely interested.

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