Page 22 of Wife Number One

Luca noticed. “I know all about your Instagram account. That’s not the food you’re making for Simon.”

“No, it isn’t,” I gritted out, hating that he’d seen my social media. Fucking hell. I should have never started that stupid thing. It had caused me nothing but problems.

“Making all those sloppy burgers and deep-fried potatoes can’t be very fulfilling for you when you can make dishes with titles I can barely pronounce.”

“My burgers aren’t sloppy.”

He chuckled. “Of course not. But hardly a test of your skill either.”

He was right there. It was completely unfulfilling work. But it was a means to an end.

At least I’d thought it had been. But I’d been outbid so badly at that auction that now I wondered if there was actually any point to having dreams bigger than running Simon’s kitchen. Even with my brother’s help, which was humiliating enough in its own right, I couldn’t afford to get into the game.

Not in Providence anyway. And there was no point serving up Wagyu beef in Saint View, where I probably could afford the rent. No one here had the money or the palette for the sort of food I wanted to serve.

“I heard you bid on a place in Providence today,” Luca mused.

I stared at him, anxiety creeping up my spine slowly and insidiously.

Luca Guerra taking this much interest in someone was never a good thing.

He continued, not caring that I wasn’t responding. “Great spot on the main street in Providence. Perfect for an upmarket restaurant and bar, don’t you agree?”

I agreed so fucking hard I wanted to cry just thinking about what I’d lost today.

“Such a big, beautiful space. Plenty of room for a huge, state-of-the-art kitchen. Low lighting over private tables. A bar serving all the very best top-shelf liquor. Even room for functions and parties in the back.”

I hadn’t even thought of using the extra space like that. But it was a good idea.

It hurt that all of that had gone to someone else. That I hadn’t even been close to being able to afford it. Luca rubbing salt in the wound wasn’t helping.

“If you’re done trying to get under my skin, I’m going to leave now. See you around.” I yanked open the car door and slid into the seat.

“What if I told you that restaurant could be yours?”

I squeezed my eyes shut tight and gripped the steering wheel, willing myself to close the door and drive away.

But Luca grinned at me through the windshield. “Ah. That interests you. I thought it might after hearing how much you bid for the place. How the hell were you going to pay the mortgage on that?”

I refused to answer.

Luca nodded knowingly, like somehow, with just my silence, I’d spilled all my secrets. “Ah. You couldn’t. You were in way over your head.”

Anger boiled my blood. I hated that he knew exactly which buttons to push to make me feel like shit. It was the same way I felt every time my brother had been awarded a new trophy for outstanding excellence, while I came home with nothing but a detention notice my mother had to sign with a disappointed expression on her face. It was almost a fucking relief when Liam’s paternal grandfather had noticed his talent for everything and plucked him out of Saint View to raise in Providence as his heir.

It had only deepened the divide between my brother and me though. And it was one we were still actively trying to mend, decades later.

I wondered if Luca knew all of that too.

One look at his smug face said he probably did.

I switched the engine on.

“I was the winning bidder, Chaos,” he called over the roar of my engine. “And I want you to run the place.”

I turned off the engine.

Luca grinned. “It would be everything you want it to be. You’d have full control over the menu. You could make any dish you’d ever desired, in the kitchen of your dreams. You would do all the hiring, and I have a very generous budget in mind so you could attract some real talent to work alongside you. I’d pay you a top-level salary, and your sign-on bonus will include shares. Making you a part owner.”

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