Page 18 of Hawthorne

Not feeding into the moment, I head towards the long rectangular table, and sit down at the head of it. My seat is sided by two plates, one on each side and both family members join me, sitting down as well.

Right on cue, as soon as we’re all set, Camilla enters the division. Her stance and energy are completely different from the one this morning.

Professional and cold. The same way she used to deal with Eleanor.

“Good evening, Your Graces,” she starts with a bow, stealing me a glance before continuing, “The staff has prepared a three-course meal for you tonight.”

She stops, waiting for me to give her the okay to continue, which she gets from my nod. “First off, we’ll serve the drinks. Upon the duke’s request, we have three choices of wine. All Portuguese table wines from the Alentejo area. The red is strong and fruity with a few hints of the oak barrels from the ageing, while the white is fresh and dry. The last is a light rosé with some fresh hints of pomegranate and strawberry.”

“White, please,” I request.

With a little bell in her hand, a waiter enters with a white wine bottle in hand, heading straight to me.

“I’ll have the same,” Edgar seconds me.

“I’ll have the red, instead.”

“Mother,” I start. “I think the white’s the best choice for tonight’s dinner.

“Nonsense,” she answers. “Red wine goes with everything.”

With a nod, Camilla rings the bell again, a slightly different sound from the first ring, letting me know how the sounds are all coded for the waiters to know which wine they’re supposed to serve. Brilliant.

“As soon as you give me the order, I’ll introduce each dish that is to be served before the waiters bring them out.”

“You can start,” I tell her.

“First is the starter. Scallops with Spanish chorizo and hazelnut picada.”

Once she finishes explaining the dish, she bows, and with a quick bell swinging, three waiters enter, serving us the starter while she retreats from the room.

Seeing her so secure in herself and her job is captivating. So hot.

And the way everything is so well done and organised. My aunt did a great job. Not even my mother can point a finger at this.

The scallop shells are served on an intricate plate. Inside, it’s seasoned with a red sauce and some chorizo pieces and topped with minced hazelnut. My nostrils flare as soon as the scent hits my nose, and I feel myself salivate.

Edgar digs in, not even following our mother’s protocol when starting a meal. She sighs, exasperated, and I take it as a cue to start eating, too.

The starters are gone in less than five minutes, and it tasted as good as it smelled.

“I am hiring your chef to our house, Vince. This food is delicious!”

“I know.” That’s all I can muster.

“Did you choose the menu, darling? The food is delicious.”

“I left Camilla in charge of that. And I was right to trust her,” I answer.

Before my mother can answer, the servers come back in to collect the starters, and Camilla follows right behind them. Oncewe’re alone with her, she straightens her back, with her hands folded in front of her and starts introducing the main dish, “I took the liberty of asking for this specific dish, in hopes you will like it since it was the duchess’ favourite. It’s broiled salmon with a Thai sweet chili glaze. The salmon is marinated in sweet chilli, soy sauce, and ginger. On the side, there are some grilled vegetables and boiled potatoes. Bon Appetit,” she wishes in a perfect French accent, and again, exits the room once again.

“Salmon?” my mother hisses.

“I wanted salmon today; she only chose how it was cooked.”

With a huff, she starts to eat first. Promptly, her face turns red as she struggles to chew it. Her nose crinkles when she finally swallows the food.

“This is spicy,” she exclaims, quickly fetching the glass of water right in front of her.

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