Page 67 of Bartered Innocence

When I returnto my room after reading with Rian’s father, I stop short at the text message waiting for me. It’s been weeks of silence, and I haven’t heard a word—no worries over if or when I was coming back to work with him.

António

Miss you in the kitchen. We’re trying a new recipe today.

I’ve been staring at the text message for over an hour, working up the courage to just leave the house and go. I know Rian will be mad, but it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission at this point. While I despised the idea of marriage at the beginning, I’m slowly getting used to it with each passing week. Or perhaps it’s the growing pressure about how much we’ve fucked without birth control. Getting pregnant is bound to happen eventually.

Me

What are you making?

António

Rigatoni with puttanesca sauce and nduja

His response comes immediately and I bite down on my lip, desperately wanting to go. But I promised Rian I’d wait until he said it’s okay. I’m also not the biggest fan of anchovies, it’s a bold choice of flavors that my father rarely lets us explore.

Me

Sounds delicious. Can’t wait to try it one day.

Antonio

Come make it with us.

I’m also nervous to leave without Rian. I know he left with Cillian to Atlantic City. So that leaves me with Aodhan, who has been nothing but nice to me the entire time. My phone buzzes again.

António

Or we can attempt risotto again.

I groan, remembering how tragically I failed at that. We don’t make it often, so we haven’t tried again after that first night. It’s also not my favorite texture, so it’s not something I cook for myself. António knows my weakness to get me to the restaurant, and it’s always trying new things. But something in the back of my mind reminds me of my husband’s warnings.

Me

Maybe another day.

Antonio

Va bene, Isabelle. I know your father misses your cooking.

I deflate, sitting on the bed and swallowing down the ache in my throat. My parents haven’t reached out to me directly, but I miss them everyday. And my eyes prickle with tears when I think about how hard I’d worked to get the restaurant standing on its own. I only needed a few more years and we could have moved, I was sure of it.

Texting him back that I’m on my way, I change into jeans and a thin sweater. I pause at my dresser, hating the feeling of slipping off the ring I’ve become accustomed to wearing. Jewelry can’t be worn in the kitchen and I don’t want to risk losing it, even if Rian will be furious knowing I took it off.

Aodhan’s soft voice talking to Deirdre makes my heart rate spike as I tiptoe past them and straight to the garage. Nerves claw up my throat as I slowly open the door and creep through it. I pull my phone out and stare at it for a moment, then decide to leave it because I’m sure Rian can track it. I need at least a few hours before he comes to collect and lock me up.

By the time I'm in the car and on the road to New York, I realize how bad of an idea this is. My heart hasn’t calmed since I left the house and my hands ache with how tight I’m gripping the steering wheel. Every mile closer to the restaurant, more dread curls in my stomach.

“What the fuck am I doing?”

I ask the question aloud, groaning as I blink away the sheen of tears. I’ve wanted nothing more than to go back for the past few weeks. Now I’m on the road and I debate every exit to turn back around.

It sort of feels like I’m choosing António over Rian, a battle between my past life or my future with Rian. A few weeks ago, there would have been no hesitation in my choice. But now I struggled to think of a day without Rian in it.

I hit the steering wheel and blow out a hollow laugh. It would be counterproductive to go back now, might as well see it through. When I park outside the restaurant, I frown at the empty lot. It should be a lot busier this time of day, but I’m no longer privy to the inner details of the schedule. It’s possible it’s being cleared for a meeting.

Hurrying through the back door, I pause to find António alone. There’s not even another sous chef.

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