Page 38 of All the Gossip from Paris
I’m not sure if I can go inside.
Liam could admit to being worried. Worried that he might actually lose his cool if something inside the kitchen triggered him into having a panic attack. None of it made sense, but then again who could explain how the brain reacted to emotional trauma.
He hadn’t looked at a cookbook in over two years. After the bitter breakup with his chef ex, he’d boxed up all his kitchen stuff and stored it away in the attic of his parent’s garage.
Through the windows of the kitchen, he could see many people moving about the space. The door might be closed, but the sound of raised voices still reached his ears.
“If you want to go talk to the chef, I can wait out here if you like,” he offered.
Sophie glanced at the window, then nodded. “Yeah. Papa has brought a few international chefs in. From the sounds of it I expect our resident team are having to make some concessions.”
Those concessions sound more like yelling, but ok.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said.
While Sophie disappeared through the door and went in search of food, Liam took a moment to rest. He leaned back against the hard stone wall of the chateau and closed his eyes. He’d slept on the plane, but it wasn’t the same as being in a proper bed.
“And they want us to go out for dinner tonight,” he muttered.
He’d be at risk of falling asleep at the table. Hopefully his parents would hit the wall before he did. They had better not be having a sneaky afternoon siesta.
Hands resting by his side, he took a moment to clear his mind. The day with Sophie had gone better than he’d hoped. Their earlier awkward greeting was little more than a memory.
She’d danced for him. Shown him her free and wild side. And been far more patient with him over the legacy of the world’s biggest designers than he really deserved.
I’m glad she came into the city. Now we can both enjoy the wedding.
The first sign of something being out of place was the touch of wetness on his hand. Figuring it was a drop of rain, Liam didn’t bother to open his eyes.
Then came something warm. Licking. Snuffling.
Liam cracked open an eyelid, and glanced down. Through a beige shaggy fringe a pair of dark eyes studied him.
“Either you’re a small long-haired bear, or you are Rollo,” he said.
The Royal family pet, stood tall. Rollo’s head reached past Liam’s hip height. The friendly Briard, gave Liam’s hand another warm, wet lick.
He bent and gave the dog a good scratch behind the ears. As he did, two large paws settled on his shoulders. Liam dropped to his knees. “Well hello to you too,” chuckled Liam.
The door of the kitchen swung open, and Sophie appeared. She was carrying a small plastic box in hands. On top of the box was a plate with what looked like freshly minced meat on it.
Steak tartare perhaps?
“Down boy, let Liam up,” said Sophie.
The dog did as he was ordered, and Liam got to his feet. He took the plate from the top of the box.
He was about to sample the food, when Sophie nodded in the direction of the dog. “That’s for him. Our chef loves to spoil the family dog. Rollo has to be the best fed Briard in all of France.”
Liam set the plate down in front of the Briard, then stepped back while Rollo got busy with his meal.
Sophie flipped open the lid of the box, and Liam peeked inside. “An apple, some bread, and a chunk of cheese. Seriously?” he said.
“Chef said it’s our fault if we missed the formal lunch today. The cheese is Brie which has been allowed to come to room temperature. It will spread nicely on the bread. He gave us napkins and a knife.”
She pointed to the door on the opposite side of the walkway. “We can go eat in there out of the wind.”
Liam glanced at the meagre lunch offering. He should be disappointed, but he couldn’t help but smile. He was with Sophie, and they were going to have a makeshift picnic in one of the chateau’s ground floor rooms. It was far from the lavish hotel suite he would be sleeping in tonight. But its simplicity was what made it so perfect.
