Page 92 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

It isn't meant to be a dig at himself or even Rachel but a true testament to Jameson's work and his connection to their mother. She gave him his love of food and made the kitchen his safe place in their home, and now, we’ve created our own home here.

Jameson clears his throat behind me, clearly uncomfortable and fighting back the emotion he’s still learning to expose. “I want to thank everyone for their support, whether it be emotional or financial over the years. There were definitely times I didn't think I would get here.” He glances at me with a lopsided grin. “And I never imagined it would be with a partner as beautiful and talented as my wife.”

Oh, crap. Here come the waterworks.

It’s hard enough to keep my emotions under control as it is with all the hormones ravaging my body right now, but when Jameson gets choked up and says things like that, I’m a total goner.

Just like I was from the moment I saw him on the street that first day, drenched and full of arrogance.

I might not have known it then, but there’s no denying Jameson Fury owns me—body and soul. He might think he “won” our little feud, but in the end, I was the one who won because I got this and him.

* * *

JAMESON

I wrap my arm around Isabella and squeeze her gently, needing the contact with her to keep me rooted and prevent me from falling apart like a total fucking pussy in front of everyone. Bash would never let me hear the end of it if I did, especially after all the crap I’ve given him over the years about what a pushover he is when it comes to Greer and then Annabelle when she came around.

But it’s hard not to give in to the rush of emotion at his words about Mom. If she were here, she would be proud, and it would mean so much more than any recognition I could have gotten from Dad if I kept playing hockey as a child and gone on to the NHL like Bash. Because her love and support and pride were one hundred percent about us and our accomplishments, not about what they said about her like it was with Dad.

Bash knows that, too. Which is why his words hit me so hard.

That and knowing how much Mom would be thrilled to be here with her granddaughter and to know she has a grandson on the way.

My son…

I glance at Izzy’s belly where her hand rests and have to choke back the tears that threaten to steal the words I have to speak to respond to Bash.

We weren’t even sure it would be possible after her transplant, and now, we’re so close to having him here. The thought of being someone’s father when I had such a shitty one of my own makes me break out in cold sweats every fucking day, but I’m determined to give him everything Dad never could give us. He’ll never want for anything in his life, and he’ll know he’s loved every moment of every day.

Looking at Bash and Rachel and knowing they’re just as happy as I am makes the tears I’ve been fighting finally sting my eyes. To avoid being caught crying, I glance at the long table in front of us, the one we all sat at one fateful night a few years ago when things were so different. Staring at the beautiful glass bowls with floating candles Rach picked out as centerpieces before we opened, the flickering flames remind me that the people who aren’t here are absolutely watching us right now and know how much we love them.

I clear my throat and force myself to look up at everyone. “I knew tonight wouldn’t be easy. Not with all it took for us to get here. Not when there are people we all want here who can't be, but at the end of the day, we've finally hit a milestone most chefs can only dream about. And we did it with a wacky concept that probably shouldn’t have worked.”

It was a little crazy to bust open the wall between the two spaces, but it allows us to serve both menus on each side easily and permits customers to choose where they prefer to dine—in a more casual, eclectic, laid-back atmosphere at “grandma’s” side or a more upscale vibe on the “fury” side.

Grant thought it was complicated, but somehow, it works. We have people coming in for lunch of Grandma's mac and cheese coming back for dinner to have my roasted lamb and truffle potatoes. They love it, and it even makes it easy for parents to have a nice date night without a babysitter. They can bring their kids and order something from the other menu, which makes everyone happy.

So many people looked at it and said it wouldn't work—both the restaurant concept and Isabella and me.

The two of us started out on opposite sides—literally—ready to take down the other in order to ensure victory. But in the end, it was only coming together that saved us both. Me from becoming an embittered, angry, selfish asshole and her from literally working herself to death in order to make her grandmother proud.

Now, we both have our dream, and it's one we share. I wouldn't want it any other way.

“So, thank you all for your unwavering love and support.” It’s all I can say about that. I can't get out any other words without crying, so instead, I take a sip of my wine and raise a glass to the people who truly made this happen. “To Grant and Sylvie, who were willing to take this chance on us.”

“Hear! Hear!”

The whole table erupts in talking and laughing, and Isabella leans her head against my shoulder. “You okay?”

I nod and swipe away the single stray tear that makes it from my eye. “Yeah? You?”

“The baby liked your speech.” She grabs my hand and presses it against her stomach.

Our little man kicks wildly in a way that cannot be comfortable. I lean down slightly to ensure he can hear me—or at least, that’s what all the baby books tell me. “Settle down there. Your mom and I have a long night of cooking ahead.”

Isabella grins at me and shakes her head. “He's a Fury. There's no way he's going to listen to authority.”

I chuckle and press a kiss to her lips—long, slow, and sweet, just the way she likes it and I've come to love, too. She melts into my embrace, and I pull her as close as our little one will allow.

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