Page 35 of Marring an Athlete

“It is important that you listen to our directions,” he said, emphasizing his words with a jab of his finger.

Michael held up his hands and nodded. “Of course. I apologize.”

The man gave him a final pointed look and then went on to introduce himself as Pierre. Once he started talking about the difference between a hollandaise and a béarnaise sauce, Michael tuned out.

Watching Anna nod and smile as she studied the sous chef, captivated his attention. She looked so serious as she jotted a few notes down on the pad of paper that Pierre had supplied her with.

“What are you writing?” Michael asked, nudging her with his elbow and peeking over her shoulder to see her notes.

The pad of paper flew to Anna’s chest as she narrowed her eyes. “No cheating,” she whispered.

Michael widened his eyes. “Cheating? It’s called marriage. What’s yours is mine.” He shifted around, trying to get a look at her paper.

She chuckled. “That’s for a real marriage. This, honey, is a fake one. Those rules don’t apply.”

Michael plastered on a hurt expression as he brought his hand to his heart. “That’s no way to talk to the husband that you swore to love your entire life.”

Pierre cleared his throat, and Michael turned to see his glare. “Perhaps, Mr. Michael would like to give us a demonstration as he seems so confident in his cooking ability that he feels that it is not important to pay attention.”

Pierre waved his hand at the stove and continued to stare Michael down.

“Me?” Michael pointed to his chest. “You want me to cook?”

“Unless you feel that this is a task you cannot do.” Pierre’s accent did not hide the challenge to his words.

Michael was never one to back down from anything. “I can cook. I’ll make whatever you want. Scratch that”—Michael held up his pointer finger—“I’ll make double of whatever it is that you want.”

Pierre’s eyebrows went up. “You will demonstrate a hollandaise and a béarnaise sauce?”

Michael swallowed. “Yes,” he said and then cleared his throat.

Pierre grabbed two sauce pans and set them on the stove. “Very well. I’m excited to watch you work.” He waved at McKenna and Sam. “Feel free to get started. I have a very strong feeling that we will not be eating for a while.”

McKenna nodded. She looked uncertain as she brought her gaze over to Michael. He shot her a confident smile. Maybe this would be a good thing. If the pressure was taken off of McKenna and put on him, maybe she would let her guard down enough to be vulnerable. Right now, that seemed like the first step in getting her and Sam to talk.

Pierre led them over to a stove on the far end of the kitchen, so Michael turned and glanced down at Anna. She was studying the ingredients laid out in front of them. Her brows pushed together as she chewed her lip.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked. He was ready to focus on something other than his sister’s failing marriage. Or how to fix it, when he couldn’t even solve his own problems.

“I don’t know how to make any of this,” she said as she sighed and blew a strand of hair from her face.

Michael shrugged. “We can figure this out. It can’t be that hard.”

“Are you going to start?” Pierre asked from behind them.

Michael turned and nodded. “Of course. We’re just doing the pre-cooking stretch.”

Pierre’s manicured eyebrows rose. “Pre-cooking stretch?”

“Um, yeah.” Michael smiled at him. “Only after it, can I work the magic.”

Pierre nodded and then turned, muttering “American,” under his breath.

When he turned back to Anna, she saw him staring at her.

“What?” he asked.

“Why are you being so weird?” She grabbed the notecard on the counter and started reading it.

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