Page 22 of The Black Wife Blessing

"Yeah." She wipes her hands on her apron. "Your mother called this morning. She wants us to attend some charity gala next week. And yesterday, my old sous chef asked about wedding photos for social media." Her voice rises slightly. "I didn't think we'd have to keep up appearances outside your family circle."

"Fuck what anyone else thinks." I turn her around to face me. "We don't owe explanations to anyone."

"Easy for you to say. You've lived in this world your whole life." Monica gestures at the penthouse around us. "I'm still learning how to be Mrs. Blackwood without tripping over my own feet."

"You're doing fine. Better than fine." I catch her restless hands in mine. "Stop overthinking it. We'll handle each situation as it comes."

"But-"

"No buts. You're already juggling enough with your restaurant plans. Let me worry about the social circus."

Some of the tension leaves her face. "You make it sound so simple."

"Because it is. Now, what exactly are you cooking? It smells incredible."

Monica's smile returns as she stirs one of the pots. "I'm making coq au vin. It's a French dish - chicken braised in wine with mushrooms and pearl onions. Plus some roasted root vegetables on the side."

"Fancy." I lean against the counter, watching her work. "Any special occasion?"

"Just felt like cooking something that takes time." She adjusts the heat under one of the pots. "It's therapeutic, you know? Lets me think."

The kitchen falls quiet except for the gentle bubbling of the cooking food. I take a deep breath, deciding now's as good a time as any for what's been on my mind.

"Listen, about this whole arrangement..."

Monica freezes for a split second before resuming her stirring. "What about it?"

"I want you to know I'm committed to making this work. The fake marriage, the public appearances, all of it."

"Henry, you don't have to-"

"I know I don't have to." I move closer, careful not to crowd her workspace. "But I want to. We've come this far, and honestly? We make a pretty good team."

She sets down her wooden spoon and turns to face me. "The press does seem to love us."

"They eat up every photo op. It's ridiculous." I lean against the counter, watching her work. "That piece in the Times about the 'whirlwind romance between the business heir and the rising culinary star' got more shares than any of our company's press releases this year. My PR team is actually jealous."

"It's all smoke and mirrors though." Monica crosses her arms, her expression turning serious. "You sure you want to keep this up? It's a lot to maintain."

"Absolutely." I don't hesitate with my answer. "Besides, who else would cook me fancy French chicken? My culinary skills stop at microwave dinners and takeout."

A laugh escapes her, breaking the tension. "Is that all I'm good for? Feeding the great Henry Blackwood?"

"That and keeping my mother off my back about settling down. The woman was relentless before you came along." I give her a wink. "I'd say you're invaluable, Mrs. Blackwood. Best fake wife a man could ask for."

Monica's smile fades as she turns back to the stove, her movements becoming mechanical. I've noticed these shifts more lately - moments where she retreats into herself, her usual warmth dimming.

"You okay?" I step closer, giving her space but staying within reach.

She stirs the pot with more force than necessary. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"My old life." She sets the spoon down. "I had an ex-boyfriend named Benjamin. I think I've told you a bit about him before. And he used to tell me I'd never make it as head chef. Said I was too 'emotional' in the kitchen." Her fingers trace along the edge of the counter. "He'd critique everything - my techniques, my plating, even how I held my knife."

My jaw clenches. "Sounds like a real piece of work."

"That's putting it mildly." Monica's voice drops. "He'd wait until we were alone, then pick apart every decision I made. If I got excited about a new recipe, he'd laugh and say I was being naive. When I talked about opening my own place someday, he'd remind me how many restaurants fail in their first year."

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