Page 6 of Slow Simmer

To her surprise, Carlo smiled at her. Flustered, she said sharply “Maybe if you paid more attention to your cooking and less to chasing skirts, you wouldn’t burn things either.”

“Ouch!” Flamboyantly, he clapped a hand over his heart. “A hit direct, Red! Jealous, are you?”

“In your dreams,” Suzannah sneered. Narrowing her eyes, she added “And my name is Suzannah, not Red.”

She hadn’t waited for him to respond, had turned her back and bent to check the soufflé rising in her oven.

Of course, after that Carlo seemed to be underfoot everywhere, calling her Red and casting smoldering, smirking looks in her direction even when he had another girl - or two! - in tow. Suzannah did her best to ignore him completely, even though she was all too well aware her body had different ideas. The prickles of awareness which chased up and down her spine whenever Carlo was near warned her to stay as far away as she could get.

Unfortunately, as the school’s star students they were constantly thrown together, being challenged and pushed to compete with each other by the professional chefs who saw their potential and wanted to get the best out of them.

It was in their final weeks when things came to a head. Too busy with the practical examinations they were undergoing almost daily to prove their fitness for graduation to keep up his usual flirtations, Carlo turned his attentions to the nearest available female - Suzannah. She’d tried hard to stay unmoved, but failed dismally. Particularly as she got to know him better and realised he wasn’t the spoiled rich kid she’d thought him; yes, he came from a much more affluent background than she did and had been given every advantage, but he was also truly dedicated to the arts of fine cuisine and talented as hell.

Eventually, one night after their final exams were over, she let him take her out to a wine bar and they both drank far too much. Unable to resist his blandishments, Suzannah invited him back to her place… and discovered that her few sexual experiences up to that point in no way prepared her for the incredible way Carlo could make her feel.

She’d wondered aloud, afterwards, just how much practice it took to get that good at sex, and he’d rolled over to lean over her, give her that intense dark stare of his.

“If that was just sex for you…” He shook his head, ran his hand through his hair. “That waslife-changing. I don’t have the words to describe how incredible that was, Suzannah… and how much I desperately want to do it again.”

He wasn’t lying about being eager for an encore, Suzannah discovered as his erect cock nudged her thigh. Truth be told, right then she couldn’t think of anything she wanted more, either.

They’d spent almost an entire week in bed, surfacing only to get food and drink, and by the end of it Carlo finally had Suzannah convinced he didn’t view her as just another notch on his bedpost. When the phone call came to let Suzannah know she’d graduated top of her class, Carlo had been quite plainly overjoyed for her.

“You deserve it,” he’d said, hugging her tightly. “You deserve every bit of success and acclaim. You’re going to be a superstar, Suzannah; we all knew it from the first day.”

Carlo had been a close second, of course, and as the two top graduates they had their pick of positions. Both offered a one-year graduate position as sous-chefs at Alain Ducasse’s legendaryBenoitbistro, for months they lived and worked together in perfect harmony. Suzannah was honestly surprised at how well they managed to get along; she’d spent so long sniping at Carlo and being envious of the ease with which he managed social situations, she’d never realised just how easy he was to get along with.

Lying in her bed, staring sleeplessly at the ceiling despite her exhaustion, Suzannah smiled bitterly at the thought of herself as a young girl utterly smitten by Carlo Gianetti.

What a naive idiot she’d been, to think she could ever belong in his world.

They’d been living and working together for almost eight months when his parents turned up in Paris, irritated by Carlo’s failure to go back to the family restaurant in Milan. Their obvious shock at discovering he was living with a girlfriend spoke volumes; Carlo had never even mentioned Suzannah’s existence to them.

The Gianettis were even more wealthy and well-connected than Suzannah had ever realised. The ‘family restaurant’ turned out to be not just a restaurant, but a castle converted into a premium five-star hotel, the Michelin-starred restaurant ensuring bookings were always sought-after. Carlo was a scion of a long line of Italian nobility tracing their descent from the infamous Borgias, his father still holding the title ofComte.

Their disapproval of Suzannah, a girl from Paris’ working-class, could not have been more obvious. Carlo was quite sharp with his parents over it, flatly refusing to accept their decree that he should return to Italy at once.

She’d loved him for that. Loved him more when his parents finally left, frustrated, and he turned to take her in his arms, telling her he would choose her over them every time. That they’d spent his whole life controlling him, grooming him for something which was never his dream.

“I want to travel. To work in amazing restaurants all over the world, learn different cuisines, incorporate them into my own style… and I want to do it withyou.”

It was the happiest day of Suzannah’s life.

The end of their apprenticeship year atBenoitcame quickly, and Alain Ducasse wrote both of them glowing references. The job offers started coming in quickly, mostly at restaurants and hotels in Paris and other cities in France, a few in London. An intriguing offer for Carlo in Geneva. Another for Carlo in Barcelona. One for Suzannah in Dubai she rejected out of hand; while the money would be excellent, the Middle East was one place she did not particularly want to work.

After a few days, Suzannah began to see a disturbing pattern. The offers for her, while reasonably compensated and high enough profile to interest her, weren’t in the same league as those Carlo was getting.

The day he got the offer fromLe Bernardinin New York, Suzannah finally understood. A restaurant with three Michelin stars making an offer to a chef Carlo’s age, without so much as an audition or an interview? Somebody was pulling strings behind the scenes, and she had a pretty good idea who.

She also knew the offer was too good for Carlo to turn down. And sure, she could follow him to New York, find work somewhere decent enough, work her way up the latter. Watching him be fast-tracked to the top when she knew her skill at least equalled his would eat away at her, though, and she knew it would destroy them.

Her pride would not allow it to come to pass. She refused to trail after Carlo like some lovesick puppy, and she most certainly would not allow him to reject such an opportunity for her sake; that would be the height of foolishness and ever-practical Suzannah could not abide that. No, she would take the best of the offers she had received and go to London, make her own way to the top of her profession.

She was already packed when Carlo arrived home from his shift at work. Handing him the offer letter fromLe Bernardin, she said simply “I’ve accepted an offer in London. Take care and good luck, Carlo,” before she wheeled her suitcases out of the door.

He followed her all the way down to the street, demanding she talk to him, tell him why she was leaving. When she hailed a taxi, he jumped in the other side. Indeed, they were at the railway station at Suzannah was perilously close to tears when he finally realised he could not dissuade her from leaving. He’d watched silently as she presented her ticket and boarded the Eurostar train which would take her to London, his expression one of stricken grief.

Suzannah had done her best, over the years, to forget that look on Carlo’s face, the last sight she had of him as the train pulled out of the station and she was finally free to let the tears flow.

She’d never managed to put him out of her mind entirely, though. Seeing him again tonight had been a shock to the system, particularly when her body responded with traitorous arousal to his closeness and she realised she wasn’t over him.

She’d probably never be over him.

Carlo Gianetti wasn’t the kind of man you could ever forget.

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