Page 7 of Slow Simmer

Chapter Four

Carlo had never seen a kitchen quite like the one which was now his domain.La Sirène’s pastry kitchen was separated from the main kitchen by an open doorway, both of them equipped with every top of the line industrial appliance any chef could ever dream of wanting. This was Suzannah’s doing, he knew. Jace Hunter was a billionaire, and he knew the value of having a chef of Suzannah’s calibre. Carlo was willing to bet after the restaurant was awarded a Michelin star, Jace and Luke had offered Suzannah anything she wanted… and she, never remotely interested in material wealth, had used their offer to make her restaurant kitchen into something the world’s top chefs would envy.

And now, the pastry kitchen was Carlo’s. It was four in the morning and at the main bread kitchen not far away, the bakers were working on fresh breads and pastries for breakfast, but right here and now,La Sirènewas all his.

Smiling, he set to exploring his new kingdom.

By the time the fresh fish arrived from the docks at just before six, he was in full swing, singing along with music from his phone he’d synced with the Bluetooth speaker. Several of the big ovens were fired up and there were mixing bowls everywhere, flour and sugar dusting formerly shining clean steel surfaces, a pile of eggshells in a bowl, macarons resting on a counter before crisping…

In short, it was a mess. And it was just the way Carlo, who thrived on disorder, loved it. He hadn’t had such a good time cooking in ages, always either on camera or in the tighter confines of the kitchen in Castillo Gianetti where he wasn’t even able to devote all his time to the sweet desserts which had always been his greatest creations.

He’d never seen such fine ingredients asLa Sirène’spantries and refrigerated storage room were stocked with, either; the fresh tropical fruits and locally produced chocolate, coffee, cheeses and cane sugar.

Quite frankly, Carlo Gianetti was as happy as a pig in mud, and it showed as he serenaded the empty kitchen at the top of his voice, singing along to Ricky Martin and shaking his (if he said so himself) very fine bon-bon along with the music.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem Suzannah appreciated either his bon-bon or his singing, as her shriek of rage cut through his consciousness. The music snapped off as she slapped her hand down on the speakers’ power button, and Carlo spun around, almost dropping the bowl of melted dark chocolate, beaten egg whites and whipped cream he was carefully folding together to make a decadent chocolate mousse.

Carlo was quite impressed, as Suzannah set out on one of her epic rants, shaking her finger at him and spitting swear words in several languages. Her curse vocabulary had definitely expanded in the last few years. He wasn’t even sure what some of the words meant.

“Buongiorno, mia bella,” he said cheerfully when she paused to take a breath. “Looking forward to our little dégustation this afternoon?”

“I’m looking forward to kicking your ass out of my kitchen,” she snapped back, green eyes flashing with rage, her red hair almost seeming to bristle as she stalked towards him. “Look at this godawful mess!”

“You always were a neat freak,mia ragazza,” he said fondly. She had raging OCD, a typical trait in a top chef, and one he did not share unless one counted his rigid requirements about the perfection of the food which was sent out of his kitchen. Indeed, he was messy in his habits whenever he could get away with it, and in this beautiful, dedicated pastry kitchen, he would most definitely be able to get away with it.

As long as Suzannah didn’t murder him, anyway. Good thing all the sharp knives were in the other kitchen and out of her reach at that precise moment, Carlo thought as she eyed him, teeth grinding quite audibly.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “And don’t you dare get in the way of my staff. Lunch and dinner still have to be served today; if you’ve used the ingredients they’ll need for today’s desserts, I don’t care how good your cooking is, you’re fired. This is an island and we can’t just run into town for fresh ingredients; you have to order them and they come on tomorrow morning’s supply boat.”

“I’m a professional,cara,” Carlo said, somewhat insulted. “I read through your menu and mace sure you’ll have what you need for a couple days’ worth of desserts, not just one.”

She humphed at him, her expression telegraphing disbelief.

“Why the hell do you have such a problem with me being here anyway?” He set down the bowl before he got agitated and over-mixed the mousse. “You’re the one who left me without a word of explanation, remember?”

“That was years ago, it’s nothing to do with why I don’t want you here now!” Suzannah protested, but he knew her well enough, knew her minute shifts in body language and the way her green eyes flickered away from his, to know she wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“If you wanted to work in London so much, why didn’t you say so? I had plenty of options, we could have carried on working together, but you made it more than clear you didn’t want me to follow you. Still, I’d have thought you’d have gotten over that by now.”

“There was nothing to get over!” She clenched her fists by her sides.

“Then why do you have a problem with me?” Carlo folded his arms and tried to look casual, but the truth was, he wanted an answer. He’d wanted an answer ever since he stood on the platform in Paris watching the train disappear into the distance, wondering how and why his whole life just came crashing down around his ears.

“Because you’re more concerned with your status as a celebrity than with good food.” Suzannah’s answer startled him, and he dropped his hands to his sides, starting forward.

“I’mwhat?”

Colour blazed in her cheeks as she continued. “I’ve seen some of your YouTube footage. You take shortcuts, use ingredients you know to be inferior…”

“What?” He honestly had no idea what she was talking about.

“Vanilla essence out of abottle?”

He began to laugh. Her scandalised expression was just too funny as she spat the words as though they were the rudest of epithets. She looked even angrier at his laughter, turning on her heel to storm out. Somehow stifling the laughter, Carlo reached out to touch her shoulder, not wanting to grab her, but needing to stop her leaving. He had to explain.

“Suzannah, you’ve been watching my introductory shows, haven’t you? The short, ten-minute ones.”

“I don’t have the time or inclination to sit through hours of your nonsense!” she snapped back at him, her cheeks still red. She didn’t like admitting she’d watched any of his shows, he recognised.

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