Page 14 of Ren: Warlord Brides
And this guy knew good taste?
He held a nearly empty wine flute like it gave him purpose. He wore a starched collar so high it covered his jaw, like some old-fashioned portrait from back in the day when houses lacked central heating. The sleeves on the same shirt were so voluminous, they were impractical. Ornate metal caps decorated his horns. Everything about his outfit spoke of vast amounts of credit and little refinement. No wonder he was Pashaal’s friend.
“Pashaal does enjoy her pretty, useless things,” he said.
“I was thinking the same,” Emry replied.
“But, well…” His gaze locked onto the scar. With a shiver, he drained the wine glass in one long gulp. With a flick of his hand, he signaled to a server for another. “Perhaps not so pretty. Do you offer another kind of service?”
This dick…
Emry’s hand clenched tighter, her fingernails digging into her palm. “I must check on the tartlets.”
“Sounds… rustic.” He shuddered.
“Dovak, I see you have met my human chef.” Pashaal approached, elegant as always, with a genial smile on her lilac face. White hair had been styled high on her head, studded with amethyst crystals. Delicate silver chains decorated her horns.
“Yes. She has a rough-hewn charm. The visible damage accentuates the delicate features.” Dovak waved a hand at Emry.
This was why she hated people.
“Tell me, do you share? I’m curious to try a human.”
Emry sputtered, thoroughly grossed out. Dovak’s eyes gleamed, watching her.
“What Chef LeBeaux does in her free time is up to her, but I am only interested in her culinary skills,” Pashaal said, which was sort of all right. It wasn’t ‘stop creeping on my employee,’ but better than ‘try her out yourself.’
The comm vibrated on her wrist. Rescued at last.
“Forgive me. I need to return to the kitchen,” Emry said, skedaddling like her tail was on fire.
“Contact me, human. I’d love to sample your wares,” the overdressed creep said.
Nope. Not happening.
No one had sampled her wares in years. Not since her two-day wonder of a marriage to Ren. Technically, they were still married, for what it was worth. It wasn’t like they had a relationship or a commitment. The first day, he was nice. Awkward, but nice. The next day, he sent her back to Earth. The frustrating part was he had been so freakingniceabout the entire ordeal.
Anyway, her love life was nonexistent. Not because she held a torch for the alien who ditched her, but she just didn’t have the inclination to get involved with anyone, human or otherwise.
Emry burst through the kitchen doors and barked orders. Under normal circumstances, she was a one-woman show, but when Pashaal entertained, Emry got staff. The extra hands helped with prep, serving, and cleanup.
“Get ready with the bread,” Emry said. She ladled a fragrant tomato bisque into fine porcelain bowls. Using a dishcloth, she cleaned the odd splatter of bisque from the edge of the bowl.
Rustic. What did that guy know? Tomato bisque was amazing.
Pashaal and her guests were just seated at the dining table when Emry and the servers arrived. With bowls carefully placed alongside bread baskets, she announced the tomato bisque. “Grown in our hydroponic garden.”
“Isn’t it remarkable? The tomato is a fruit from a poison family. What is it called?” Pashaal asked, her spoon poised above the bowl.
“Nightshade,” Emry said.
“Who was the first human brave enough to eat the poison fruit? And there is more than one in this family? What are they again?”
“White potatoes, eggplant—”
“Which does not look like an egg in the slightest!” Pashaal gasped in utter delight.
The guests looked dubiously at the tomato bisque, perhaps less enthusiastic to try rustic human food knowing about poisoned fruit.
