Page 15 of Secret Revenge

Gina took her apron off. “If you need anything, I’ll be in my room. Call if you have questions.”

“Thank you, Gina. I will.”

After she left, I opened the pantry and carefully selected the ingredients I needed. A small smile played on my lips as I imagined his reaction; he’d spent so much time and energy taking care of me I thought he’d appreciate me taking care of him.

My bruises ached as I reached for the ingredients I needed in the pantry. It was hard to believe it was only two days ago that Nicholas had rescued me from Antonio Bianchi. And only yesterday that he made good on my promise to rescue Jocelyn and Abby.

I reached for the jar of imported tomatoes, my hands shaking slightly as the gravity of what Nicholas had done for me settled. He had risked everything to protect me, and I wanted to repay him in some small way.

With each precise cut and measured ingredient, my thoughts swirled around the man I had married. We were joined together by obligation, and I knew I could never leave him, not without putting my family in danger. On the other hand, we were developing a relationship outside the constraints of our obligations. In moments of tenderness, we’d both said ‘I love you’, but it felt like we had been swept up in the moment. Cooking this meal for him was more than a simple gesture of gratitude. It was a declaration of my desire to understand him, to forge a willing partnership with him.

As I worked, the smells and sounds of the kitchen surrounded me, and I reflected on our relationship. I poured my heart into the dish, hoping with each added herb that the meal would convey the growing affection I felt for Nicholas.

“Vegetables first,” I said to myself, checking the recipe’s steps. The scent of garlic and onions soon wafted through the air, as I sautéed the vegetables in the gleaming stainless steel pan. I smiled at the enticing aroma that filled the kitchen, knowing it would only grow more potent as the meal progressed.

The sizzle of the pan served as a reminder of what I was doing – not just preparing a meal, but creating an experience for Nicholas. Would he understand the depth of my gratitude? Would he see through my actions what words could never fully convey?

I imagined his reaction to my efforts. Would he be pleased? Surprised? Disappointed that his wife would do menial labor? And what if the meal wasn’t good? What if I ruined it? Anxious thoughts threatened to overwhelm me, but I pushed them aside, focusing on the intricate process of crafting this meal. It was not just food - it was a symbol, a message, a silent testament to the bond we were slowly forming.

“Let it be perfect, let it be enough,” I silently prayed, my eyes closing briefly as I sent my wish out into the universe. In that moment, every stir, every slice, every simmer became a small act of devotion – each one a piece of the mosaic that would become our future.

“Perfection,” I murmured, as I sprinkled a pinch of salt over the chicken cutlets. The tender meat glistened under the kitchen’s warm light, each layer of seasoning adding depth and complexity to the dish that was Nicholas’s favorite. My heart raced in anticipation, my thoughts swirling like the spices that clung to the delicate tendrils of steam.

“Time to join your brethren,” I whispered, sliding the seasoned meat into the pan to join the others. I’d made enough for six people, planning to take the best looking food for us. The sizzle that followed was music to my ears, the sound intensifying the anticipation of the meal.

“I talk to the food too,” A familiar voice said from the doorway, causing me to startle. It was Gina, her eyes alight with amusement.

I grinned up at her. I was a mess, with flour in my hair and sauce staining the apron I wisely put on before I started cooking. “That’s good to know.”

“I thought I’d check up on you and make sure everything was going well. It smells delicious.”

I glowed under her praise. “Thank you. Do you want to taste it to make sure?”

She walked to the stove and tried the sauce. “Not bad. Maybe a pinch more oregano.”

I took her advice and added more oregano. “Anything else? This has to be perfect. He needs to understand how much he means to me, and how grateful I am for everything he’s done.”

“Sometimes the most powerful message is the simplest one. Spending your entire afternoon cooking for him will get your message across, loud and clear.”

“I hope you’re right,” I conceded, my fingers tracing the handle of the pan as I mulled over her words.

“Besides,” Gina continued, a wicked gleam in her eye, “I have a feeling he’s already well aware of your feelings. Men like him have complete understanding and control over their environment and everyone around them.”

She looked around the kitchen. “Not as messy as I expected. Since you’ve got everything in hand, I’ll go back to my afternoon off. Let me know if you want to cook again because I just woke up from the best nap.”

With a sense of pride, I moved on to the next task - setting the table for our dinner. My hands gently lifted the finest china from the cupboard, each plate an exquisite testament to craftsmanship. As I placed them with elegant precision, I wondered if this was something men even noticed. Would he know I made sure each utensil was properly placed or would he be equally happy eating off a paper plate, drinking wine from a plastic cup? Gina said Nicholas noticed everything, but I knew my father often missed many details.

It didn’t matter, because I appreciated the beautiful table. The crystal glasses shone softly as I set them on the polished table, their delicate beauty reflecting the flicker of light from the candles I lit one by one. The soft glow cast a warm and inviting atmosphere, adding a touch of romance to the scene. I took a step back to admire my handiwork, feeling a thrill of anticipation course through my veins.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the distance, my heart pounding in time with each approaching step. As the door opened, revealing Nicholas’s tall, imposing figure, I held my breath, praying that tonight would be the night our love transcended the unspoken barriers that stood between us.

“Welcome home, Nicholas,” I greeted him, my voice a mixture of vulnerability and determination. “I’ve made you dinner.”

“You did? Is Gina all right?” His eyes widened in surprise, taking in the scene before him.

“Yes, she’s fine. I wanted to cook for you and I made this meal, every last bite.” My smile was a display of affection and surrender, an offering laid bare upon the altar of our marriage.

He pulled me into his arms and kissed me. With horror, I realized I hadn’t removed my apron and he was getting sauce on his suit. I pushed him away. “Let me get cleaned up first. I’ll be back in a minute.”

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