Page 25 of Captive Rival: Armani
“Luca, where is the feta?” Idris asks impatiently, waving his hand.
“We don’t have any,” Luca tells him distractedly as he works on the lamb shanks.
“The goat cheese, then.”
“Uh…” Luca frowns and looks over his shoulder. “No goat cheese either.”
Idris scowls. “What kind of kitchen is this, then? How can I work without cheese?”
“Mascarpone!” Luca says. “Second drawer down.”
Disaster averted.
I get up to pour myself a drink and find another bottle of wine set aside, a Bellanti Elite Reserve cabernet.Well hello. It is, hands down, Bellanti Vineyards’ most expensive wine.
With a smirk, I start digging around in the utensil drawers until I find a corkscrew.
“Mrs. Bellanti, please!” Idris calls out to me. “Not the Elite Reserve—it’s special, for tonight. I have instructions to serve it only to you and Mr. Bellanti alone, to celebrate your honeymoon.”
Smiling at Idris, I twist the corkscrew into the cork and proceed to open it anyway. His eyes look like they’re going to bug right out of his head. Luca is trying to hide a smile, but I catch his eye and wink.
“My wine. My honeymoon. My choice,” I say, wiggling the cork out of the bottle with a satisfyingpop.
Because honestly, screw Armani. I deserve a little prize after the way I’ve been treated.
Whipping open the upper cabinets, I start looking around for wineglasses. But then I hear the distinctivetap-tap-tapof Esme’s stiletto heels coming down the hall toward the galley. The smile drops right off my face.
Hurriedly, I turn around and hold a finger to my lips. My eyes dart around the room as I search for a hiding spot.
“Mrs.—” Idris starts.
“Shh!” I cut him off, shaking my head.
Esme’s heel clicks are getting closer and closer.
There!A pantry door.
I gesture to him and Luca that I’m ducking into the pantry and not to let on that I’m here. The last thing I need is a run-in with that hussy. I barely get the door shut behind me before I hear the unmistakable sound of Esme’s Italian-accented English, her voice annoyingly loud over thechop-chop-chopof Idris and Luca’s knives on their cutting boards.
“Oh good, you’re still working on dinner,” she says in her Italian-accented English. “I need to request a different dish for Mr. Bellanti. Something more…sophisticated. What is the most expensive thing you have in the kitchen?”
So that bitch is playing the same game I am. Except in her case, it’s probably not a matter of preventing her own execution. She’s just trying to work her way into Armani’s bed again.
I glare at her silhouette, which is visible through the frosted glass of the darkened pantry. It looks like she’s wearing a short, dark dress. Her hair is up.
“Mrs.Bellanti already left instructions for Mr. Bellanti’s menu,Ms.Torrio,” Chef Idris says.
A little thrill goes through me. Idris is on my side. The last name Torrio vaguely rings a bell, but I don’t have time to think on it right now.
“Hmph,” Esme grumbles. “‘Mrs. Bellanti.’ That’s a title without a lot of security attached to it, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Idris replies stiffly.
“Becoming a wife is not exactly like becoming a made man, is it? There are no guarantees of loyalty, or protection, or—”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, Ms. Torrio,” Idris interrupts dryly, “Mrs. Bellanti has plenty of security. Did you have a nice swim earlier, by the way? I heard the pool was a little…crowded this afternoon.”
My face instantly goes hot. Apparently the entire crew knows the gossip about my tryst with Armani in the pool. And also about how Esme caught usin flagrante…
