Page 11 of Recipe for Love (The Andrades 0.5)
An angry red spread across her uncle’s face. “Alessandro, you’re going to let your daughter talk to me that way?”
Maddy’s father rubbed his hands over his face roughly, then said, “Maddy has a right to voice her opinion.”
Victor turned angrily on his brother. “Do you agree with her?”
With a pained shrug, Alessandro said, “I don’t know. I’ve never lied to Maddy, and”—his face tightened a bit and a muscle in his jaw twitched—“even when she knows I don’t want to hear it, she has never lied to me. I may not like the truth, but I would rather know it.”
“I did what I thought was right.”
Alessandro went over to his brother and put a hand of support on his shoulder. “I know you did. And I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last few days. If Maddy needs to tell Stephan the truth, then that’s what she has to do. No matter what the consequences are. She must also do what she thinks is right.”
Watching her uncle shrink a bit before her father brought new tears to Maddy’s eyes. Victor said, “I hope to God we don’t lose him over this.”
Maddy reached out and took her uncle’s hand in hers. “I don’t want to cause trouble, Uncle Vic. I don’t want to hurt anyone. If you promise me you’ll tell him, I’ll honor your secret.”
Her uncle’s eyes misted over and he nodded. “You’re a good girl, Maddy.”
Her eyebrows shot up in challenge. “Even if I’m a tramp?”
He blushed at her jab.
Alessandro interjected, “About that. You’re not staying here.”
“Dad, I’m old enough to know what I’m doing.”
“Apparently not, or you wouldn’t have run away in the first place.”
Ouch.
“And you’re lucky your mother was here or your boyfriend wouldn’t be looking so pretty. He was smart to hide in the kitchen with the women.”
“He’s not hiding. He spends his life in a kitchen. He’s a chef.”
“A chef?” both men asked in unison in similar tones of disdain.
Putting her hands on her hips, Maddy said in a huff, “It’s a perfectly respectable profession, and I won’t have you looking down on him.”
As if she weren’t in the room anymore, her uncle said, “You should tell her to stay here. She’s always been a bit contrary.”
“Oh, she’s coming home with us,” her father said.
Shaking her head, Maddy said, “Where’s Mom? I can’t talk to you about this.”
***
Richard was showing Elise and Katrine how to make a traditional holiday dessert when he stopped and smiled. They were both paying close attention and shared not only his passion for good food but also a keen appreciation for the process.
After he had briefly described his restaurant to them, Elise had said something that had touched his heart. “My grandmother always said that the reason a family recipe is impossible for others to duplicate is because the most important ingredient is love. You can’t go wrong if that’s where you start.”
He’d nodded in agreement but didn’t admit the truth: He didn’t have a family recipe. Not one. He’d created his own dishes, and that had always been enough until now. His father’s house had once given him a sense of family, but after meeting Madison’s family, it would never again feel like more than a cold stone structure.
This was family. They yelled. They worried. They protected each other. Maddy might have had a reason to leave them, but there was no doubt they loved her.
As I could.
The realization shook him. He’d heard couples say they knew from the moment they met that they were meant to be together. He’d always scoffed at the idea, until Madison. He had tried to push her away, tried to fight the attraction, but in the end he admitted to himself that the more time he spent with her, the less he wanted to imagine his life without her.
As if she’d heard his thoughts, she walked into the kitchen and crossed the room to stand by him. When she saw he was cooking with her mother, she smiled. “Did you survive the grilling?”
He swept her hair over her shoulder, kissed her neck gently, and said, “Easily. Your mother and aunt are incredible.”
She jumped as her father and uncle entered the kitchen, then asked, “And my father?”
Richard put a supportive arm around her waist. “He loves you. That much is obvious. You’re lucky to have someone who cares enough to be angry with you.”
Maddy smiled up at him. “Thank you for giving us time to talk. We’ve at least come to an understanding.”
Fear seared through him. “Does that mean you’re leaving with them?” Of course she was. Why wouldn’t she? Because of one day they’d been together? Because of one romp in his bed? She’d run away to prove a point to her parents, and sleeping with him had driven that point home.
“Do you want me to?” she asked softly.
His heart clenched in his chest. “No,” he admitted huskily.
Madison straightened her shoulders with resolve and looked at her father. “Then let’s feed him and see if it softens his mood.”
Although he had no doubt that her family had house staff, none of them seemed the least bit bothered when he said he didn’t and requested that they each carry something into the dining room. Her father and uncle took plates and saucers from their wives and dutifully followed Richard. Elise handed Gino the coffee pot and he ferried it into the next room as if he’d done it a hundred times before.
When they were settled around the table, Richard said, “Had I known you would be here for Christmas Eve I would have planned le Réveillon feast. Instead, I hope you will accept la bûche de Noël. It is a chocolate and chestnut cake rolled like a log and filled with cream. Normally, I would adorn it with a bit more, but time did not allow this, you understand.”
Alessandro leaned toward his wife and said, “I can’t look at him and eat.”
“Dad, we can hear you,” Maddy said with a sigh.
“Let it go, Madison, it’s okay,” Richard reassured. He took her hand in full view of everyone. “He won’t like me until he knows me, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Elise touched her husband’s arm and said, “It’s been a stressful day for all of us. Alessandro’s tired. We’re all tired. But thank you for welcoming us, Richard.” She rested her head on her husband’s shoulder and said, “Do you realize that this is the first Christmas Eve that I’m not cooking?”
Alessandro kissed his wife’s forehead and said, “You sound sad about that.”
“I’ll miss your mother’s meatballs. And the chocolate tortellis your grandmother taught me to make. I’m happy we found Maddy, but it’s strange to not be with the rest of the family.”
Some of Alessandro’s earlier softening disappeared when he looked across the table at his daughter. “This is the first Christmas since Maddy was born that we aren’t all together.”
Victor interjected, “We can rectify that if we leave soon. I don’t sleep well on planes, but at least we’ll be home.”
Raising her chin, Maddy announced, “I won’t be going with you.”
Feeling her hand go cold beneath his, Richard knew what her declaration had cost her, and he said, “You can, Madison. I’m not going anywhere, except to follow you if you don’t eventually return.”
She met his eyes and what he saw there hit him like a punch to the gut. “I’m not leaving you, Richard.”
Standing up, Alessandro threw his napkin on his empty plate and said, “Enough. I have been more than understanding. I am sick to here”—he raised a hand to the top of his head—“with understanding. No more. Maddy, we are going home now, and you are coming with us.”
Madison stood, her chin set proudly and at the same angle as her father’s stubborn one. Richard wondered if Alessandro knew how alike he and his daughter were. “No, I am not. I want to stay in France. Maybe study French at the university. I’m not leaving Sablet until I’m ready to.”
She’s not leaving. His heart thudded
joyfully in his chest. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She looked down at him and he nodded. Yes. Stay with me.
“Don’t push me, Maddy. You are . . .” her father boomed.
Elise stood beside her husband and lightly touched his shoulder. “Alessandro, sit down. Sit down before you lose your daughter.”
He glared at his wife. “She’s coming home with us.”
Elise looked at her daughter, then up at her husband, and shook her head. “If you push her, she’ll choose him.”
“She doesn’t even know him,” Alessandro stormed.
Taking one of his hands in hers, Elise chided, “How long did it take you to decide that you wanted to marry me?”
His expression softened with the memory. “I knew the first time you said my name.”
With tears in her eyes, Elise smiled up at him. “It was the same for me. And we were younger. What would we have done if my father had tried to separate us?”
