Recipe for Love

by Ruth Cardello

  Recipe for Love

  An Andrade Christmas Novella

  By Ruth Cardello

  Author Contact

  website: RuthCardello.com

  email: Minouri@aol.com

  Facebook: Author Ruth Cardello

  Twitter: RuthieCardello

  Before Abby met Dominic. Before Nicole and Stephan got back together. Confessed secrets drove Madison Andrade away from her family and into the arms of an arrogant, lusty Frenchman. All she wants for Christmas is a place to hide, but she cooks up much more than that in their short time together.

  Richard D’Argenson is gaining fame for his talent in the kitchen, but he’s missing the most important ingredient to any recipe—love.

  Will he find it in the steamy night they spend together, and can what they share survive an Andrade Christmas invasion?

  Copyright

  Recipe for Love copyright 2014 by Ruth Cardello

  ISBN 978-0-9909146-2-4

  An original work of Ruth Cardello.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art provided by Trevino Creative

  http://www.trevinocreative.com

  Acknowledgment

  Thank you to my husband and family. Always better together.

  Note to my readers:

  Recipe for Love is a novella that happens before both my Legacy Collection and my Andrade Series. It is a wonderful lead in to either. As the youngest of eleven children, I love the Andrade family. I hope you do, as well.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  A Note to my Readers

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by Ruth

  Chapter One

  If you have to run away, run somewhere wonderful.

  Madison Andrade paused to appreciate the beauty of the narrow, cobblestoned streets that paved this provincial town in southern France. Medieval stone arches accented the shaded passageway that ran between centuries-old buildings. The shops were decorated for the holiday season with garlands and lights. She stopped in front the boulangerie whose window boasted a festive display of many Galette des Rois, or Three Kings Cakes, adorned with gold paper crowns. If she had been visiting the area for any other reason, she would have purchased one, and then laughed with her friends or family as they each tried to find the hidden bean in the pastry that would award one of them the title of royalty for the day.

  No parties on this trip.

  Tucking her hands into the pockets of her double-breasted, red wool jacket, Maddy fought off a chill that had nothing to do with the cool temperature. One rebellious chestnut curl repeatedly escaped her attempts to pin it in her ponytail, flying wild and free in the wind.

  A bit like me. A week ago she’d told the pilot of the private jet she’d received for college graduation, “Take me somewhere different, somewhere quiet where no one knows me.” He’d chosen the Provence area around Sablet: a small village he said was famous for its local vineyards.

  I don’t drink wine.

  But I guess that’s okay, since I don’t speak French either.

  In true second-generation-American style, she barely even spoke Italian—a fact her parents, who made the trip back to the old country several times a year, lamented frequently. Her father, Alessandro, may have made a fortune in the technology industry, but he maintained a traditional home life. Her mother, Elise, was a warmhearted, pasta-loving woman with an easy laugh and quick wit. Along with her Uncle Vic, she had helped a large number of their family relocate to the United States, and the entire clan gathered frequently at their mansion near New York City.

  It had been the perfect life, until she’d asked her father how he became so successful, and he’d told her a secret—a truth she couldn’t accept.

  “We should be heading to the airport,” her six-foot-five wall of a limo driver, Gino, said in a tone that revealed his impatience with her decision to get out and walk the narrow roads. In his late forties, he’d been her driver and bodyguard since grade school. She didn’t remember a time when he hadn’t been by her side. “Your father told me to have you home by Christmas.”

  “I’m not going back,” Maddy had snapped, then regretted the action. It wasn’t fair to Gino to put him in the middle. It wasn’t his fault she was crumbling on the inside. More softly, she said, “I can’t.” Just the thought of doing so filled her with a sudden nausea.

  “You sound tired. Did you have breakfast?”

  “Gino, I’m not a child.”

  He shrugged dismissively, just as her father would have, at the comment. Although they were not technically related, he was a second cousin twice removed, and that made him family. According to her father’s definition, half of Italy fit those criteria. The Andrades were known for their generosity and loyalty. They took care of their own and the people who worked for them. Under their protection, widows didn’t lose their homes. People got what they needed. Long-term employees became family, and, as her father always said, “To an Andrade, family is everything.”

  It was a beautiful philosophy—and at the end of the day, bullshit.

  “You have to tell Stephan,” she’d pleaded to her father.

  “No,” her father had said firmly, his belief that his brother had done nothing wrong obvious in the finality of his tone. Because he knew her too well, he’d warned, “And you won’t either.”

  She’d grown up in a family of strong men, but her mother had always encouraged her to stand up for herself. In business, the Andrade men held positions of power and influence. In the home, her father would move heaven and earth to make his wife happy. And he was the same with his only daughter. At least he always had been, until they’d found themselves with distinctly different opinions of what was right. “You want me to lie?”

  “I want you to say nothing.”

  “Then why tell me? Is this a test? Because it’s one I’m going to fail. I can’t sit back and watch Stephan live his life based on lies. I don’t understand how you can.”

  “I see now that I shouldn’t have told you the truth. Stephan was throwing his life away. Victor did what he felt he had to do.”

  “What if Stephan loved Nicole? What if he still does?”

  “It’s done, Maddy. Telling him now would only cause trouble in the family.”

  “Are you afraid he’ll walk away if he finds out the truth? Andrade Global will no longer be important to him? Is this about money?”

  Family is everything, unless they stand in the way of making a buck—then watch out.

  Her father hadn’t been one to raise his voice in his home, but in that moment he’d lost patience with her and had. “I love Stephan like he is my own son. He needed a reason to grow up, and Victor gave him one. The world is not a perfect place. People do what is necessary to protect their families. I don’t judge Victor for the choice he made.”

  Toe to toe, father and daughter had glared at each other. “Of course not. You benefited from it.”

  “That’s enough, Maddy. This conversation is over.” Her father’s face had held an angry red flush, yet he attempted to speak in a tone that would soot
he her. “Your mother wanted to take you shopping with her today. You know how she likes to buy for all the children at the office. Go with her. Perhaps it’ll help you remember what’s important.”

  “Money?”

  With a sad shake of his head, he’d held her eyes before leaving, saying, “Family.” He’d closed the door firmly.

  Gino’s questions pulled her back into the present. “What’s bothering you, Maddy? Why are we here?”

  The genuine concern in his voice made her wish she could tell him, but she couldn’t. “I’d like to be alone, Gino. It’s the middle of the day. This is a small town. No one knows who I am. It’s safe.”

  “That’s not your decision to make.”

  It should be.

  From now on, it will be. “I am going for a walk by myself. I intend to have a quiet meal, alone, in one of these restaurants. I’ll call you when I’m finished. There is no need to rush because I’m staying at the hotel again tonight.”

  “Your father—”

  “Also needs to give me some space and he knows it. Call him if you want, but I already told him that I’m not going home yet. Not tomorrow, not for the holidays.” Maybe not ever.

  “Mio trottolina, you know how hurt he will be if you do this.”

  Like her father, Gino would never see her as more than a child, and it rankled her. “Trust me, the biggest gift I can give him is to stay away from him, from all of them.” Meeting her protector’s eyes squarely, Maddy spoke from her heart. “I know it’s your job to keep me safe, but I need this. I need some time to think. I’ve spent my whole life following your advice without complaint—”

  Gino’s eyebrows rose to meet his hairline in disbelief.

  “Most of the time,” Maddy corrected. When Gino’s expression did not change she added, “Come on, I’ve gotten better with age. I may have resented how you curtailed my social life in high school, but that’s ancient history.” She considered apologizing again, but decided it was better to focus on the present. “I’m twenty-three. If I want a few hours on my own, I should be able to have them.”

  After a long, assessing look, Gino nodded and put on his sunglasses. He said, “I’ll be in the limo when you’re ready. Call me if you need me.” He gave the breast pocket of his dark suit a tap, referring to the cell phone she knew he kept there.

  Maddy nodded and forced a grateful smile that seemed to reassure him. He turned and strode off, back down the way they’d come.

  She hadn’t made it very far when a light, cold rain started and she ducked into a small shop.

  “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” a petite woman called out from behind a small table. She was chicly dressed in a vintage Chanel tweed dress suit with a black braided trim that added a young playfulness to her otherwise austere profile.

  “Bonjour,” Maddy said with an apologetic smile. “I don’t speak French.”

  The shopkeeper, who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, instantly switched to English. “No problem. Can I help you?”

  Can you stop the questions that are swirling through my head? Can you tell me what to do?

  Tucking her errant curl behind her ear again, Maddy said, “I don’t think so. I just needed a moment out of the rain.” And a moment out of my life. She blinked back tears of confusion.

  “Mon Dieu, you’re wet. Well, you came into the right place. Plenty of dry clothes to choose from here.” She called instructions across the shop to someone in the back room. Then, in English, she said, “Fran will make some coffee. You look like you could use some.”

  Looking around the shop quickly, Maddy saw the racks of retro clothing for the first time. Her mother would have loved the place. Although most of the family’s clothing was tailor-made for them, she and her mother had spent many Saturdays hunting for rare vintage designer outfits. “Thank you, I would love some.”

  The woman cleared the table she’d been folding clothing on and covered it with a small white linen cloth. “Come, sit.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to . . .” Maddy started to say, but the woman was already placing silverware and napkins beside plates.

  “I don’t have many chances to practice my English. Please.”

  Maddy placed her black Birkin bag on the floor and sank into one of the chairs offered, only then realizing how very tired she was. She hadn’t slept well in the week since she’d last spoken to her father. Another young woman placed a fresh pot of coffee between them. “Thank you,” Maddy said, gratefully accepting the steaming cup. She drank it black, barely feeling its burn.

  The shopkeeper took the seat across from her. “My name is Alyson.”

  Maddy let the coffee cup warm her cold fingers. “Mine is Madison, but you can call me Maddy.”

  “Maddy. That’s a beautiful name. You’re American?”

  “Yes. Is it that obvious?”

  “Not jeans-and-tennis-shoes obvious, but I love your accent.”

  “Your English is very good.”

  The other woman smiled, and Maddy relaxed. For a few minutes they talked about the weather and the beauty of the town. Then, as if she’d been holding the question in for too long, Alyson asked, “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your clothes are expensive, but you look exhausted and pale. Are you on the run from a wealthy lover?” When Maddy blushed, Alyson said, “I’m sorry. My imagination is over the top. I know. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

  On the run from a wealthy lover? A tempting alternative to reality. Why be honest when no one else was? Maddy leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Please don’t tell anyone that you saw me.”

  Alyson’s eyes rounded. “You really are on the run?”

  I wish I were. “Yes.” A wicked thought came to her. She’d never deliberately done anything to worry or anger her parents. She’d happily followed their rules, secure in the belief that they loved her and would always keep her safe. That was before she’d discovered how little she actually knew them.

  Maybe it was time to show them how little they knew her.

  And what their lie had cost them.

  Maddy turned and looked at the racks of clothing and then back at Alyson. I could disguise myself. Urgently, she said, “I have money to pay you. Will you help me get away?”

  Alyson reached across the table and took Maddy’s hand in hers. “Women stick together, non? How can I help?”

  Although Maddy felt a little guilty for not correcting Alyson on her situation, she’d already set herself on this course. “I need to disappear, but it won’t be easy. I didn’t come here alone.”

  “He’s here?” Alyson whispered urgently.

  “No, but my bodyguard is. I’m never allowed anywhere without him.”

  “Controlling bastard. No wonder you left him. I’ll help you. Do you have anywhere to go?”

  Maddy thought of all the homes her family owned and shook her head. No matter which she chose, which friend or family member she turned to, her father would know. With only a few hundred dollars in cash, her options were limited. Using her credit card would give her location away. There was a downside to coming from a family who’d made their fortune in technology.

  “I would let you stay with me, but I have two roommates and it’s not possible. However, my brother has a house just outside of town,” Alyson said. “He has plenty of empty bedrooms and he is almost never there.”

  “I couldn’t,” Maddy said. It was one thing to agree to Alyson sneaking her out of town and another to impose on her family.

  “He won’t care. Trust me. You could be there a week and he wouldn’t notice.”

  Mouth suddenly dry, Maddy asked, “Are you suggesting that we don’t tell him?”

  Alyson laughed. “Oh, I’ll tell him. He just won’t hear me. He’s very intense, you know? All he cares about is his restaurant. He’s a chef, quite a famous one locally. If you were a pistou or a macaron, he might notice you, but everything else is an annoyance, you understand?”


  Not really, but Maddy imagined a short, stocky Frenchman in an apron and chef hat, and suddenly the thought of staying with him no longer seemed intimidating. “If you’re sure it wouldn’t be a problem . . .”

  Alyson stood confidently and declared, “No problem at all. Do you have clothes with you, or will you need everything?”

  “I—I guess I would need everything.” If I’m crazy enough to do this. “I don’t have a lot of cash on me, but I have some.”

  Alyson led her to one of the changing rooms and said, “Consider these a gift.” She looked Maddy over to assess her size, then walked back to the racks and flipped a few articles of clothing over her arm.

  “I couldn’t possibly not pay you,” Maddy protested and started to dig through her purse for money.

  Alyson returned and laid a hand on her forearm to calm her. “You pay me when you can. It’s not a problem. I trust you.”

  Although it was far from the first time Maddy had witnessed an act of charity, she had never been the recipient, and she wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. She’s helping me because of a lie. I’m here because I can’t stomach my parents’ lie. I have to tell her the truth. “You do not know me—” she started her confession, but Alyson spoke over her.

  “I was you, once.” The Frenchwoman’s eyes misted over. “There must be something about this town, because I came here to this very shop, desperate and alone, and found exactly what I needed. The moment I saw you, I knew we had something in common and I want to—how do you say it—pay my good fortune forward?”

  Because we’re both scorned women on the run? Maddy felt trapped by her lie. She did want to escape—escape her family and the truth she wasn’t sure she could keep from Stephan the next time she saw him. Does it matter why I accept help as long as I need it?