His hand rubbed his chest as if he were in a trance. “I saw you go into the bedroom a little while ago,” he began in a deep voice. “But I still can’t believe it’s you underneath all that white.”
“Then you think I’ll do?”
A knock on the door prevented him from responding. “Come on in, Takis.”
Tuccia watched his dark-blond partner walk inside and shut it. Here was another incredibly attractive man who she’d been told had come from the island of Crete. His hazel eyes narrowed on her before he turned to Cesare. “I thought you said that Princess Tuccianna would be here.”
“Did you hear that?” Cesare asked her.
“Yes. If the signori will excuse me, I’ll tell her your guest has arrived for dinner.”
She darted back to the bedroom so excited, she had trouble taking off all of her disguise. In a few minutes she returned to the living room with her hair brushed and lipstick on her mouth, wearing the same clothes she’d worn to town with Cesare.
His eyes pierced hers. “Princess Tuccianna, may I present my friend and partner, Takis Manolis.”
“I’ve heard a great deal about you, Signor Manolis. It’s a real pleasure to meet you.”
He looked taken back. “It was you dressed as a chef.” A grin broke out on his face. “After knowing what you look like, I would never have guessed. I’m honored to meet you.” He shook her hand warmly.
“Even though I’m a wanted fugitive who’s putting all of you in jeopardy?”
“Last night Cesare filled us in on the details. After I ate half of those nun buns you made, I told him I believe you’ll make an excellent chef. And now that I’ve seen you in your uniform, I’m convinced no one will recognize you.”
“I agree the transformation was miraculous,” Cesare murmured. She couldn’t wait to hear more about it once they were alone. “Let’s eat, shall we? I’m afraid all the shopping we did has worn me out and I’m ravenous.”
They sat at the kitchen table where Cesare treated them to scallops, beef tagliati, parmesan aubergine and pasta con le sarde. Tuccia could hardly believe she was sitting here with these two amazing men, chatting and enjoying the take-out food as if she didn’t have a worry in the world. She’d entered into another realm of existence and never wanted to be anywhere else.
“Gemma told me her meeting with you went very well.”
“She’s a lovely person who answered a lot of questions for me.”
“I’ll tell you something honestly. She’s convinced your Sicilian pastries will create a new sensation with our clientele.”
Tuccia put her wine glass down. “You mean Cesare’s.”
“In time they’ll become yours, too.”
Takis had a charm almost as lethal as Cesare’s. “One dessert does not make a chef, but I’m going to do my very best not to let you down. This evening Cesare will be assigning me a new recipe to cook.”
“That’s right.” Cesare smiled at her. “Cassateddi.”
She took a deep breath. “Those half-moon-shaped pastries were a favorite of mine growing up, but I never dreamed I’d learn how to make them.”
“I loved them, too. So will Takis and Vincenzo. But they’re only the beginning. Tomorrow you’ll be making testa di turco, followed by sfingi di San Giuseppe, casstelle di Sant’Agata and Sicilian chocolate torte.”
Cesare had just done an excellent job of frightening her to death.
“I think you’re overwhelming her, amico.”
She leaned toward Takis. “His mother told me he drove her crazy growing up. No matter what she cooked, she’d find some of it missing the second she turned around,” Tuccia confided.
Immediately Takis burst into rich male laughter. But Cesare didn’t join in.
Too soon their visitor announced that he had to leave and said good-night. She was sorry to see him go because she’d gotten a little carried away with her out-of-school tale where Cesare was concerned. She’d been having too good a time and feared she’d crossed an unmarked boundary in their relationship.
While Cesare walked him out to his car, she hurriedly cleaned up the kitchen. When he came inside, she was already seated at the table with her bible, ready to write down the recipe for what she hoped would turn out to be a worthy chef d’oeuvre.
He washed and dried his hands, then he sat down, eyeing her with an intensity that made her squirm. “Tuccia,” he began, “I—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” she broke in on him. “I apologize for saying something so personal in front of your friend. It was wrong of me to overstep like that. I promise it won’t happen again.”
His brows met in a frown. “I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort. Before Takis drove off, he told me you were as sensational as your nun buns and we should keep you at all costs. Takis would never say anything like that unless he meant it.”
She looked down because emotion had caused her eyes to smart.
“Before you interrupted me, I was going to tell you the disguise is perfect. I have no doubt you’ll be a new trendsetter for the kitchen assistants. They’ll take one look at you and want to be just like you, but they’ll fail because there’s only one Princess Tuccianna.”
Tuccia was afraid her cheeks were on fire. She wanted him to forget she was a princess. She wanted him to see her as a woman he could love heart and soul. Looking up she said, “That’s absurd, but thank you. Don’t you think we should get started on the cassateddi? I’ll need half the night to make it several times.”
Those blue eyes narrowed on her features. “I thought I was the slave driver around here.”
“Would you rather leave and come back tomorrow morning? I’d understand if you have another engagement.”
“I have no plans to meet another woman.”
Maybe not tonight. But it didn’t mean there wasn’t someone who loved him and was waiting anxiously to be with him. She couldn’t bear the thought and was ridiculously jealous of any woman he’d been with.
“You’re wrong, you know, Tuccia.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can read your mind. There’s no room in my life for any woman until the castello’s new pastry chef can create masterpieces without my help.”
Just like that he’d drawn a sharp line in the sand. Meaning she shouldn’t get any ideas about him for herself?
She sucked in her breath. “Since I’d hate to see you deprived of that kind of pleasure too long because of me, I’ll work day and night to achieve that goal.” She tapped the notebook with her pen. “I’m ready when you are.”
CHAPTER SIX
TWO HOURS LATER Tuccia was in tears. She’d turned out two batches of half-moon shells filled with cream, but they’d been failures. Cesare had tried to eat one and it had fallen apart because she hadn’t shaped it right. He had to eat it in pieces. She had to smother a moan watching him.
“The taste of this is superb.”
“That doesn’t count when its misshape falls apart before reaching your mouth. I tried to execute your directions to the letter, but I couldn’t seem to get it right.” She dried her eyes with a towel, but they kept falling. “This will never do. I’m going to make the recipe again.”
He reached for the towel and wiped her cheeks. “We don’t want your tears falling into your next attempt.” His comment made her laugh and he kissed both her cheeks before she got started again on a third batch.
His pride in her work ethic kept growing while she took pains to crimp the edges just right. Another hour passed before he tested a sample of her latest work. “I find no fault in this presentation or the taste.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, but he could tell she still wasn’t happy.
Cesare had no doubt that when he left the apartment, she’d make up another batch. Her fighti
ng spirit was a trait he admired more than she would ever know. He stood against the doorjamb and watched while she put the third tray of shells inside the fridge.
“Did Gemma tell you about Maurice Troudeau, our executive chef?”
A corner of her delectable mouth lifted. “She said the key with him was to praise his work often and ask for help once in a while, even if you don’t need it. I used that technique on Auguste Senlis, the most difficult history professor at the Sorbonne, and it worked.”
Of course it did, but he wasn’t smitten because of her smarts. No man anywhere who came into her sphere could remain unaffected. Takis and Vincenzo were a case in point.
“If I have a concern, it’s because your French is too perfect. You’re a princess on the run who speaks it fluently. Unfortunately you can’t afford to speak it with him at all. When I introduce you, you’ll be known as Nedda Bottaro from Sicily who speaks Sicilian with a Palermo dialect. Your knowledge of English is too minimal to count on. That’s it.”
“I understand.”
He was sure she did. “Have you thought of a backstory? The staff will ask and you’ll have to be ready.”
“Yes. I was born in the back room of a bordello in Trapani and never knew my father. My mother didn’t, either.”
Cesare was having trouble holding back his laughter.
“When I was old enough to be of use, she gave me to the woman next door who was a cook and needed a helper. I never went to school. After my mother died of an infection, I ran away to Palermo and did all kinds of jobs until I prevailed on a baker to let me work for him. I liked that work best and stayed there until I was discovered by you!” Her gray eyes stared straight into his. “What do you think?”
At this minute he didn’t dare tell her what he thought or felt. He was in love with her. “I have one suggestion. At least say that you went to school once in a while. Your intelligence shines through in everything you say and do.”
“So does yours. Thank you for tonight’s cooking lesson. I’ll see you in the morning.”
If she had any idea he would rather stay with her all night and every night, she’d fly out the door. “Tuccia? Before I leave, let’s go in the living room and talk for a minute about something serious. You’ve been cooped up here for several days, no doubt missing a few friends to talk to.”
Cesare went in the other room first so she’d follow. They both sat down. He took a chair and she the couch. “I know you’ve run away from your parents, but deep down this has to be torturous for you.”
She curled up against the side. “If I told you the truth, I’m afraid you might think me a person with no natural affection.”
He steadied himself. “Explain that.”
“I know you’re supposed to love your parents. I suppose I do in a philosophical way, but it’s Zia Bertina I’ve always turned to. She was the mother I needed. My own was cold and my father was always a stranger to me. When I think of them, I get an empty feeling inside. With a mother like yours, I know you can’t comprehend it.”
Cesare shifted in the chair. “You’re right.” He had no words.
“I don’t tell you this so you’ll feel sorry for me, but only to explain that I’ve lived with this situation for twenty-five years. Your concern for my feelings has touched me very much, but you needn’t worry yourself on my account because I have to stay secluded. As long as I have my zia who has loved me all my life, I’m happy.”
He sucked in his breath. “But it’s still not too late for you to leave Milan and do what you want, whether in Catania or elsewhere. You should be able to embark on a new life, work at something that interests you and make new friends.”
“Find a lover I’ve chosen?” she added in a voice that made her sound much older.
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Why not?”
“I never wanted the fiancé I can’t stand, let alone some lover, followed by another and then another that goes on and on like a revolving door. We royals are known for it. To be honest I can’t think of anything worse.”
Neither could Cesare.
“Right now there’s just one thing on my mind. To prove that I can make a success of something truly important, not only to me, but to you and your partners. Your ristorante is without a pastry chef. If I could pull this off, nothing would make me happier.”
Her earnestness crept through him, causing his throat to swell. “I believe you mean that.”
She nodded. “I’ve surprised myself. Do you know what a shock it is to discover that I like such painstaking work? Who would have thought I’d find it a challenge to crimp the edges of those half moons so they were just right? But if you think there’s still too much danger, or that it’s really not going to work, then please tell me now and I’ll leave whenever you say.”
Humbled by an inner purity in her, Cesare got up from the chair. When he’d suggested they come in the living room for a little talk, he never expected to feel his heart torn apart by the confessions of a girl whose parents hadn’t been able to show her how precious she was.
The backstory she’d concocted for the staff could only have come from a princess who’d been born with every advantage under the sun except love.
“Rest assured we need you right here, Tuccia.” He leaned over to kiss her lips briefly, unable to help himself. But if she’d wanted to respond, he didn’t give her the chance and stood up. “Stay where you are. You look too comfortable to move. I’ll let myself out and see you in the morning with breakfast and more groceries.”
After a detour to the kitchen for one of the pans of cassateddi to share with his friends, he left for the castello a different man than the one he’d been four hours ago.
On the drive home, Cesare pulled out his cell to call his mother. He was glad to hear that his sister was there visiting with her husband and baby. They all chatted for a few minutes until Isabella got off the line.
“Now we can talk about important matters, Cesare. I have to tell you Bertina is out of her mind with worry.”
“Let her know I just came from being with Tuccia. She sends her love and wants to assure her zia all is well. She would phone, but knows the police have tapped the lines.”
“I’m sure of it. Tuccia is really all right?”
“Would I tell you otherwise?”
“No, figlio mio. I trust you with my life.”
“That’s nice to hear. Does Bertina have any more news about the search?”
“The police are baffled. Their bungling has enraged her sister and brother-in-law. Bertina’s sources tell her that Jean-Michel is so overcome he has remained incommunicado to the media. There’s been no ransom note and they fear for her welfare.”
“I have something to tell you, Mamma.” In the next breath he told her about the letter being sent to Jean-Michel. “Once he receives it, everything will change.”
“It can’t get to him soon enough!”
“I agree.” In the meantime Tuccia would hear the worst when she turned on her TV. “I hope Bertina is putting on the show of her life to prove how grief-stricken she is.”
“If I didn’t know the truth, I’d be convinced she’s in the depths of despair. I’ve decided she could have been a great actress.”
Superb acting appeared to run in the royal family. Tuccia’s fashion show earlier this evening had stunned him close to speechless.
“One more thing you should know, Cesare. Bertina says Tuccia’s parents are truly distraught over the situation and she can tell this experience has caused them to realize it’s their fault that she’s run away. They are beside themselves with worry and she senses a softening.”
“That’s wonderful news, Mamma.” When he could, he’d relay that message to Tuccia. “Tell me about Ciro.”
“If there are no more complications, he’ll be taken to a private roo
m tomorrow.”
“We’ll hope for the best. I have to hang up now, but I’ll call you soon. Bona notti, Mamma.”
* * *
It was ten after one in the afternoon and Tuccia still hadn’t finished cooking this latest recipe. She let out a moan. “These sfingi di San Giuseppe balls are all wobbly. I can’t make them even.”
Cesare chuckled. Nothing seemed to bother him. The man had arrived early that morning in jeans and a silky claret-colored open-necked sport shirt looking devilishly gorgeous. There ought to be a law against it.
She hadn’t slept all night remembering the taste of his mouth on hers. He wouldn’t have kissed her if he didn’t have feelings for her. It was the reason she’d been a mess after he’d left the apartment the night before. Since then she’d been reliving that moment and wanted to repeat the experience. But this time she wouldn’t let him go.
“They’re supposed to look like that.”
“No, they’re not! What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing. When they’re fried, their centers will hollow out so you can fill them.”
She shot him a glance. “You promise?”
“I swear it. Have you put out the toweling?”
“It’s right here on the counter next to the stove.”
“Have you checked the temperature of the olive oil?”
“Yes. The thermometer says it’s ready.”
“Then get started. Remember not to let the ball plop, but don’t be afraid of it.”
Tuccia began the laborious process of cooking and draining. They smelled good and everything was going fine until the last one. It fell off the spoon too fast and some drops of oil splashed on her wrist. She cried out in surprise.
Cesare was there so fast he had her hand under the cold water before she could think. “Keep it there for a few minutes,” he said while he removed the oil and turned off the burner.
“I tried to be careful, but I was clumsy.”
“I defy anyone cooking with oil for the first time to escape with no burns.”
Whisked Away by Her Sicilian Boss Page 8
