Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Matter
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
Author's Notes
Other Books by Alicia Montgomery
Holly Jolly Lycan Christmas
A Standalone True Mates Novel
By
Alicia Montgomery
Copyright © 2017 Alicia Montgomery
Cover design by Melody Simmons
Edited by Red Ribbon Editing
All rights reserved.
To my mom, who loves Christmas as much as I do
Don’t forget to turn the page all the way to the end - you can get a BONUS chapter of this book, as well as a FREE copy of my paranormal romance The Last Blackstone Dragon and my contemporary billionaire domination romance novelette The Billionaire Heirs.
Prologue
Six months ago …
Dante Muccino accepted the cold beer from Connor with a grateful smile. “Thanks, dude,” he said, taking a sip. Most people would have been intimidated by the other man. Connor was half a foot taller than Dante and had broad shoulders, tattooed arms, and a deep scar that ran down the right side of his face. Though he hadn’t seen it himself, Dante had heard the wolf inside the other Lycan was a frightening sight. His own wolf had been initially wary, when they first met, but the years had softened Connor. Plus, it was difficult to be intimidated by a man with an infant strapped to his chest in a pink sling.
Connor turned his head as his niece and nephew came barreling into view, their squeals of delight filling the air. He seemed a bit distracted and didn’t realize how close he was coming to the grill. His baby daughter Charley was inches away from the heat.
"Oops, watch it, Connor," Dante said with a chuckle. "Don't get your precious package too close to the grill."
"Oops.” The other man took a half-step back. “Thanks.”
"No prob." He smiled at Connor, and then his gaze flickered briefly to Charley. Dante had lost count of how many kids were at the barbecue today. As usual, his sister and brother-in-law were hosting a party at their Long Island mansion for the long weekend, and they had invited most of their friends and family, which, over the years, had grown exponentially. Wolf shifters, humans, children, a dragon, and even a warlock or witch or two … it was a typical gathering for the New York Lycan clan.
He didn’t mind though, as he himself had grown up with four other siblings. In fact, he loved how big his circle had gotten over the years. Of course, now he was the last bachelor of the bunch, and he never heard the end of the jokes. But he had been too busy to even think about relationships as he had spent the last five years running his kitchen and building Muccino’s into one of the hottest restaurants in Manhattan. He was even in talks to expand to Los Angeles and possibly Shanghai or Dubai. Not bad for a nobody from Jersey.
It wasn’t that he lacked female company. Women, he had time for. They threw themselves at him. He’d dated some actresses, models, a few society types, but nothing lasted more than a few months. He was always in the kitchen, too busy with work, and the women just couldn’t understand why he loved working long hours on his feet, side-by-side with his crew. Loved it more than them apparently. Still, he took advantage of his status, and, looking back now, he had to cringe at his own antics. He’d been young, stupid, and blinded by the sudden fame. He’d hurt a few women along the way and cemented his reputation as a bad boy celebrity chef, a fact he now regretted.
Connor looked down, distracted again, but this time by his son, who was clamoring for attention.
"I'll finish up here and follow," Dante said. "You go ahead."
Connor nodded, picked up his son, and headed toward the mansion. Dante watched as everyone else began to go inside, probably to watch the festivities on TV. Ignoring that small pang in his chest as his friends walked away, hand in hand with their mates or kids, he finished off the burgers and sausages on the grill.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Dante shut the grill down and turned around. Mismatched blue and green eyes looked up at him. His sister’s face was marred with concern. “I’m all good here.”
“I suppose now that you’re a famous chef who’s about to become a worldwide success, I’d need more than a penny,” Frankie joked.
“Aren’t you headed in? Where are the kids?” Dante asked, looking around for his nephew and nieces.
“They’re already inside with the others. Grant had to put Julianna down for a nap though,” she said. “Got a little too excited.”
He chuckled. “I can imagine.” All of the kids had been running around most of the day.
“Seriously, everything okay?” Frankie asked.
“Yeah, why?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. You seemed a little far away just now.”
“I got a lot on my mind.”
“All those deals, huh?”
“Well, you’re part owner of Muccino’s, so you should know.”
“Yeah, but you’re the face of Muccino’s.” She reached out and pinched his cheek. “And a handsome one at that.”
“Aww, Frankie … stop,” he said, swatting her hands away playfully. “Is this the part where you ask me when I’m gonna find a girlfriend or wife and pop out a couple of kids? Nonna Gianna asks me that now like every other week when I go to visit.”
“Well, are you?” she asked putting her hands on her hips. “You haven’t met anyone … special?”
He knew what his sister was asking. “No, I haven’t.”
“Look, I’m not saying you have to find your True Mate,” Frankie said. “Just … maybe settle down and see if you like being with one girl at a time.”
Dante knew Frankie meant well, so he tried not to be offended. “Hey now! I do date one girl at a time. I’m not Enzo,” he said, mentioning their half-brother who was even worse than he was.
“Yeah, you just change them one right after another. What was the name of the last one? Cherry? Mary?”
He thought for a moment. “Sheryl,” he said. Or Meryl? That was probably close enough. “Look, sis, I’m good for now, okay? Besides, we can’t all find our True Mates. Even though the rest of you have yours, it’s not guaranteed I’ll have mine.”
“You can still—”
He untied his apron and tossed it onto a nearby table. “Ay, basta.” His voice came out a little more forceful than he wanted. “Sorry, sis.”
Frankie’s brows wrinkled, and she let out a breath. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I know, sis. I am.” He grabbed a rag and began to wipe down the prep table he had set up. Something to keep his hands busy. “Why don’t you go ahead and join the others? I’m sure you don’t want to miss the show.”
Frankie hesitated and nodded. “Are you coming in?”
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll clean up and head out. Can you say goodbye to everyone for me?”
His sister looked like she wanted to protest, but shrugged instead. “Fine.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure.” He squeezed her shoulder and turned back t
o the grill, grabbing the steel brush and then beginning to scrub the top vigorously.
If he was honest with himself, he was tired. Tired of the game, tired of the same shit, different day. Sure, when he was a 25-year-old nobody from Jersey who suddenly got handed his own kitchen and then shot to fame almost overnight, it had been fun. There was no lack of pussy in New York, after all. But lately … He’d been thinking about his own family. Frankie now had three kids of her own, and his youngest human half-brother Rafe had gotten married to a nice girl from Connecticut. He wondered if he’d ever find someone. He wasn’t picky, and he’d had his share of all types of women (both human and Lycan). Maybe even a True Mate of his own.
Dante scoffed at the idea. When he had first moved out here and most of the Lycans around him were finding their fated mates, he had dismissed the thought. One person meant for you for the rest of your life? Why, when there was so much variety around?
But now, as the years have passed, the thoughts kept coming back into his mind. A family. A child or two. Someone to come home to.
He shook his head. No. Surely if there were someone out there who was meant just for him, he would have found her by now and popped out a kid or two. But he couldn’t settle down. For a while, he had wondered if it just wasn’t meant to be. His own father had a restless wolf. Noah said there was something in him that made it difficult to stick to one place.
Maybe his own wolf was the same, and the only thing that kept him steady was the restaurant. Perhaps he should be content with fame and fortune and not hope for anything more. He had his career, his siblings, and his nieces and nephew. That was more than what most people had.
After clearing his thoughts, he finished putting everything away and cleaned his knives and placed them and his apron in his bag. With one last backward glance at the mansion, he shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged toward his car parked at the front lawn.
***
Technically, Dante had the night off, but he found himself driving to Muccino’s in downtown New York. It was located in one of the trendier districts, which only became more popular in the last couple of years. The street where the restaurant was located was lively for a Monday night. There were four other restaurants, two bars, and various shops and cafes. He parked his Jaguar in the back, cut the engine, and then walked to the back door.
As soon as he entered the kitchen, an explosion of curses in both English and Spanish assaulted his ears. There was a flurry of activity inside—people were moving quickly from station to station, carrying plates and ingredients this way or that. Flames whooshed out of the grill, while the air was filled with various smells of food cooking. He suddenly felt at home and at peace, despite the controlled chaos.
“Chef!” Andres, his sous chef, called. “What are you doing here? It’s your night off!”
“Yeah, why aren’t you, like, banging some model?” Jorge, one of his line cooks, said as he swirled a saucepan over the stove. “Or are you done already?” He tsked and shook his head. “Short and sweet, huh?”
The kitchen staffed laughed.
“Yeah, that’s what your mother said,” Dante shot back, which only earned him chuckles. Now he really felt at home, with his second family. “Are you clowns done destroyin’ my kitchen yet? Cabron!” he called to one of the new line cooks. “That veal is overcooked! Do it again.”
The young man went red and nodded. “Yes, Chef.”
Dante gave him an acknowledging nod. He liked to run a tight ship and pointed out when things went wrong, but he wasn’t one of those uptight, temperamental chefs who boosted their own egos by belittling their staff. When the young line cook, Greg, took out a new piece of veal, Dante stood alongside him, showing him how it was done and giving him tips. When he finished, he gave Greg a pat on the back.
The kitchen door burst open, and his brother Enzo walked in. “Yo, bro! Why aren’t you enjoying your day off? Too many of the rugrats running around the mansion?”
“You could say that,” Dante said as he grabbed an extra apron from a hook by the door.
“Ugh, right?” Enzo rolled his eyes. Although his brother loved Frankie’s kids (and they loved him because he spoiled them rotten), Enzo was even more of a confirmed bachelor than him. After all, aside from being young and good-looking, he was manager of the hottest restaurants in the city and often hobnobbed with the rich and famous. Enzo dated his own share of starlets and models. “Hey, what are you doin’? We got this, okay? We know this kitchen is your baby, but we’re treating her right, I swear.”
“I know,” he said with a laugh. “I’m just here to help.” He nodded at Andres, who was acting as head chef for tonight. “Where do you want me?”
“That’s what your sister said to me last night,” Andres joked.
“Hey, watch your mouth. My sister’s your boss!”
Andres threw his head back and laughed. “Right. Why don’t you head to the grill and give Chuck time for a quick break? We’ve been slammed all night.”
“Good to know.”
Dante took over the grill for fifteen minutes, then headed over to the line cooks to help with the fish and chicken dishes. He was in his element, and he actually enjoyed not being in charge for a while. For one thing, it made him feel proud that his staff was competent enough to run the kitchen without him. Plus, it also brought back fond memories of learning to cook under his grandmother and great-aunt in the kitchen of the original Muccino’s back in Jersey. They were amazing teachers and natural cooks, though neither had been trained at any culinary school. Dante himself had learned all the secret family recipes from them, starting from when he expressed interest in cooking when he was sixteen.
A couple of hours later, when the last diner finally left and the crew began to pack up, Dante felt the exhaustion creeping in. It was the good kind though, the type that would help him crawl into bed and get a deep sleep. It meant he had put in another good day of working, so he could forget how lonely he was and keep his restless wolf at bay.
He took off his apron and thanked each of his kitchen and wait staff. “I’ll close up,” he said to Enzo, who was probably grateful to be heading home early. Or maybe heading to the clubs, since tomorrow was his day off.
Dante checked the walk-in freezer, the kitchen, the offices in the back, and finally the dining room. It was a modern retake of the old Muccino’s dining room back in Jersey. They used the same warm colors, but the room had high ceilings, artsy lighting, and featured art from young Italian artists on the wall. As he was about to lock the front door, he looked out the window.
“Huh.”
The vacant space across the street had been empty for at least six months. In his time here, it had been a vegan cafe, a sushi bar, and then finally a Japanese-Ecuadorian fusion restaurant. With half of restaurants failing in their first year, he wasn’t surprised by the rapid turnover. But the “For Lease” sign he was accustomed to seeing hanging in the window wasn’t there anymore. Wonder what they’ll be putting in there next, he thought.
Dante shrugged. Who knew? This was New York City after all. Maybe someone’ll open a cotton candy bar or alcoholic tea shop. The city was fickle, and people were always chasing the next big thing.
Idiots. Classic dishes made with the best ingredients, plus love and care. That was what his grandmother and great-aunt had told him made their food so good. It was true back then, and it was still true now. No fancy ingredients or newfangled techniques could replace real food. He laughed to himself and shook his head. He sounded like some old curmudgeon.
With one last look across the street, he locked the door and walked back to the kitchen.
Chapter One
December 1st…
Holly Taylor crossed her arms over her chest, looking around at the immaculate kitchen setup. She brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her chef’s whites and then glanced at the dry storage shelves.
“There’s dust all over the canisters,” she said, stopping one of the staff as he walke
d by. “Take care of it.”
“Yes, Chef,” the young man said with an audible gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He scampered away, only to return a few seconds later with a clean rag.
Holly nodded with satisfaction as the young man began to clean each canister, then turned to the rest of the kitchen. Petite Louve was going to have its soft opening in two days, and everything had to be perfect. As head chef, it was her job to make sure everything went off without a hitch. This was her big chance. Possibly her only chance after blowing her last one.
On the outside, she was calm and collected, despite the fact that this was the first kitchen she would be running on her own and she was nervous as hell.
The Ice Queen.
That was the nickname her classmates at École de Cuisine Alain Chevalier in Paris called her. Nothing fazed her, and she didn’t even flinch when the temperamental chef screamed at her when she made the mistake of not cutting the lemons into even pieces for his famous tarte au citron. She liked to think that was one of the things she did to earn his respect, at least enough for him to offer her a job as a commis or junior chef at his Los Angeles restaurant as soon as she graduated.
For five years she worked there and made her way up to line cook, pastry chef, and then sous chef, the youngest in any of Chevalier’s kitchens. Alain himself had offered her the job as head chef for his new Las Vegas restaurant. Of course, he’d also been furious when she turned him down, telling her that she would never work in a kitchen again unless she accepted his offer and started work immediately. But what could she do? She had to go back to Seattle. Family came first.
“There you are,” Sharice Wilson, the owner of Petite Louve, said as she sauntered into the kitchen. “What are you doing here so early? It’s not even nine. We’re not having our staff meeting until three.”
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