Ashley convinced herself she should keep buying food and placing it in their serving dishes. Or in the oven. It was in both of their best interests. It didn’t matter that Roger didn’t know she wasn’t slaving away all day in the kitchen preparing their dinner.
Occasionally, she’d get a gnawing pang in her gut, but she’d squash it down, never allowing it to surface. Roger deserved a decent meal, for Heaven’s sake, not the pitiful ones that she could make herself.
I can get take-out from that little gourmet market…they have lots of delicious dishes Roger and I like—lamb, crab cakes, lasagne, those little gorgonzola tortes. I don’t have to tell him I made it myself… If he assumes I did, I just won’t correct him.
The following week, Ashley served Roger several delectable, gourmet meals she purchased from the local market. She never actually lied and said she made them. He just thought she did, and she never corrected his inaccurate assessment.
Each evening provided such domestic bliss that Ashley almost believed herself to be an accomplished cook who made delightful dinners every night for her beloved Master. Roger bestowed such high praise upon her that she relished her new role as goddess of the kitchen.
After one such lunch, Ashley lounged in the bedroom reading a magazine. It was a Saturday and Roger had been kind enough to do the dishes and give her a break. Ashley was reading about which star wore what on the latest red carpet.
All of a sudden, Roger charged into the room. His face red, he waved white slips of paper in her face.
“What are these?” he yelled at her.
“Roger, calm down. I have no idea.” She sat up straighter in the bed.
“These are receipts from different markets. They’re for food, Ashley. Prepared food. Not ingredients. What have you been up to?” His eyes bulged.
She felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Well…I just…some things were hard to make. That’s all,” she answered, her voice uncharacteristically small.
“Here is a receipt for the chicken cacciatore we just ate.” He was breathing hard, hurt reflected in his eyes. It broke her heart. “You bought it?”
Ashley tucked her legs up under her and hugged them. Wiping at the hot tears she felt welling up, she nodded, wishing the ground would swallow her up.
“Why, Ashley? Why would you lie to me?” His face was crestfallen.
She hung her head and wept softly.
“Why?” he repeated angrily.
She didn’t answer.
He shook her. “Why did you lie to me?”
Unable to meet his gaze, she shook her head and whispered, “I don’t know.”
He turned and barrelled out of the room.
She heard the door to the apartment bang shut.
* * * *
Moments later, Ashley ran after Roger. She couldn’t let him go like that. She had to make him understand that she had never meant to deceive him. She’d made a terrible mistake, but he had to forgive her. He just had to!
She pushed the elevator button repeatedly, tears streaming down her face. The thought of life without Roger was unbearable.
Finally the elevator opened. She jumped inside and pressed the button for the lobby.
When the doors opened on the ground floor, Ashley bolted, calling, “Roger, Roger!” She searched for him. She jogged onto the street, looking everywhere.
He was long gone.
Dejected, she made her way back into the building where she bumped into her neighbour Lance.
“Oh me, look what the cat dragged in! What happened to you?” he exclaimed, cupping his hand over his mouth.
Ashley collapsed into his arms sobbing.
“Gracious, girl! Why the waterworks?” Lance gave her a sidelong glance as though he were worried other people might see the embarrassing display, but he patted her back.
Ashley stepped back. “It’s Roger.” She boo-hooed. “I’m afraid he’s left me.”
“Left you? Apparently I’ve missed a lot. Let’s get you back upstairs. You’re a mess, girl. Mascara’s running all down your face.” Lance shook his head, shielded her face and hurried her back upstairs.
Once she was back in her apartment, Ashley took some deep breaths and tried to pull herself together. She offered Lance some tea. He accepted and found her some tissues for her leaky eyes.
They sat in the living room, waiting for the water to boil, and Lance threw his arms in the air. “So what gives, sister?” Clearly, he was dying to get the skinny on her emotional breakdown.
“It all started when I tried to learn to cook for Roger.”
He nodded, encouraging her.
“Well, basically, I’m a failure. Everything I tried was a disaster. I either burned it or didn’t cook it enough or it just blew up somehow. Then I got some take-out that he thought that I cooked—but I didn’t. And he was so happy, so proud of me…that I just let him think I made it.”
“Ashley!” Lance feigned disapproval.
“I know I shouldn’t have!” She stuck her bottom lip out. “But I was so bad at it, and he liked it so much… It was just easier. So I started buying food and passing it off as my own.” She frowned. “Then I got caught,” she said, slumping onto the couch.
Lance jumped back on the sofa in dramatic fashion, clutching his hand over his heart. “Oh Lord! How did he find out?”
She sighed. “He found some receipts. They must have been on top of the trash or something. I should’ve been more careful.”
“What you should have done was come to me for cooking lessons, umhmm, that’s right.” He snapped his fingers and looked at her with disdain, shaking his head.
“You’re probably right.”
“Well, quit acting like Eeyore and let’s get with the program. What did you try to cook? Did you try the crockpot like I said?”
“Yes, and the noodles were hard.”
“Okay, well that can be fixed by either adding water, some stirring or cooking longer. Sometimes with a slow cooker you have to play with it a little. I can help you with that.”
She wiped her eyes and brightened. “Really?”
He nodded. “What else?”
“I tried to make a French Silk Pie. That was a mess!”
“A what?”
“French Silk Pie.”
“Girl, you’ve got to be crazy. You don’t try something like that when you don’t know how to cook. Why don’t you just try to make a soufflé?” He laughed as if that was the most ridiculous thing in the world.
She furrowed her brow, puzzled. “A soufflé?”
“Yes, goose! They’re almost impossible to make.”
“Oh.”
He rolled his eyes heavenward. “I have got to take you under my wing, child.”
“Would you?” She sniffled.
“Yes. Clearly you need all the help you can get. And I hate to see my favourite neighbour running around looking like the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Do you have any eye makeup remover? Maybe you can go do something about that.” Waving his fingers in front of his face, he indicated she had black streaks on her cheeks.
“Okay.” She smiled for the first time since her fight with Roger.
The tea kettle sang out from the kitchen.
“I’ll get it,” Lance offered. “You go take care of that.” He shooed her off to her bathroom.
* * * *
A couple of hours later, Ashley heard the creak of the front door.
“Am I in the right place?” Roger asked as he rounded the corner and walked into the chocolate cloud that hovered through the kitchen.
There, Ashley and Lance hovered over the stovetop. Ashley stirred a pot of dark brown liquid. The air was thick with a blanket of chocolate that coated one’s nostrils with a sugary sweetness.
“Yes,” she said. “We’re making fudge. Lance is teaching me.” The corners of her mouth turned up tentatively.
“Okay, well, I don’t want to interrupt…” Roger started to leave. She couldn’t read his expression. How mad was he? At lea
st he’s come back. That’s a good sign. Isn’t it? Inside, her heart did a cartwheel.
“No, no. I was just leaving. We’re about done here,” Lance said, looking ill at ease.
“Are you sure?” Roger asked.
“Yes. Ashley, all you have to do is stir it for another two minutes, pour it into this glass pan then refrigerate it for several hours. Call me tomorrow and tell me how it turns out, or bring me a piece. It’s easy. See?”
Ashley wasn’t sure she did see, but she smiled and nodded robotically, nervous about being alone with Roger. She was in so much trouble, and she was too upset to deal with the blocks or any of his punishments right now.
Lance grabbed his coat.
“We’ll walk you out,” Ashley said, nervous about the prospect of facing Roger by herself. She and Roger followed him into the living room and said goodbye to Lance.
Then Ashley and Roger were alone. Tension hung in the air between them as tight and unforgiving as an old wire bedspring.
“I—” They both spoke at the same time, then stopped.
That eased the awkwardness. Ashley sighed with relief.
“I’m sorry,” Ashley blurted out. “I was wrong. I should never have taken credit for cooking something I didn’t make. I’m just so terrible at it, Roger, and I hated to disappoint you. But I was wrong.”
“I need total honesty from you, Ashley. For a relationship to work, two people have to know that they can trust each other completely. And when you lie to me, I don’t know what to think. I have to admit that I was disappointed that you didn’t feel you could be honest with me.”
She made herself as small as she could. “I know. I feel awful. I’m so sorry, Sir.”
“I’m sorry too, Ashley.”
Huh? Ashley couldn’t believe her ears. What was he sorry for?
“I’m sorry that I made you feel like you had to fake things for me. If you don’t like to cook—that’s okay.” His face was gentle, kind.
“It is?” She was confused. “I thought it was real important to you that I become a chef or something…” Her mouth curled into a question.
“Well, it was. At first. I don’t know. I was confused myself. Let me try to explain. I’ve been thinking more about our domestic life lately. And it seemed like a good idea to start eating at home more. Since you’re my sub—that’s the role you and I have agreed upon for you—it seemed the right thing for you to do. That you’d do the cooking. But if you don’t like it, dear—I can do it.”
“It’s not that. I don’t mind it. But I wasn’t successful with it, Sir, and it made me sad to disappoint you. I hated that. It made me feel like a failure.”
He took her in his arms. “Silly girl. I will love you even if you can’t boil water. There are lots of things that take a while to learn. Cooking is one of them. I don’t expect you to be perfect, or great at everything. And I don’t expect you to do all the domestic chores, especially if you hate them. I can help around the house.”
“Well, Lance says he’ll help me learn in the kitchen. He wants to take me under his wing.” She looked up at him hopefully.
“You two looked rather cosy when I walked in. Should I be jealous?”
She thought he might be teasing her, but she wasn’t sure. He rocked her body back and forth as he held her.
She pretended to punch him on the shoulder. “No, Sir. Lance has a boyfriend.”
“Okay, that’s good. Can’t have him movin’ in on my girl.” He kissed her on the lips.
“So, you’re not mad at me?” she asked.
“To be honest, I’m concerned that you lied to me. You don’t ever have to lie to me.”
“I know. That was the worst part. I’m sorry.” She hung her head.
“You need to understand that I accept you for who you are, Ashley—warts and all. There is nothing you ever need to hide from me. Do you understand?”
She fought back tears. Had anyone ever loved her so much just for being her before? Her parents, maybe. But Roger loved her even when she acted like an idiot. He loved her in spite of her craziness. Her heart swelled with love for him. Biting her lip, she nodded. “Yes.”
“Okay, because I have something important that I want to talk with you about. I was planning to save it for later, but I think we need to discuss it now.”
Anxiety churned in her stomach. She didn’t say a word.
“Remember how I said I’ve been thinking more domestic thoughts lately?”
Ashley was frozen, not sure where he was going with this.
“Darling, that’s because I want to make you my wife.”
Ashley wasn’t sure what she’d heard was real. Was this really happening to her? A couple of hours ago, she’d thought Roger might leave her. Now he was proposing to her?
She watched as her beloved Roger knelt down on one knee, gazed into her eyes and asked, “My sweet Ashley, will you marry me?”
She flung herself onto his lap. “Yes, of course I will!” She smothered him with kisses.
“Wait, I have a ring,” he said and pulled a box out of his pocket.
She laughed. She was so excited she’d forgotten about the ring.
It was a lovely, emerald cut diamond that fit her precisely. Exactly what she would have chosen. Leave it to Roger to choose the perfect ring for her.
Nestled in his embrace, they made out for what seemed like hours. All of a sudden, a funky smell drifted into the room.
“What’s that?” Ashley asked. “Oh my God! The fudge!”
She ran into the kitchen and discovered the scorched concoction sitting on the stove.
Her first instinct was to cry.
Instead, she breathed deeply, glanced down at the ring on her finger, considered the unconditional love it represented then walked back into the other room.
“Hey, Sir, want to order a pizza?”
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
Venetian Love Knots
Normandie Alleman
Excerpt
Chapter One
Allison held her plastic cup in a death grip as she absently rattled the ice cubes in it. She stared out of the bubble-shaped window on her flight to Rome. The vodka had done little to calm her nerves. Neither People, Cosmo, nor Vogue had been any help distracting her. Allison’s mind was determined to go back to the one man who had caused her more pain and heartache than she had ever known. The man whom she would soon see for the first time in four years.
She bit her lip and shut her eyes tightly. Allison remembered the day her best friend Marcia had told her that she was getting married in Venice the week of Valentine’s Day. Marcia had asked her to be her maid of honour and Allison had immediately jumped at the chance. She loved to travel, and she wanted to be there for Marcia.
Marcia had been dating Alfonso ever since Allison could remember. The pair had been together since they were kids in grammar school, when Alfonso and his parents moved to Texas from Italy. In fact, Alfonso had lived in the United States so long that no one thought of him as Italian, but the rest of his family was still in Italy.
Marcia had explained that it was a family tradition for them to be married in Venice around St Valentine’s Day. Alfonso was very close with his grandmother, who still lived there, and he wanted to carry on the family tradition for her. Marcia had met Alfonso’s Italian family, and had said that they were wonderful—very hospitable—and had been kind to her.
“His grandmother is so cute and little, but she’s a pistol, you know? Plus he has all these Italian cousins. They’re so handsome and polite. And they really know how to throw a party. I bet the whole time we were in Italy we didn’t sleep a wink! Somebody was always throwing a dinner party, or a lunch, or even a brunch for us. It was wild. And Venice… Oh, Allie, you are going to love Venice!” Marcia had gone on and on, telling her about the sights she’d seen and all of the art that Allison could see if she went. It had sounded like something Allison did not want to miss.
A couple of weeks late
r, Allison had just walked into her apartment when she’d got a call from Marcia. “Allie, honey, it’s me, Marsh. Are you sitting down? I need you to sit down.”
Allison had set her groceries down on the floor and sat.
“Honey, Alfonso has gotten Cole to agree to be his best man,” she’d said.
Marcia’s announcement had been met with complete silence.
“Allison? You still there?” Marcia had asked.
Cole. For years Allison had prayed for indifference towards Cole. She had hated him for years. What she felt for Cole was either unmitigated passion or hate. She didn’t know any in between. And what she had wound up craving was indifference. The last time she’d seen him, four years ago, what she had prayed for, what she had begged God for, was to feel indifference towards him. He had almost ruined her life.
“Yes, Marcia, I’m here.” Her voice emotionless. Her purse strap had fallen off her shoulder as she’d slumped forward on the chair.
“Well, Allison, I know this is going to be uncomfortable for you, knowing how you’ve tried to put the whole Cole thing behind you, but hopefully you won’t have to see each other very much. I mean it is a large wedding party and all. Alfonso says Cole has a girlfriend. I mean she’s not coming or anything, but…well, what do you think? Will you still be my maid of honour?”
“Of course, it’s fine,” Allison had lied, keeping her tone as even as she’d been able.
“I’m so sorry about this!” Marcia had prattled on and Allison had put on a brave face for her friend and pretended that everything would be fine.
Now that she was on her way to Italy, her fears rose to the surface.
It’s fine, she thought to herself sarcastically. That’s why I’m sitting here half-drunk and miserable, worrying about some guy from four years ago. She crossed and uncrossed her legs several times, fractious and annoyed with herself that even thinking about him could still shake her up so much.
Allison Fox had enjoyed being a popular girl for most of her twenty-six years. Her relationship with Cole Street was a source of shame for her, but it was also secretly how she identified herself. While she was ashamed of what she’d put up with for the relationship, who she was when she was with Cole was how she defined herself as a woman in many ways. That made her feel even worse about herself.
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