“The fact he apologized is out of character.” Quentin purses his lips. “No doubt, he hoped you’d convey his sentiments to us.”
“He seemed genuine. And he did it right after our wedding ceremony.”
“He did?” I glance at my husband in surprise.
He looks down at me, a tenderness filling his gaze, the kind which never fails to send a thrill down my spine. I’ll never get used to this strong, proud man, not hiding his emotions when it comes to me.
I feel privileged and cherished and protected and happy. And it must show on my face, for he tucks me closer.
“Let’s say, it was when I was filled with self-doubt. When I was riddled with questions about what I was doing. And you should know”—he tightens his hold on me—"it was in another time. When I was someone else. Before I was changed by my love for you.”
“Aww.” Summer sighs. “That’s so romantic.”
“He is, isn’t he?” I cup his cheek. Then, because I can’t help it, I rise up on tiptoe and kiss my husband. It’s meant to be a quick peck on his lips, but Brody deepens the kiss, and by the time he releases me, I’m flushed and panting. And applause breaks out from those watching.
“You guys are practically oozing happiness.” James’ tone is disgusted.
“That’s what you could have, too.” Quentin nudges him.
"I don’t begrudge you guys your contentment." A haunted expression crosses James features, one that crosses over the border to jealousy, perhaps? Is James jealous of his friends’ happiness?
It’s almost as if he thinks he doesn’t deserve it. But nah, that’s notpossible. James is such a confident man. Surely, he’s not the kind to fall prey to such misgivings.
“But?” Brody prompts him.
"But my restaurant is a jealous mistress. It doesn’t leave space for any other woman in my life and"—his phone buzzes—"excuse me." He pulls out his phone and takes in the message.
It must not be good news, for he tightens his upper lip. A scowl darkens his features.
"This… This is what I mean. I put a woman in charge of my kitchen, and what I get is disaster.”
"Do you mean Harper?" I frown.
"Who else?" He grips his phone like he’s about to throw it on the floor and jump on it. For someone who’s always so composed, it’s a startling revelation to see his features twisted with frustration.
His mouth is set in grim lines. He seems furious.
Whoa, whatever Harper has done, it must be serious. Apparently, she can silence the chef who’s well known for speaking his mind.
"First time I’ve seen anyone get under the skin of Hell’s Chef,” Brody drawls.
Now, that’s a nickname I haven’t heard before. But having heard of his legendary temper, I can guess where he gets it from.
James cracks his neck. “For one day, could she hold things together without everything falling apart? Of course, not." His nostrils flare.
"Maybe you’re building things up in your head? You know how persnickety you can be," Brody drawls.
"It’s because I’m persnickety that I have three Michelin stars." He narrows his gaze on Brody. Anyone else would wilt under James’ fierce scowl, but not my husband.
He inclines his head. "And you worked hard to pull that off. It makes me wonder, though, how many you need before you’re satisfied?"
"Satisfied?" He snaps it out like it’s a dirty word. "I’ll rest when I’m six feet under, and not a moment before. Now, I’d better bringthis fire under control, otherwise I may not have a restaurant to go back to."
I slip out into the garden.
It’s cold. My breath puffs silver in the air, but the sky above is a masterpiece. Stars crowd together like diamonds flung across velvet. Somewhere inside, voices are rising, glasses clinking, someone calling out that there are five minutes left.
Footsteps crunch softly behind me. Then a coat drapes around my shoulders, and two arms slide around my waist.
