Daddy’s Billionaire Chef

“How am I supposed to burn this off?” I asked before taking another bite.

I positively adored that he always arranged our meals, from glamorous Michelin starred restaurants to little nooks where generations of the same family had had a restaurant making paella. Or when we were in Japan, sushi. Or in Italy, pasta.

We agreed that some of the tiny unassuming food kiosks had flavors that outshone the places with perfect linen napkins and a stellar wine list.

“I have some ideas about how to burn off everything we’ve been eating,” Matt grinned.

Easy for him to say. Even with our erratic schedule, he managed to work out regularly and always looked like a fitness model. I’d been gaining a steady three pounds a year, even with long walks and the yoga videos Olive sent me every month.

His head swiveled to nod toward the huge bed that beckoned through the fluttering curtains.

“You’re terrible,” I laughed, wiping a crumb from my lips.

His thumb darted out to help me, then his hand stroked my cheek. “Terribly in love with you, yes.”

Leaning in, I gave him a light kiss. “I’m in love with you, even though you’re terrible.”

“Good enough.”

Looking out over the beautiful buildings, I sighed. “Only two more days here.”

Matt straightened up and cleared his throat, making me look at him carefully. He often did that when he was about to be bossy, but was trying to soften his tone for me. “I was thinking that we could extend this trip and spend a week in France.”

“But didn’t you say something about having to get back to your restaurant in Chicago?” I wracked my brains: it was nearly impossible to keep his schedule straight. Now that I only worked a few hours a day remotely, it was easier to just follow along and let him sort things out.

He ran a hand through his thick hair. “Not mine anymore. There was an offer and I decided to sell it.”

“Oh.” Thinking back over the past six months, I added it up. “That’s the fourth restaurant you’ve sold, or taken on a major partner in this year.” Reaching out, I took his hand. “Sweetie, are you burnt out or something?”

“No!” He chuckled as he squeezed my hand. “I just want to streamline everything so that we can travel when we want to, not when we have to. That’s going to make it easier when...” He paused, looking adorably awkward. “Children don’t travel well when they’re tiny and I’m not leaving you alone with them.”

And here I’d thought this incredible egg potato sandwich might be the highlight of my day. “Are we ready for that?” I asked, watching his eyes carefully.

“I think so,” he nodded. “I’ve already researched the schools close to our neighborhood, and found a company that pairs nannies with families. They have a very strict screening process, and—”

Darting forward, I cut him off with a kiss. Matt pushed his chair back, lifting me onto his lap. As our bodies pressed together, I could feel his arousal against my hip.

“Talking about schools turns you on?” he murmured against my lips.

“You turn me on. We’d mentioned kids, but you didn’t sound serious before.”

“I am.”

“You want to knock me up in Paris,” I laughed. I don’t know why the words just popped out of my mouth, but I knew it was true.

We stared at each other for several blinks, then he kissed me hard and deep, telling me in no uncertain terms that we’d be messing up the bed yet again before we left the hotel. Then he slid me back onto my chair.

“Eat, baby. You’re going to need the energy for everything I have planned for you today.”

“Mr. Bossypants,” I giggled, tucking back into my brunch.

I didn’t know whether that was a threat or a promise, and didn’t care. Matt’s intentions were always good, and kept the strangely erratic path of our life running smoothly.

The way that we fit into each other’s lives, bringing both balance and happiness, was absolutely perfect. Knowing that I belonged to him forever, and that our life together was going to grow even more once we had children, was even more uplifting than the brilliant coffee.

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