My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

The door opens beside me, and I look to my side, expecting to see Roberta telling me to get my ass back to the line. Instead, it’s much, much worse.

“There you are, baby,” the woman purrs. Valentina is dressed to kill tonight, as usual. Her round tits spill from her silk blouse, her black skirt is painted-on tight, and her long, toned legs end in stiletto heels. She sashays up to me, her manicured nail tracing along my forearm and her smoky eyes half-lidded. “You miss me? I missed you.”

I jerk my arm, flinging her touch off and spitting out, “Have you no shame? I’ve told you . . . not interested. Never.”

I’m being cruel and crude, but it’s absolutely warranted. I’ve tried polite, I’ve tried charming, I’ve tried blunt, but it’s come to this. And still, she keeps coming back for more.

“Aw, my bad boy is scared of my husband? There’s no need, baby. He need never know.” Her nail finds its way to her lush cleavage, drawing a line designed to direct my attention to the mounds.

Why does she think that’s a reassurance? More importantly, that she is Sergio’s wife is not the reason I don’t want her. She’s simply not . . . her. Not the one who can capture my attention, keep me intrigued, and somehow manage to continually surprise me. No, Valentina is as transparent as a window and as shallow as a puddle in the desert.

I thought I might’ve met someone interesting once, but her roots were too complex and deep, and I’d run, scared. I’m still ashamed of that.

“Perhaps I’ll tell Sergio how his wife behaves when his back is turned?” The threat has crossed my mind more than once when Valentina gets particularly aggressive in her pursuit of me. I’ve always considered it a suicide mission, though, something that, while it might get Valentina to leave me alone, would also lead to Sergio firing me over his wounded pride.

But with wanderlust growing in my gut, I find myself less concerned about Sergio’s potential response.

Valentina laughs, throwing her head back to expose her neck. “You won’t do that. It serves no purpose.” She shrugs, her lips lifted in a red-framed smile. “He won’t believe you, but on the off chance that you speak the truth, he’ll never trust you. He’ll make your life hell until you quit or he fires you. Either way, I’ll be here by Sergio’s side long after you’re gone.”

Her eyes flash, her smile turning predatory as she realizes she has me between a rock and a hard place. But while she thinks she holds all the cards, I’m about ready to play fifty-two pick-up and just say fuck it.

“Find me later, baby.” There’s a hint of an order to the words, and her heels click on the dirty concrete as she goes back inside.

I think she would’ve let me fuck her right up against the filthy brick of the building, those red-soled heels stepping on cigarette butts, with anyone able to see if they came out the back door.

Sexy? Maybe once it would’ve been. Or maybe with someone else, it would be. Now? A shiver of disgust worms its way down my spine as my cock tries to climb back up into my body in revulsion.

The door opens again, and despite my strong spine, I startle.

Milo smirks. “Busted.”

I think he’s talking about Valentina and shake my head. “Fuck no.”

His brows jump high on his forehead. “You’re not coming in? You’ll have to tell Sergio he’s fucked for dinner service then.”

“Oh, no . . . I’ll be right there,” I say, realizing he’s not talking about Valentina at all but is likely thinking I’m hiding for a long ‘smoke break’ to get out of the prep work. He doesn’t let me off that easily, holding the door open for me to pass in front of him.

I wonder if he can sense that I’ve got one proverbial foot out the door, ready to make a run for the city limits and the next thing.

In the kitchen, I wash my hands and dive in. Alessandro’s caprese salads and antipasto platters are already going out for the first course, which means I’m up.

Fresh ingredients are the secret to my success, but there are also some tricks I’ve cultivated to truly take my plates a step above. I use a large spoon to help swirl the fettuccine into a neat circle, sliding it onto the center of each bowl. Once a tray is complete, Milo works behind me to add a sprinkle of fresh parmesan and a parsley sprig to each. Finally, I eye each bowl critically, giving the final approval on them all before they’re taken to the guests.

And then the process begins again for the next tray. And then again and again.

Next, Roberta’s soup, served in small, delicate bowls with an arancini ball, a swirl of sour cream, and freshly shaved carrot garnish, goes out. It’s not the traditional progression, but we do it intentionally to offer variation of flavors based on the specific menu. Plus, it allows Roberta and me to work together on the main dish. Chicken and fresh local veggies sauteed in truffle oil is a simple but delicious recipe that lets the ingredients shine. Last but not least, the tiramisu goes out.