9
Chapter 9
A throwaway rude comment from his sous-chef, Joey, answered all his conflicts. He didn’t need to perform to please Anvita, he only needed to be himself, and if that meant he let his true feelings for Bianca show on camera, well, c’est la vie. Today was Valentine’s Day—not that it mattered for the TV show as it wouldn’t air for months—except for one thing. He knew exactly which recipe he needed to cook today to demonstrate how he felt about Bianca. For over a year, they’d argued and bickered but never once had she backed down. They’d worked together and respected each other, and that was the best basis for a long-term relationship. He’d just carry on in exactly the same vein, teasing her both in private and on camera, and everything would work out. He could have everything without being the dickhead boss who screwed up the whole restaurant by not understanding the impact of his actions. He loved Bianca—watching her walk away from him had made him realise the truth. That’s what made the difference—it wasn’t mindless fucking for temporary pleasure—it was true respect for how she always held her ground and argued her opinions without giving in. How she forced him to examine his ego, and how she took his basic concept for Homage and made it a thousand times stronger. Without her hands in the garden, Homage would be just another restaurant with ideals that it didn’t quite meet. They were a team and he hoped she would say yes. He glanced at the camera crew setting up for today’s episode and ducked into his office were Bianca was getting her hair and makeup done for today.
‘Etienne!’ Bianca squealed and covered herself with her hands, her fit stomach bare and the straps of her black bra showing. He reached out and touched her waist—not on purpose—simply by instinct because he couldn’t stop himself. She was everything he ever wanted, soft skin and strength under his hands.
‘What? I’ve seen it all before.’
She rolled her eyes and pushed his hands away. ‘Do you have to speak like that? We still haven’t worked out what the hell is going on between us.’
‘Yes, we have. I just haven’t informed you yet.’
‘Fuck off.’ But she ruined the comment by grinning. ‘Go on then. Give me your pronouncement.’
‘I’m not barging over you.’
Her smile grew. ‘Could’ve fooled me.’
‘Fine. I care for you, and I miss you…’ He missed having her in his bed, and in his life, arguing with him. ‘I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to do a thing today on camera and I would appreciate it if you take me seriously. That’s all.’ He started to leave but she grabbed the fabric hanging over his hip. A bolt of energy shot across his skin.
‘Wait. You can’t leave it there.’ Her cheeks were flushed and her lips parted slightly in an invitation. One he wouldn’t take until he’d been completely honest with her. He shrugged, unable to stop a satisfied smile spreading over his face.
‘Anvita wants chemistry and tension on screen. She’s going to get everything she asked for and more. Trust me.’
‘Spare me from the prize dickhead who says trust me.’
Laughter flowed out. ‘See, now I know you care about me. If you didn’t you wouldn’t have told me what you call me in your phone.’
‘You know?’
‘Yeah. I’ve known for ages—since before we hooked up.’
She tilted her head. ‘Does this mean you don’t want to break up anymore?’
‘I was a fool. I thought I had to do that to keep my dream, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m sorry my thoughtlessness hurt you. I want everything and I want you to have everything too.’
‘Okay? What about the commands?’
‘You told me you like those.’ He stared, transfixed, at the way her throat shifted as she swallowed.
‘I like some of those. I don’t appreciate having my life dictated by you.’
‘Trust me. You’ll like this one.’ He bolted from his office before he knelt on one knee right there. Shooting his load early wouldn’t have the same impact compared to doing this on camera, bravely, in front of everyone.
***
The lights from the camera were extra warm today and he tried to ignore the drip of sweat at his temple. ‘I will always believe that French cooking is the foundation for all high-end restaurants. It is the basis of the best techniques, and the baseline for judging the very best chefs around the world.’ Etienne paused for a moment and stared right at the camera. ‘However, my beautiful Bianca has opened my eyes to see that it is Australia who leads the world in global cuisine. The way chefs blend fusion cuisine in Australia is the very best I’ve seen around the world. The influences here, from the local Indigenous flavours to the different styles of cuisine brought here by waves of immigrants makes Australia the leading edge of the most innovative cooking anywhere. And for today’s recipe, I want to make a dish that truly highlights the paddock to plate movement that we strive for at Homage, while also being one of the world’s greatest fusion dishes. The Banh Mi.’
‘Excuse me?’ Bianca stared at him with huge eyes. He mouthed ‘trust me.’
‘The Banh Mi is basically a jambon-buerre with a Vietnamese twist. And before I continue, there is one thing I want to say to you, Bianca.’
‘Fetch me an apple?’
The nerves twisting in his stomach flipped over at her comment. One of the camera crew clapped his hand over his mouth, and the movement was so comical that Etienne completely lost his train of thought.
‘An apple? Why an apple?’
She flicked her hair over her shoulder. ‘No reason. At this point in the show, you usually throw me a command and see how fast I’ll run. Maybe I’m done with running.’
‘Perfect. Then you’ll stay. Here with me to run Homage.’
She shrugged. ‘Sure. I like this job. For all your French arrogance and ‘do this’ and ‘do that’, I have full managerial control over the farm. Just as I like it.’
Damn—he’d hoped she would say that, and yet, it wasn’t enough. Not anymore. He couldn’t be her boss for one moment longer. ‘And if it were more than a job? If it were a true partnership?’
Her brows knitted together. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I love you, Bianca Pham. You compliment me in every way. Will you marry me and become an owner in Homage forever? You’ll be the boss in a true equal partnership with me. No more commands.’
She stared at him unblinking, for far too long.
‘Say something. Please.’ He reached out for her hands. She moved her hands towards his and they met halfway. The cameras and lights and Anvita’s presence disappeared as he stared deep into Bianca’s gorgeous brown eyes.
‘On one condition.’
‘Anything.’
She smiled and her face lit up. Doubt and nerves fled and Etienne’s chest expanded. He’d taken a chance today and it was going to pay off. The moment she said yes would be the best Valentine’s Day gift he’d ever have.
‘Promise me you’ll never complain that cilantro tastes like soap.’
He closed his eyes for a second. Trust Bianca to catch him off guard like that. ‘But it does taste like soap.’
‘Only because you have a gene that makes it taste that way.’ Her twinkling expression settled the nerves charging in his gut.
‘Are you going to answer him?’ Anvita’s voice carried across the kitchen, interrupting their fun banter.
‘Oh, didn’t I do that already? Of course, I will marry you, Etienne.’
Cheers erupted around the kitchen.
Etienne wasn’t sure how they got through the episode after that. The shoot seemed to go on forever, when all he wanted to do was drag Bianca home. She was his and he felt damned primitive about her. Fortunately, he knew she’d always knock him down a peg when he needed it, and she’d match him in every way.
***
10
Epilogue
One year later
‘Food TV’s favourite couple returns for another season. Etienne Bourgeois and Bianca Pham are the pair
behind two hatted paddock-to-plate restaurant Homage. She runs the permaculture farm that supplies the restaurant and he transforms her produce into delicious meals that have guests salivating. Their relationship is real and delightful and we can’t wait to be peeking toms into snippets of their life once again.’
Bianca laughed as she read out the media report for season two. She stood beside Etienne in the kitchen, with all the farm and restaurant staff gathered to watch the opening episode of season two. She sipped her flute of champagne, a private celebration of the anniversary of Etienne’s on-camera proposal. The perfect Valentine’s gift and the perfect sandwich. A year after that momentous day, and just over two years since she’d met him, they still bantered, bouncing ideas off each other although their mutual teasing had changed since she’d become his peer, not his employee. They’d updated the ownership of Homage the day after that famed episode was shot, although it had taken much longer to organise their wedding.
‘Just like the Banh Mi. We are made for each other.’ She stretched up and kissed him briefly on the mouth and winked. ‘The Banh Mi took a boring French sandwich and gave it flavour.’
‘Just as you bring flavour to my world, my love.’ He kissed her properly and her whole body sighed with contentment. This was where she belonged. In his arms, forever with the balance of command equally shared between them.
About Renée Dahlia
Renée Dahlia is an unabashed romance reader who loves feisty women and strong, clever men. Her books reflect this, with a sidenote of dark humour. Renée has a science degree in physics. When not distracted by the characters fighting for attention in her brain, she works in the horse-racing industry doing data analysis and writing magazine articles. When she isn’t reading or writing, Renée spends her time with her partner and four children, volunteers on the local cricket club committee, and is the Secretary of Romance Writers Australia.
Social Media Links
http://www.reneedahlia.com
romance.com.au
Author’s Notes
French colonialism in Vietnam covered a period from the seventeenth century through to the formation of the Federation of Indochina in 1887. Named the French Colonial Period, 1887 to 1954 came with the invention of the sandwich we now call the Banh Mi. Initially, the French ate baguettes filled with butter and pate, known as banh tay, or ‘western bread’. When the local population took these breads and filled them with pickles, fresh vegetables and chilli, the sandwich evolved into bánh mì thịt ngoui, ‘bread, meat and cold cuts’, also called bánh mì đặc biệt, ‘the special’, or the one with everything. Now known as the Banh Mi, the sandwich is a global success for fusion cuisine.
Acknowledgments
Thank you Ebony for organising and editing this anthology.
Sin City Valentine
Novalee Swan
Setting:
Las Vegas USA - uses US English spelling.
Heat rating - five chillies
About Sin City Valentine
He’s the emperor.
At Seraglio, the most opulent hotel and casino on the Las Vegas Strip, Valentine Kincaid’s word is law. The sinfully handsome hotelier is spoken about in hushed whispers and speculative wonder. Only one thing can penetrate his icy demeanour.
She’s his general.
Leila Rose is as beautiful as a fairytale princess and as dangerous as rattlesnake. As the Chief of Security at Seraglio, it’s her job to protect the hotel and the man who runs it with an iron fist. Even if it costs her life.
Together, they rule Sin City.
When a deadly threat is made against Valentine, Leila acts as his bodyguard at the Seraglio Aşk, the most exclusive Valentine’s Day ball in Sin City. But amidst the seductive glamour, intimate shadows and ever-present danger, this emperor makes demands of his general that go far beyond loyalty. He wants her body … and maybe even her heart.
1
“If you insist on personal protection . . . then I insist on you.” The implacable words were uttered with neither provocation nor room for negotiation.
Valentine Kincaid had spoken, and his word was law.
At least, it was at Seraglio, the most opulent and exclusive hotel and casino on the Las Vegas Strip.
“Mr. Kincaid,” Leila kept her voice neutral as she held the dark grey eyes of the man five feet away, leaning against the edge of his oak desk, arms crossed. “The threat we received was directed at both you and Seraglio.”
But mostly him.
“I’ll be overseeing hotel security from Ops.” The operations room. “I’ve assigned Lee Hyun-Woo to act as your personal protection tonight.”
“And how exactly will he do that . . . Rose?”
Not for the first time, Leila wished her surname—her whole name, really—wasn’t befitting of a fairytale princess. That connotation couldn’t be further from reality, even if her long golden locks and sapphire eyes were fairytalesque. But since Seraglio’s General Manager never used honorifics, there was nothing she could do about the way he called her Rose.
“He’s my second in command and outstanding at his job,” Leila continued in an impersonal tone that matched Valentine’s. “I trust him—I’d trust him with the life of someone I love.”
A fleeting expression crossed the face of the man in front of her. Even with all her training, Leila couldn’t read it. Then his eyes narrowed.
“I mean,” he paused, and she was forced to wait for him to continue. When he did, his voice was still neutral. “How is he going to stay by my side for the entire evening without raising suspicion? I don’t usually walk around with a bodyguard, especially not in my own hotel.”
Leila leveled her gaze. “He’ll be discreet.”
“Not discrete enough,” Valentine returned without pause. “One of two things will occur. People will assume he’s either my security or my date. So, unless you want him watching from the sidelines, it’s going to be you.”
“Do you have a problem with them assuming Lee Hyun-Woo is your date?”
“No.”
He said the word so directly that Leila didn’t doubt it. For an instant, she wondered if Seraglio’s cold General Manager preferred men.
He was so handsome—and so GQ—that it fit.
But in the two years she’d been working at Seraglio, that thought had never before crossed her mind.
Not once.
But then, she’d never heard a whisper of him having any kind of relationship—longstanding, casual or one-night stand; Valentine Kincaid’s private life was private.
Although, it was widely held—by staff from the laundry room to the penthouse—that he didn’t date. That meant there was a good chance it was true, since the comings and goings of the staff who resided in the hotel were well known by even those who had no business knowing, not to mention those—like Leila—whose job it was to know.
“But it will cause talk,” he continued in that neutral tone. “The guests should be talking about Seraglio, not its GM.”
If that’s what Valentine Kincaid thought—that he wasn’t already a hot topic of conversation, he was in for disappointment. People across Sin City spoke in hushed whispers about the remote, handsome and arrogantly capable man who ruled Seraglio’s empire.
With its three thousand rooms, seven thousand nightly guests, seven pools and spas, fifteen restaurants, the Turkish baths, the salons, greenhouses, atriums, art and cultural exhibitions, nightclubs and bars, not to mention the high-end shopping mall and the casino, the megahotel was an empire. A lush . . . luxurious . . . Ottoman fantasy.
“It won’t cause talk if people assume you’re dating me?” Leila asked.
“You’re a representative of Seraglio. You’ll be escorting me in that capacity, not as my date.”
“Then Lee Hyun-Woo can go in the same capacity.”
“No.” The word was spoken decisively. “He can’t.” Leila was the sole focus of those dark eyes. “Not unless you want me to make him the Chief of Security. Be
cause that’s who is accompanying me tonight—not the second in command.” The subtle emphasis he used on ‘not’, in the face of all that neutrality, carried power.
Leila couldn’t even argue with him because he was right.
The hotel’s opulent design, reminiscent of the Ottoman empire, had inspired its annual Valentine’s Day ball—Seraglio’s Aşk—which combined the hotel’s name and the Turkish word for love. But the ball was more commonly called the Aşk because it was by invitation only and reserved for Sin City’s elite.
Among the thousands of Valentine’s Day events happening across the city, the Aşk was the most exclusive. A single ticket cost $25,000 dollars, and they weren’t available to the general public. You had to be invited to purchase one.
The pure gold invitations, engraved with only the recipient’s name and ‘Seraglio’s Aşk’, were hand-delivered in the hotel’s fleet of custom Rolls Royces on the weekend four weeks before Valentine’s Day. The delivery was an event in itself, and everyone hoping to be ‘asked’ stayed home in anticipation.
One year, invitations had been delivered by a Grammy-award winning artist who serenaded the recipients. Another year, a world-class illusionist had performed breathtaking magical feats. Being ‘asked to the Aşk’ was a coup, and local newspapers published lists of those invited. It was the most coveted ticket since Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart Page 87