by Zoe Chant
Breck shook his head. “I know Bastian avoids making promises,” he realized.
“Dragons can add magic to enforce their contracts to make them binding. Like a geas. My marriage will be unbreakable. We will be literally incapable of dissolving it or... committing infidelity.”
That sounded pretty final, and Breck felt like he was standing over a yawning pit of misery on a very narrow footbridge. “Well,” he said, as cheerfully as he could manage. “At least I can get you a good breakfast before you walk the plank. Any requests?”
Darla’s grateful smile was slow and timid. “It was all delicious last time. I’ve never had such amazing strawberries.”
The plate that Breck made her was heaped with strawberries, and included sizzling breakfast sausages, balls of goat cheese rolled in herbs, and flaky croissants, with a little chunk of carrot carefully carved into a rose. Darla’s delight over the rose was like salve on a sunburn, and his leopard was thrilled that they managed to please her, at least that much.
She insisted he share the food with her, again, and Breck sat across from her and watched her hands and wished he could touch them. He had a pang of sympathy for Conall and his mate Gizelle, who had been too afraid to let him touch her for more than a week after they met.
But Conall had tamed her wild heart with his patience, and they were comfortably together now.
He and Darla had no such chance, and patience was not their answer.
They had far less than a week.
Breck startled from his seat. “Dammit, the bread!” He turned on the ovens. “First I burn them, now I forget to bake them.”
Darla stood up, surprised at his sudden outburst. “Can I help?”
Breck laughed, “No, there’s nothing to be done, really. They’ve already been shaped, they just need to warm up while the oven heats and then I’ll bake them. I’m just about twenty minutes behind the schedule, that’s all.”
“Bread has always been very mysterious to me,” Darla admitted, as he took the trays of bread dough from the refrigerator and uncovered them. “It’s squishy dough, and then, magically, sandwiches!”
“Crazier than that, it’s little colonies of living yeast that we carefully cultivate and then murder,” Breck added. “Delicious, delicious murder.”
Darla giggled, her eyes crinkling perfectly. “I never would have thought of that,” she said in chagrin. “How will I ever eat bread again without thinking of those millions of little extinguished potentials. One of them might have written the yeast equivalent of Shakespeare’s plays if it hadn’t been baked.”
“You might also have eaten a little yeast Jack the Ripper,” Breck suggested. “So it probably balances out.”
Darla’s laugh was the most beautiful sound Breck had ever heard, an unreserved moment of joy that he wanted to bottle.
As it faded, he realized he was staring at her, all the yearning in his heart undoubtedly on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking away. “I didn’t mean to…”
“Is your leopard driving you as crazy as mine is?” Darla asked softly.
Breck dared to look back, and Darla’s face was a mirror of desire and despair. “So crazy,” he admitted.
“I’m so sorry I can’t…” she trailed off in embarrassment.
Breck dredged down for a way to lighten the situation, to lift some of the weight of misery from her shoulders. Humor was always the first thing in his toolbox. “You should be sorry,” he teased, gesturing to himself. “All this, and you don’t even get to touch it! I’ll have you know that I’m the greatest lover that has ever set foot on this island.”
Darla’s eyes got very big indeed, and for a moment Break feared that he’d overshot his attempt at flippancy and horrified her instead. Then she burst out laughing, and the delighted smile that bloomed over her face was everything Breck had hoped for.
“Seriously,” he continued flippantly, “if they gave out trophies for sex, I’d run out of display space for them. I’d have to choose between keeping the ‘best beach sex’ trophy and the ‘greatest floss’. You know, I’d probably keep that one in the bathroom. Keep my toothbrush in it.”
Darla laughed so hard that she had to lean on the counter. “You’re impossible!” she said.
“Just highly improbable,” Breck joked. “Now I’ll need to chop up some fruit for the breakfast service, or Chef will can me the rest of the way.”
He did a considerably better job chopping the fruit than he had the day before, despite Darla’s distracting observation from across the counter.
She was fascinated by the process, and admitted that she hadn’t spent any time at all in a kitchen. “I had no idea a mango started out looking like that,” she said. “And I didn’t know a pineapple had a core.”
“Want to help me wash up some of these dishes?” Breck asked impulsively, when he had laid out all of the fruit dishes and added the mint garnish.
Darla looked shocked. “I’ve… never washed dishes before,” she said hesitantly. “Do you think I could?”
“Darla, my love,” Breck said expansively. “I can teach anyone anything. Since I have no chance to teach you all the things I really want to, I can settle for showing you how to scrub plates.”
She smiled shyly. “I probably shouldn’t ask what you really want to teach me,” she said mischievously.
“Not unless you want anatomic diagrams,” Breck teased. “And those are classes best taught with a hands-on lab.” Her blush was everything he could have hoped for.
He managed to tie an apron on her without actually touching her, a feat he took considerable pride in. He showed her how to wash the dishes, aching to press up behind her to demonstrate over her shoulders, and took them to rinse and dry. He was careful not to brush against her and watched her from the corner of his eyes as they worked.
Her look of studious concentration was as alluring as her laughter had been, and her strawberry-blonde hair was lightly curled around her face in the steam. She nibbled on her lower lip as she worked, and her triumph when Breck approved her work was like a wash of joy.
She got invested in the work, and when Breck handed back a plate, pointing out an imaginary fleck, she was at first chagrined, then realized he was teasing her. “There’s nothing there,” she protested.
She splashed him with the soapy water, laughing, and Breck started to automatically gather her into his arms, only stopping at the last moment, standing very close to her with his hands on either side of her arms… not quite touching her, but desperately wanting to.
They were frozen there a long moment before Breck could wrestle his hands back to his sides. He wanted to apologize, but sorry was the hated theme of their whole relationship.
“I should go,” Darla said breathlessly.
He was close enough to kiss her with the slightest lean forward, and his leopard was doing angry, pacing circles over the fact that they hadn’t yet.
“You should,” Breck whispered.
“The sun will be up soon,” Darla said, not moving. She was gazing up at him, her pupils large with desire.
“If I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop,” Breck warned her for a second time.
“I know,” she mouthed without sound, and Breck felt like he could hear her heart breaking in the silence.
He wasn’t sure how long they might have stood there, insisting that Darla had to go, if it hadn’t been for someone whistling outside the back door of the kitchen. They each took a step back and waited in fear as the whistler passed by without pausing.
Darla released her held breath in a rush. “Tomorrow morning?” she asked longingly.
“I’ll be here,” Breck promised.
Then she was gone, and the kitchen was achingly empty again.
“I’ll be here,” Breck repeated helplessly to himself.
Chapter 19
Darla didn’t realize she was still wearing the apron that Breck had so carefully tied onto her until she was creeping into the back door of her cottage
. She tore it off with frantic fingers as she heard her mother stirring in the next room, and threw it under the pillow.
No, what if housekeeping found it, Darla thought in a panic, casting an eye around the room. Her luggage wasn’t particularly safe from her prying mother, and she couldn’t think where she might put it that wouldn’t be tidied by the staff later. Finally, as her mother tapped on the door, she wadded it up as small as she could manage and stuffed it into her Gucci handbag.
Did it bulge suspiciously? There was no time to reconsider.
“You’re dressed early,” her mother said, sounding grouchy as Darla let her in.
“The sun wakes me up,” Darla fibbed. “I’m not used to it.”
“I should complain about the curtains,” Jubilee said, twitching them open. “You’d think as much money as we’re paying, they could afford better light-blocking fabric. You’d also think they would put coffee machines in each house. I’m going to the restaurant to get a decent cup as soon as they open.”
She turned to give Darla an appraising look. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us,” she said. “I want to go over the seating for the rehearsal dinner, and talk about the menu with their chef. The food so far has been decent, at least.”
Remembering the breakfasts that Breck has served her rather than the meals in the restaurant, Darla agreed wholeheartedly and followed her mother. At the last moment, she grabbed her purse, and the ridiculously large designer sunhat that was supposed to keep her from freckling.
Chef himself came out to spread napkins in their laps and take their breakfast requests, something that pleased Jubilee, who loved to be waited on by the most important people.
“A one-egg vegetarian omelet with sliced avocado and cilantro,” she decided imperiously. “Cooked in truffle oil, not any nasty canola or corn. And some of that fresh bread I smell.”
Darla squirmed, and Chef carefully did not glance at her. “I’m afraid the bread is still baking,” he apologized. “We… had a late start this morning.”
Jubilee frowned, but Darla put her own order in before she could fuss about it. “Just a grapefruit for me,” she said graciously. “And a cup of coffee.”
“Of course,” Chef said politely. “And a loaf of bread will be brought just as soon as it’s ready, fresh from the oven.”
“It’s good that you eat lightly,” Jubilee said with a critical look at Darla after Chef had gone. “I should have had you working with my personal trainer more before we left home. You’re looking almost plump.”
“The dresses fit,” Darla reminded her. “And there’s a limit to how much weight I can lose in three days.”
Jubilee sighed. “Yes, I suppose we have what we have now.” There was no doubting from her tone that what she had was a great disappointment.
Darla’s grapefruit was served with their coffees, and there was a little carrot rose in the garnish on the plate that made Darla’s heart flip-flop in her chest. Her bracelet felt hot, and Darla put it in her lap under her napkin before it could start glowing and betray her.
Jubilee caught Chef when he returned with her omelet, and grilled him about the wedding menu as she ate, oblivious to the other people who came into the restaurant and were seated. Food continued to be served, so presumably, his staff was making do without him.
Breck, Darla thought. Breck was probably in there helping to make the food. She fingered the carved carrot.
“And no iceberg lettuce in the salads,” Jubilee said commandingly. “It’s so cheap. Right Darla?”
“Of course, mother,” Darla said faintly.
She was glad that her mother had irrationally banned Breck from serving. Even just knowing he was close, looking at the rose he had carved, she wanted to squirm in her seat. He’d almost touched her in the kitchen, almost gathered her up in his arms when she splashed him, and she had wanted it so badly.
How much worse would it be, if it were Breck instead of Chef, cataloging her mother’s demands, refilling her water, spreading the napkin in her lap...
Darla nodded when she was supposed to, agreed with everything, and finished her fruit with one hand hidden in her lap.
She was keenly aware of the apron in her purse. Her sunhat lay over it, and it wasn’t at all obvious, but it felt like it was burning a guilty hole in her side.
Could she simply leave the apron discreetly under the table? How was she going to get rid of it?
Chef finally escaped, and it was a server who brought them their loaf of fresh bread.
“Maybe I should call Madame Nadine,” Jubilee said thoughtfully. “I really can’t decide between a mint reduction on the pork or a tart cranberry braise.”
“I like the sound of cranberry,” Darla offered, staring at the bread. All those little yeast villains and Shakespeares. She had to smile to herself.
“Mmm,” Jubilee said, distracted by the menu she was annotating. “But mint, you know.”
“I’d like to have a bit of a rest before we go over the seating,” Darla suggested. “The heat here makes me quite tired.” To say nothing of rising before the sun and spending sleepless nights thinking about Breck’s eyes, and his smile, and his arms, and his…
The glow of the bracelet was shining through the napkin in her lap.
“That’s a good idea,” Jubilee said with a slightly knowing smile, and she gathered up her own purse. She yawned. “I might like a bit of a siesta before lunch myself. I wouldn’t be surprised if they gave us decaffeinated coffee, goodness.”
Darla gathered up her hat, but left her purse, tucked away off the edge of the chair where it wasn’t obvious. It would give her a reason to come back later, when the restaurant wasn’t busy, and she’d have a better chance of getting rid of the apron.
And maybe seeing Breck again.
Chapter 20
Mrs. Shandy was too shrewd to be fooled by Breck’s usual careless jokes and smiles. After he had badly lost two games of backgammon making distracted moves, she put the dice aside and gravely asked, “What’s under your skin, young man?”
Breck wasn’t sure how he could possibly explain the terrible, restless need that was eating him alive from the inside. “Just resenting my enforced vacation,” he said, at least partly honest.
“Oh, piffle,” Mrs. Shandy said sharply. “You look like you’ve got girl troubles, and a whole pile of them. You don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you if you want to be that way about it, but you should know better than to lie about it to yourself.”
“I’m not,” Breck protested. He was, he thought, being very truthful with himself about the impossibility of his situation.
Mrs. Shandy made a noise of disbelief. “Well be that as it may, I’m sure I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s not like I’ve had a lifetime of romance and relationships or anything.”
“Mrs. Shandy…”
“No, no, we’re done now,” Mrs. Shandy said loftily. “You may take my tray.”
She had forgiven him by the time he had gathered up her dishes and swept the floor, and gave him a warm, fragile hug. “You be honest with yourself,” she said. “And you let yourself feel, Breck. You open up that big heart and you give yourself permission to be happy.”
Breck sighed and stewed over Mrs. Shandy’s advice as he walked back to the kitchen with her breakfast tray. He didn’t want to feel. That way lay only pain and misery.
He automatically took the main path, his mind busy, until he heard giggling girls and nearly walked into a party of bridesmaids, remembering too late that he was supposed to be staying out of sight.
They greeted him with a range of reactions, ranging from haughty disdain to interested sidelong looks, and he skirted around them without responding. A few days earlier, even under strict orders to stay under the radar, he would have tested their sincerity with flirtation and smiles, but all he wanted to do now was escape.
He thought the rest of his path was clear, and was surprised when he found Eugene lurking near the back door of th
e kitchen.
“Can I help you?” he asked shortly, his hackles up.
“I’m Eugene,” the man introduced with a greasy smile. “You must be the infamous Breck?”
“You’re from the bride’s family,” Breck said flatly.
“Distantly,” Eugene said quickly. “My mother was Mrs. Grant’s second cousin.”
This was the man who would marry Darla if Breck challenged for her and lost. For the first time since he had first laid eyes on Darla, Breck and his leopard were in perfect instinctive agreement: this man was absolutely, in every way, their enemy.
So it was unexpected when Eugene seemed friendly. “Hey, I’m really sorry for her interference. She’s a little… old-fashioned, you know? And it doesn’t help that she’s trying really hard to impress the dragon high society with this wedding. I hope you won’t lose your job over this.”
“Shouldn’t,” Breck said shortly, and he edged past Eugene to go into the kitchen without encouraging further conversation.
To his alarm, Eugene followed him. “Glad to hear that,” the man said cheerfully. “Say, have you met the groom yet?”
“Liam?” Breck said in surprise.
“You’d like him,” Eugene said jovially. “He’s a great fellow. Did you know he was a dragon shifter? Big surprise to his parents. They come from lines of wolf and genet shifters, there hadn’t been a dragon in their lines for generations.”
“I heard,” Breck said, putting Mrs. Shandy’s tray on the counter and unloading it. Chef and the few people working in the kitchen were at the other end of the big room, working noisily with mixers. Chef was singing a booming opera over the sound.
“Handsome guy,” Eugene said, as if he were sharing a great secret. “And I don’t swing that way myself.” He laughed a little and seemed to think that Breck should be laughing with him.
Breck gave him a hard look, trying to make sense of this baffling conversation. “Miss Grant is a lucky lady,” he suggested, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice and failing.
“Undoubtedly,” Eugene agreed. “But I’m not sure Liam’s… heart is in it, if you catch my drift.”