by Jennie Adams
They moved on to eat the other dishes. Melanie experienced each new taste with curiosity and perhaps with a little awe. Rik shared her pleasure and knew that it renewed his own. He couldn’t take his gaze from her mouth. He wanted to lean forward and taste the flavour of the truffle, of salt and butter, from the inside of her lips.
It was just a legend.
But Melanie Watson was not a legend. She was a very real woman, and Rik…desired her in this moment, far too much.
* * *
They left for France that afternoon. Mel settled into her seat on the family’s private plane and observed, with some wonder, Rik’s calm face. ‘I don’t know how you do it.’
‘Do what?’ He glanced out of the window at the scudding clouds beneath the plane’s belly before he turned his gaze to her and gave her all of his attention.
‘Remain so calm in the face of being chased all the way to the plane by a wedding planner waving colour swatches and bits of lace and begging for fittings and a decision on the choices for the table settings.’
‘We gave her the answers she needed.’ A slight smile twitched at the corners of Rik’s mouth. ‘And perhaps next time she won’t wear those kinds of heels for running.’
‘I could learn a thing or two.’ Melanie had taken to the wedding planner. ‘She’s doing her best to make things easy for us while we fly all over Europe showing buyers what they’ll be missing out on if they don’t make an order this year for Braston truffles.’
‘In truth we’re only going to Paris.’ There was a pause while Rik looked into her eyes, and while he registered how committed she had sounded to his country’s industry as she spoke those words.
‘It’s still more exciting than almost anything I’ve done.’ Melanie returned his glance.
How did he do that? Make it seem as though the whole rest of the world suddenly faded away and it were just the two of them? Mel would be hopeless at truly being married to him. There’d be photos through the tabloids all the time of her making goo-goo eyes at him when she didn’t realise she was doing it.
Um, where was she?
She would not, anyway. An unguarded thought here or there, or coming to realise that he was a good man and one she could admire, hardly equated to a Rufusina-like devotion to the man.
And you just compared yourself to a truffle hog, Mel. I don’t think pigs wear magic slippers. ‘Magic trotters, maybe,’ Mel muttered, and snapped her teeth together before anything even sillier could come out.
‘I hope the marketing trip is successful.’ For a moment Rik dropped his guard and let her see the concern beneath the surface. ‘There’s no room for failure in my plans, but I still…’
Worry?
‘All the kitchen staff said the truffles were the best ever. I have nothing to compare to, but I thought they were stunning.’ Mel was glad she’d spent the time in the kitchen while Rik finalised plans for their trip.
He’d sprung it on her just as though they were taking a walk around the corner. “Oh, and by the way we’re leaving for Paris this afternoon, I’ll have the staff pack for you.”
She’d let that happen, too, and hadn’t even tried to oversee what got put in the suitcases. Melanie Watson, cook, had stayed clear and let the palace staff pack her things for a trip to Paris.
‘I’ll help you in any way I can, with the marketing efforts.’ Mel didn’t know if she could do anything. Did being his fiancée count?
Her glance dropped to the ring on her finger. Every time she looked at it, it seemed to belong there more than the last time. It had seemed to be made for her from the moment Rik lifted it from a bed of black velvet and placed it on her finger.
What was happening to her? She was losing the battle to keep her emotional distance from him, that was what. There was no point saying she only cared about the people of Braston, or only admired him because he cared about their futures. Mel did feel all those things, but they were only part of what she felt for him.
Face it, Mel. Somehow you got caught in your own feelings towards him and, instead of getting them under control or stopping them altogether, they’ve grown more and more with each passing day.
CHAPTER NINE
‘I AM interested, you understand. Braston black truffles have been a high-standard product.’ The owner of the group of elite Parisian restaurants spoke the words to Rik with a hint of regret, but as much with the glint of good business in his eyes. ‘It is just with your truffles being totally off the market for two years I have found other supply sources.’
This was the fourth restaurant owner they’d seen since they arrived in Paris. The others had come on board, but something told Mel this one might be a harder sell.
They were inside the man’s home, seated at a carved wooden dining setting. At the end of the table, a wide glass vase held a bunch of mixed flowers. The moment they walked into the room, Rik’s gaze had examined the arrangement.
He’d been checking for gardenias, Mel had realised, and her heart had been ridiculously warmed by the gesture on his part. There were none, but that bunch of flowers looked particularly pretty to her now.
‘The blight to our crops was tragic, but we are back on our feet and, as you can see, the commercial truffles are the same high standard.’ Rik lifted one of the truffles he had placed on an oval plate in the centre of the table, took up a stainless-steel shaver and shaved thin slices from the black shape.
As the older man examined the truffle slices, and Mel recalled the almost spiritual moment of trying her first truffle with Rik, he went on.
‘I know at this time of year you would be sourcing truffles. I’d like to see Braston truffles back on the menu at your restaurants.’
At his feet was a travel carrier containing more truffles, and from which he had unpacked the plates and shaver as well as a beautiful small kitchen knife with a gold inlaid handle.
‘And I’d like to put them there, but—’
‘I have an added incentive that may sweeten the deal for you, Carel.’ Rik spoke the words quietly.
‘And that is?’ Carel was the last on their list.
It was almost nine p.m. now and they had been fortunate that the man rarely worked in any of his kitchens these days, preferring to visit as suited him, so he’d been more than happy to meet with Rik at his home.
The incentive of the truffles harvested from royal grounds had worked well with the other restaurant owners. They’d all placed orders for commercial truffles so they could also obtain some of the other truffles. Mel wondered if Carel would be as willing to be convinced. Middle-aged, and ruthlessly business focused, this man was much harder to read than the others.
A surge of protectiveness of Rik rose in Mel’s breast. He shouldn’t have to beg for anything. He was, well, he was a prince! And yet that description was not the first one that had come to Mel’s mind. Rik was good and fair and hardworking and dedicated and his care for the people of his country ran so deep that she knew it would never leave him. He deserved to be respected because of what was inside him.
Carel tipped his head slightly to the side. ‘We have already discussed pricing and you certainly do not plan to give away—’
‘Braston’s truffle crops at a price that won’t help my people get back on their feet?’ Rik said it softly. ‘No. And deep down I know you would not respect such a gesture if I made it.’
The older man was silent for a moment before he dipped his head. ‘You are correct.’
‘How would you feel about a complimentary gift of some of the truffles grown on the palace grounds?’ Rik watched Carel’s face for his reaction. ‘To go with your order, of course.’
Mel watched both their faces.
‘There are legends surrounding those truffles.’ The older man’s glance moved to Mel before it returned to Rik and he asked with the hint of a smile, ‘Do I need to ask whether you harvested the truffles yourself? I am assuming you have brought them with you to show?’
‘You do not need to ask, and I
have brought them.’ Rik’s answer was ironic and guarded all at once.
Before Mel could try to understand that, Rik drew another white rectangular plate out and placed just one truffle on it.
Carel leaned forward to look.
Rik shaved the truffle, allowing the wafer thin slices to fall onto the plate and the pungent aroma to rise.
What exactly did that legend stand for? Mel made a note to find out when they got back to the palace.
‘The aroma is muscular with a particular rich spiciness I have never encountered.’ Carel lifted one of the slices to examine the texture, and colour.
He looked, he inhaled, and after a long moment he put the truffle slice down. ‘I do not know. I’m not convinced that the royal truffles will equate to anything exciting enough on the plate. If I agreed to your offer, I would want to be sure that the truffles were a good enough selling point in terms of taste, not only legend.’
‘And yet they are the stuff of legends,’ Rik said with a hint of the same spark.
This was the business dance, and both men were doing it well.
‘Indeed.’ The older man dipped his head. ‘That is undeniable and an excellent marketing point. But I would be using them at my restaurants for the most expensive dishes only on a very limited basis. They would have to live up to and beyond expectation in all ways.’
‘They do. They would!’ The words burst out of Mel. She touched the edge of one truffle slice with the tip of her finger and caught and held Carel’s gaze. ‘These truffles have a flavour and scent you’ll never find anywhere else. The texture is beautiful. They provide the most stunning enhancement to the dishes they’re used in or when eaten by themselves.’
‘This is quite true.’ Rik’s gaze softened as he glanced at Melanie’s face. She wanted so desperately for this trip to be successful, for him to obtain all the markets for his truffles that he had set out to recapture. ‘But I understand Carel’s point, too.’
Rik appreciated Mel for that investment in him. It seemed a bland way to describe the warm feeling that spread through his chest as he acknowledged Melanie’s fierce support of his efforts. It was a bland description, but Rik wasn’t at all sure he wanted to allow himself to examine that warmth, or try to know exactly what it might mean.
‘For me, I do not have the evidence of this truth.’ Carel again smelled and examined the truffle and its slices. ‘I am sure my chefs would like to try cooking with these, but they are busy at the restaurants—’
‘I’ll cook them for you!’ Melanie got out of her chair. ‘Right here and now.’
If Carel had given any indication that he wouldn’t allow it, no doubt Melanie would have immediately stopped. But the older man simply watched with a hint of appreciation on his face as Melanie fired up on Rik’s behalf. Carel waved a hand as though to say: By all means go ahead.
Rik had to push back a bite of possessive jealousy as he realised the older man was…aware of his fiancée as a woman.
Surely this doesn’t surprise you, Rik? Every man would notice her beauty. How could they not?
Melanie stepped into Carel’s open-plan kitchen. It was immediately apparent that she was at home in this environment. A chopping board sat on the bench.
She glanced towards the refrigerator. ‘May I use anything, monsieur?’
Carel smiled. ‘Yes. Anything.’
Mel took chicken breast, salad greens and dried raspberries, and then selected a bottle of red wine. Finally she retrieved salt and pepper and cashews and a long thin loaf of bread from Carel’s pantry.
Rather than the kitchen knives available to her, Mel walked back to where Rik sat at the table. She took the gold-handled knife from where it rested near Rik’s right hand.
As she did so she touched his shoulder briefly with her other hand. ‘For luck.’
He didn’t know whether she meant the knife, or the touch. Perhaps both.
‘Your fiancée has pluck.’ The Frenchman spoke the words quietly as he sat back to watch Melanie take control of his kitchen. ‘I shall eagerly observe this.’
A half-hour later, Mel drew a deep breath and carried the chicken salad to the table. The meal looked good on the plate, colourful and versatile, full of different textures with the thin slices of truffle heated through and releasing their gorgeous aroma. The wine reduction made a beautiful sauce. The thick slice of bread coated with beaten egg yolk, the lightest combination of chopped herbs and grated sharp cheese and lightly toasted made a perfect accompaniment.
Even so, the proof would be in the taste, not only the visual appeal. Mel placed the dish before her host and brought the other two servings for Rik and herself.
Minutes later, Carel put down fork and knife and lifted his gaze. He spoke first to Rik. ‘The truffles are better than anything I have ever tasted. Cooked in the right way, and served with a little royal legendary on the side, these will be highly sought after at my restaurants this season. I am happy to place my order with you.’
‘Thank you.’ Rik dipped his head and cast a smile in Mel’s direction. ‘And thanks to you, Melanie, for this meal. You are a wonder in the kitchen. I did not realise just how skilled you are.’
‘I would have you in any of my kitchens, Melanie.’ Carel’s statement followed Rik’s.
And while Mel basked in Rik’s surprise and the fact that he’d obviously enjoyed the meal, she had to be
judicious about it. ‘I have to confess that I watched the truffles being prepared at the palace today and learned all I could from the process.’
She turned to smile at the Frenchman. ‘Thank you for your compliment.’
‘In truth it is a job offer.’ The man’s gaze shifted between Mel and Rik. ‘Any of my restaurants, any time. Permanent work, good wages and conditions. You would be more than welcome. Not that I suggest you would be available…’
Mel was more “available” than the man realised. She said something that she hoped was appropriately appreciative but non-committal. Carel didn’t know that she and Rik wouldn’t remain together as a couple, so she couldn’t exactly have asked the man to hold that thought for a few months.
Plus there’d be work permits and all sorts of things, and when this was all over Mel would need to be back in Australia. She tried valiantly not to let those thoughts spread a pall over Carel’s acceptance. Conversation moved on then. Mel sat back and let Rik lead those topics with their host. And she tried to gather her calm, and not think too much about the future. Not tonight. Not here in Paris. Not while she felt…vulnerable in this way.
‘I hope you will excuse us if we leave you now,’ Rik said twenty minutes later.
They had shared a second glass of wine with Carel but it was getting late. ‘It is time for us to return to our hotel.’ He thanked the man again for his business, and then he and Melanie were outside.
‘I would like to stroll the streets before we go back to our hotel.’ He turned to examine her face. ‘Are you up to a walk?’
‘That would be…I would like that.’ Her response was guarded. She hoped he couldn’t hear that within her words. Beneath it there was too much delight, and that made her feel vulnerable. ‘I’d like to see a little more of P-Paris by night.’
‘Then I will get our driver to drop us a few blocks away from our hotel.’ Rik did this, and they made their car trip in silence before they got out to walk the rest of the way.
The hotel Dominico had booked for Rik was in a beautiful part of the city. At first Melanie felt a little stilted with Rik, but he linked his arm with hers and told her the history of the area, pointing out buildings. And using the night and this moment to enjoy her closeness?
Dream on, Melanie Watson!
‘I never thought I would see places like Paris, and Braston.’ Melanie turned her face to look into his. ‘It’s very beautiful on your side of the world.’
‘It is…’ His gaze seemed to linger on her eyes, her mouth, before he turned his glance back to the buildings around them. ‘We have som
e time in the morning. Is there something you’d like to do?’
‘I would love to see some markets.’ Mel tried to keep her enthusiasm at a reasonable level. She did. But the chance to explore Paris, even a small portion of it. How could she not be excited? ‘A peek at some local colour?’
‘Then we shall find markets tomorrow,’ Rik said and tucked her more closely against his side. For a moment he felt, not resistance, but perhaps her effort to maintain what she considered to be an appropriate mental and emotional distance?
He should resist, too, but tonight…he did not want to. And so he walked calmly until he felt her relax against his side, and then he took the pleasure of these moments with her in peace, away from expectations and work commitments and other things that went with being…who he was.
‘I am enjoying being anonymous with you right now, Melanie.’ His voice deepened on the words, on the confession. He couldn’t hold the words back.
‘Sometimes I forget that you’re a prince.’ She almost whispered the words in response, as though they were a guilty secret. ‘You make extraordinary things seem everyday and normal. Then I forget who you are and just—’ She broke off.
Treated him as a man?
Dangerous territory, Rik. The next step is to believe she likes you purely because of you and not your title, and then there would be a woman seeing the man first.
If Rik allowed himself to form any kind of attachment to that woman it could be difficult to let her go when the time came.
He had to do that, and he had no proof that she liked him in any way particularly. Other than kisses, and could he really say those kisses meant all of these things?
You don’t have the faith to look for anything else. You’ve allowed your upbringing to taint your outlook, to stunt what you will reach out for.
In an attempt to refocus his thoughts, he turned his attention back to their visit to Carel. ‘You said you’d been a cook, but I did not know you had such skills as you displayed tonight. You won Carel over to placing that order.’
Rik’s compliments warmed Mel. ‘I enjoyed cooking with the truffles tonight, and I’m so relieved that Carel liked the dish. I took a risk. I wondered if you might have felt I stepped out of line.’