She followed him to the door. “If I can’t do the job you need done, does this mean you’ll have to be the head pastry chef at your own hotel?”
He liked it that she was a little worried about him. “Yes. My partner’s wife, Gemma, can no longer handle the job this late in her pregnancy. I’d promised I would produce her replacement by tomorrow, but with Signor Fragala in the hospital, the job has now fallen on my shoulders. I’ll have to let them know in the morning. That doesn’t give me time to find anyone else with his credentials. It could take me several months.”
“And I don’t have any,” she half moaned the words.
In an unconscious gesture he put a hand on her shoulder and kneaded it gently. “I’m not my mother’s son for nothing. You’ve convinced me you want this job more than anything. By the time I’m through with you, I’m hoping you’ll be able to write your own ticket as a pastry chef.”
After a long pause he said, “At this point I’ve been wondering. Is the difficult, uncontrollable, incorrigible Principessa di Trabia of Palermo, Sicily, worth her salt? It would be fun to find out the truth. I’ll be back soon.”
* * *
Tuccia rested against the closed door with her arms folded. His touch had crept through her body like a fine wine, weakening her physically. Yet his final comment before he’d gone out the door had caused a sudden surge of adrenaline to attack her.
“Is the difficult, uncontrollable, incorrigible Principessa di Trabia of Palermo, Sicily, worth her salt?”
Cesare had said that to get a rise out of her. Without question he’d accomplished his objective.
Frightened and excited by the whole situation she’d created for herself, Tuccia turned on the TV in the corner to distract her for a little while. She grazed the channels with the remote and came across two stations giving the four o’clock news. The second she saw a news clip of herself and Jean-Michel flash on the screen, she felt sick and sank down on the couch.
“Authorities in France and Italy are asking for anyone to come forward who knows anything about the whereabouts of Princess Tuccianna of Sicily, the daughter of the Marchese and Marchesa di Trabia. She’s the fiancée of the acting Comte Jean-Michel Ardois of the House of Ardois and prominent CEO of Ardois Munitions. Princess Tuccianna disappeared yesterday morning in Paris and hasn’t been seen since.
“The famous couple were to have been married today. Speculation that she was kidnapped by some foreign government faction for ransom has not been counted out.
“According to police, the Marchesa had been waiting in the lounge for her daughter to change after the final fitting of her wedding gown at the exclusive bridal shop on the Rue de L’Echelle. But she never came out. The police found her betrothal ring and are suspicious that some employees working at the shop helped aid in the kidnapping and are now being detained.
“Both families are desperate for news of the beautiful dark-haired twenty-five-year-old princess. So far any sightings of her have turned out to be false. She speaks French, Spanish, English, Italian, Sicilian and is known to be an excellent swimmer and sailor who—”
Tuccia turned off the TV and buried her face in her hands, swamped by guilt for the terrible thing she’d done. At least Jean-Michel would get her letter soon, but in the meantime innocent people were being questioned and detained. Hundreds of policemen in two countries were searching for her. She’d endangered her aunt and Cesare’s mother. But she couldn’t go back to that life. She just couldn’t.
Jean-Michel wanted to marry a woman with a title, preferably a young one who’d give him children and not cause him trouble. Her parents wanted a son-in-law with a fortune that would never run out. No love was involved. Tuccia was a pawn and always had been. It was a fact of life that she’d been born to royalty.
It truly wasn’t fair to Cesare, who’d been forced to come to her rescue this morning, flying her with him on the ducal jet no less. Knowing the huge risk of aiding a fugitive—that’s what she was at this point—a lesser man might never have done such a favor, not even for his own mother.
To add to her crime, Tuccia had proposed an idea to save both their skins. But it was so audacious and dangerous if anyone were to find out who she was. For Cesare to be willing to go along with her idea made him a prince among men as far as she was concerned.
He had a reputation for being brilliant. She’d known that about Lina’s son long before she’d ever met him. But she hadn’t counted on him being so incredibly handsome, too. Working with him, she would fast lose her objectivity. How could she possibly concentrate on what she was doing while she was in his presence? If there was such a thing as love at first sight, she’d fallen victim to it.
By working with him, there was no doubt she’d be learning from a master. It would be an honor to be the student of a man famous on two continents for his business acumen as a restaurateur. He’d built an enviable empire of restaurants in New York.
Part of her wanted to show him she was worth her salt. But what if she failed? She’d passed lots of tests in her life, but none would be more important than this one now that she’d made the commitment.
While she was sorting through her tortured thoughts she heard a knock on the door. Tuccia rushed to let him in. He was loaded with three big sacks of food and carried them into the kitchen.
She shut the door behind him. “It looks like you bought out the store.”
“Several stores to be exact.” He washed his hands in the sink. “The risotto with veal looked good at the deli. I picked up some rustic wheat bread and a bottle of Chardonnay Piemonte to go with it.”
“Wonderful. I’m hungry, too.” She peeked in the sacks and found their dinner, which she put on the round kitchen table. Their gazes fused. “I take it the other two sacks contain enough pastry ingredients to feed a small army.”
“You’re partially right. The rest are provisions for you to take with you in case you change your mind before the evening is over.”
Her spirits plunged. “What do you mean?”
“While I’ve been gone, you’ve had time to reconsider what we’ve talked about. After we’ve eaten, I’ll be happy to take you to the train station if that’s your wish. The standard service leaves at quarter to nine for Sicily. There’ll be no amenities. You’ll have to sit up in your seat all night. But you’ll be like dozens of passengers with little money and melt into the crowd.”
He pulled wine glasses from the cupboard and poured some for them, but what he’d just said to her had shocked her.
CHAPTER FOUR
TUCCIA STOOD THERE with her hands on her hips. “You honestly expected that I would change my mind while you were gone? That I didn’t mean any of the things I said?”
“It would be understandable,” he said, sounding so reasonable she wanted to scream.
“Naturally you have every right to believe I’m not up to the task. No one would believe it.”
“I have faith in you, but I want to give you the freedom to back out of this if you think you might have spoken too hastily.”
As they sat down to eat, he handed her a copy of the Il Giorno newspaper to read. She came face-to-face with a two-month-old picture of her and Jean-Michel attending the opera in Paris. The headline read, Sicilian Princess still missing.
“You’ve done a good job of disappearing, Tuccia. So good I believe you have an excellent chance to reach Catania unobserved with your disguise. I had no right to suggest you go to New York. You’re a grown woman and can make your decisions. It’s time you were allowed to function without interference from anyone.”
He ate a second helping of veal. The minutes were ticking away. Maybe he was wishing she would leave for Catania, then he’d never have to give her another thought in his life.
Her appalling selfishness sickened her. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was disgusted wit
h the overindulged princess who’d created an international incident. He’d have every right!
It was miraculous he’d let his mother talk him into bringing her to Milan, except that Tuccia’s aunt was a force to contend with. Because his mother worked for Bertina, she probably didn’t know how to say no to her.
Unable to handle her own ugly thoughts any longer, she got to her feet and clung to the back of the chair. He looked at her while he finished off the bread.
“Cesare?” she began.
“Yes?”
“When I was at your mother’s last night, I was frightened out of my wits at what I’d done to escape my prison. Terrified would be a better word. That is until this morning, when you snatched me away from the jaws of death at great risk. I know that sounds dramatic, but that’s how it felt to me and still does.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
She struggled to say the rest. “You’ve saved my life. If you’re really willing to teach me how to make pastry, and you think I can learn, I’d like to try. I want to help you honor your commitment to your partners who are depending on you. I haven’t changed my mind about any of it. But if the police don’t find me first, I can only pray your friends won’t discover I’m a fraud who has made a mess of everything for you.”
The blue of his eyes darkened as they stared at her out of dark-fringed lashes. The male beauty of the man caused her to feel desire for him even to the palms of her hands.
“I believe you. No matter how you see yourself, Tuccia, in my opinion you’re the bravest woman I ever met and I believe you can take the challenge head-on,” he said in a husky tone. “What brought you to this decision?”
After the unexpected compliment, Tuccia had difficulty swallowing. “I couldn’t let you get away with thinking I’m not worth my salt.”
There was a gleam in his eyes. “I’m impressed by your willingness to put yourself in the hands of a stranger.”
“That part is easy, Cesare. Because I’ve been friends with your mother, you haven’t been a stranger to me, even if we didn’t meet until last night.” She was embarrassed because she could hear the throb in her voice. All it had taken was meeting him to be crazy about him.
He got to his feet and started clearing the table. “She likes you enough to have begged me to help you escape. That shows the strength of your friendship. It’s good enough for me.”
“I’m just sorry I’m the clay you have to work with to try and make a pastry cook out of me. But I swear I’ll work my hardest for you.”
“You’ve convinced me. Shall we get busy?”
“Yes. What will we make first?”
“The most clamored-for dessert in Sicily. I’m sure you’ve eaten virgin breasts before.”
Tuccia should have been ready for that one, but it was so unexpected heat scorched her cheeks. She went over to the sink to wash her hands. “You can’t be a Sicilian without having eaten those cakes. But when I was little, the cook at the palazzo was offended by their name so she called them nun buns.”
A chuckle escaped his lips. “They have several names. Mamma grew up in an orphanage run by the nuns,” he continued. “They were known for being great cooks and made those special delicacies for which they’re famous. She taught me everything she learned from them. Tonight we’ll get started on the first of three different kinds.”
“I didn’t know there was more than one.”
“You’d be surprised at the varieties.”
She knew he was talking about the cakes, but her blush deepened anyway.
“Some of the ingredients have to be refrigerated before completing them, but we’ll finish everything before you have to go bed. In a few days’ time we’ll present them to my partners as your specialty when I introduce you. A bite into them and they’ll believe they’d been transported to heaven.”
Laughter peeled out of her. “I hope you’re right!”
His laughter filled the kitchen. “Why don’t you sit down and we’ll go over the recipe. It’s known only to my mother and me.” He walked over to one of the sacks and pulled out a notebook and pen. She shouldn’t have been surprised all that knowledge was etched in his brain.
“Shall I write it down while you dictate?” she asked as he handed her the items.
“I think that would be best for you. To read your own writing rather than try to figure out mine will save you time in the long run. That notebook is going to be your bible. Don’t ever lose it. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she said in a tentative voice.
* * *
Last night Tuccia had appeared to Cesare like a fantastic female apparition that had made him think maybe he was hallucinating. This evening she wasn’t just a heavenly face and body. In the last eighteen hours she’d taken on substance and exhibited a keen intellect that had been growing on him by the minute.
In her desperation to remain hidden from the world for a while, she’d begged him to teach her. He knew she was frightened. This woman, who’d been raised to be a princess, was running on faith.
Right now she reminded him of a young child, submissive and obedient to her parent. Cesare was humbled by her determination to grab the lifeline he’d thrown her. He’d brought the newspaper with him to help remind her that anything—even learning how to cook pastry—was better than being forced to go back to her old life.
“The first item you’ll be making is called pasta frolla for the shells. These are the ingredients: four cups of flour, one cup of granulated sugar, two sticks of sweet butter, one tablespoon of honey, five medium egg yolks, lightly beaten, and lemon zest. After you’ve kneaded it and put it in the fridge for an hour, you’ll make the ricotta cream filling. That requires one cup of sugar, two pounds of ricotta, orange zest, cinnamon powder, one drop of vanilla, a quarter pound of candied citron and chocolate shavings to taste. Lemon glacé will be the final step that includes one and a half cups of granulated sugar, a quarter cup of lemon juice, and a sprinkle of raspberries. I realize this sounds like a lot, but it’s straightforward. You’ll like forming the shells. Are you with me so far?”
She looked up with a faint smile. “Yes. I can’t wait to find out if I share your optimism.”
Her response was encouraging. “Come on. We’ll get started on the dough. While you find us a bowl in the cupboard, I’ll put the first set of ingredients on the table.”
He oversaw everything, but made her do all the work. She added the ingredients, making little mistakes, but soon she’d formed it into a ball.
“Okay. Now knead it.”
“I know how to do that from watching the cook.” But once she got started, the dough kept sticking to her fingers. “This is impossible!” she cried in frustration.
Cesare burst into laughter. “Wash your hands, and then dust them with flour before trying it again.”
“But that will wash half the dough away.”
“No problem.”
“That’s what you say,” she mumbled, but did his bidding and started over with the kneading. “This is much better.” She finally lifted her head and smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now pat it into a disk and wrap it in wax paper. An hour in the fridge and it will be ready to shape into tart shells. While the dough is getting cold, you’ll start making the filling.”
Three hours and three tries later she’d produced a pan of tarts she was willing to let him taste. After she’d decorated them with the lemon glacé, she designed the tops in an artful way with raspberries and chocolate shavings.
With a hand he could tell was trembling, she put one on a dish and handed it to him. “Will you be the first to sample my pièce de resistance?”
Cesare knew what this moment meant to her and he bit into it. She’d followed the recipe to the letter. He found no fault with the taste or texture and was so prou
d of her effort after three tries that he wanted to sweep her in his arms. Instead he kissed her hot cheek.
“Congratulations, Tuccia. My partners will tell you these tarts are perfect.” He swallowed the whole thing and had to be careful not to swallow her, too.
“Thank you. I know they’re anything but. The shells are still uneven and in this batch I put a little too much cinnamon in the filling when I tasted it.”
“The fact that you know what you can improve on makes you an excellent cook already. How does it feel to have made a masterpiece created by the nuns?”
She took a deep breath. “If these tarts meet your exacting criteria, it’s because you were my teacher. To answer your specific question, after I got over being nervous with you standing there watching me, I had more fun than I would have expected.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
“It amazes me that I’ve eaten desserts of every kind all my life and never paid attention to the intricacies that go into the preparation. That’s what frightens me. This was just one dessert. When I think of the dozen others I have to learn how to make, I feel totally inadequate.”
“Keep in mind that all it takes is one step at a time. I’ll wrap up your pan of mounds and take them with me.”
“Why?”
“I want my partners to try them.” He heard her groan. “After the dishes are done, I’ll say good-night.”
While he called for a limo, he watched how hard she worked to clean up the flour on the table and floor, let alone her clothes. She’d proved she was worth her salt, but this had only been her first lesson. Another few days of this and the last thing she would tell him was that it was fun.
He had to give her full marks for putting the kitchen back together with little help from him. “You’ve done a great job, Tuccia. I’ll be back in the morning and we’ll talk about what’s going to happen. I hope you get a good sleep.”
Whisked Away by Her Sicilian Boss Page 5