by Chloe Blake
“Toni thought the Nebbiolo was the best choice for the dish,” Toni overheard Dani say, “but I thought the Sangiovese was a better choice.”
“The Nebbiolo was a 2010 from Asti, Marcello. Perfectly balanced. They loved the wine.”
Dani whipped around as if she was surprised he was listening. “Sure, it was a nice wine, but it was so rich it overpowered the shiitake mushrooms.”
“It was perfect with the spiced lamb, Danica.”
“I wouldn’t call it perfect. It was too full-bodied.”
“Since when is a full body a bad thing?”
Her head whipped around again and he suppressed a teasing smile. He shouldn’t have said that but it just came out.
Dani’s gaze was steady on his, probably debating if he meant what she knew he meant. Her lids narrowed slightly as she mentally debated a response. She wore her temper on her face. It was adorable, Toni thought. He held his breath at her reaction, but the mood was undercut by a rumbling that turned into loud laughter.
“You two,” Marcello sighed. “I can only imagine what it looked like in that kitchen.” The old man slapped his thigh and Dani pursed her lips at Toni before giving him her back. “You both have a point, but I would have gone with the Dolcetto. Big enough for the lamb, but light enough to allow the mushrooms their flavor.”
Both Dani and Toni opened their mouths then closed them. He smirked at the side-eye she gave him over her shoulder.
He’d meant what he’d said about their meeting feeling like fate. And each time he felt drawn to her; an unfamiliar feeling since his divorce. He shook his head as he recalled the phone conversation he’d had with Ava that morning. On and on about her night out, not one inquiry into Sophia or Marcello until he brought it up.
He couldn’t understand how he had fallen so hard for a woman who was clearly selfish and narcissistic. The only explanation was that he had been selfish and narcissistic too. Once Sophia was born, he’d changed, but he still wasn’t sure he could trust himself and his feelings when it came to women.
Which made it even more difficult to achieve his ultimate goal of having a stable family for Sophia. Marry a woman who was a good role model for Sophia. Love could be learned, right? It didn’t always have to be the tractor pull of desire. That had proven to be a trap.
Dani’s full laugh broke his train of thought. She was still wearing her dress from last night, which sparkled in places under the bright lights. He wondered how she managed to still look beautiful after a night on her feet and a few hours of sleep in a hospital room.
“You’re staring at her.” Sophia uncurled from an awkward fetal position and piled her hair on top of her head.
“I am not,” Toni said back, pulling her in for a kiss on her head. Maybe he was.
A nurse and doctor entered the room and shooed them out while they performed an examination.
“He seems good,” Dani said to Toni.
“Let’s hope the doctor thinks so. I need to get Sophia home. I just want to talk to the doctor first. I can drop you off at your hotel too.”
“Thank you.” Dani nodded.
“First we need some coffee.”
* * *
Toni arrived with espresso and pastries just as the doctor came out of the room. The doctor took her glasses off and pulled Toni to the side.
“Your uncle suffered a mild heart attack. We found some calcified arteries around the heart and one of his valves gave out because of it.”
“What does that mean?”
“His heart is working overtime. This was a warning.” Toni frowned at the doctor’s serious tone. “I understand your uncle is a chef and spends hours on his feet. If he doesn’t have surgery to unblock those arteries, he won’t be able to continue without the threat of something far worse.”
Toni tried to wrap his head around the fact that Marcello may not be able to run the kitchen any longer, or possibly die.
This wasn’t good.
“Okay, so what happens now?”
“He needs rest. We are keeping him for a few weeks for observation and depending on how he wants to proceed with treatment, maybe longer. If you need to discuss anything with me please call during my office hours.” The doctor turned and entered another room.
Toni’s gaze shifted to Dani and Sophia, who both were staring pointedly at him.
“He’s okay. But he needs to stay here awhile.”
“What about the restaurant?” Sophia asked.
“Nonna can take care of it.”
“I mean the other one.” Toni looked gravely at Sophia.
Dani turned and looked between the two of them. “What other one?”
* * *
They filed back into Marcello’s room and Toni grabbed Marcello’s hand. “We can postpone the opening. You need to get healthy. With Mamma running Via Carciofo we have no one in the kitchen and—”
“No, I am getting out of this bed. I feel fine.”
“That’s not the doctor’s orders.”
“I don’t take orders, young man, I give them.” Marcello rolled up to sit, then clutched his chest as pain showed on his face.
Dani flew to his side. “Lie back, that’s an order. Now. What’s going on?”
“We are opening a new farm-to-table experience next week a few miles outside of Milan on our family villa,” Toni said.
“It’s taken over ten years to build,” Marcello continued. “The garden is fully grown and the vineyard is now producing enough for wine making.”
“A vineyard?” Dani asked.
“Toni has been growing wine grapes and selling them to wineries for years. We finally got him to start producing wine. They are excellent.”
“Let me guess. No menus.”
“No menu. And only produce from the farm. The rest is sourced locally.”
“Wow. You’ve been talking about a country restaurant since I’ve known you.”
“That’s why I am getting out of this bed.”
“Uncle, you could die.” The room stilled at Toni’s truth.
Dani took Marcello’s hand when the old man’s bottom lip quivered. “Postpone it. It took ten years, what’s a few more weeks?”
“Yes, we’ll contact—” Toni started, but Marcello cut him off.
“No! Invitations have been sent. Ryan White sent me a personal email and said he was coming. Ryan White!”
Dani sighed, the food critic for The Taste had a blog that could make or break a restaurant.
“Dani can run it,” Marcello said into her eyes.
“What? No, I can’t...”
“You handled it last night. Toni said you were amazing.”
Dani glanced at Toni, whose gaze hit the floor.
“I’m not going to be here that long.”
“You have an open-ended ticket.”
“Because my mother doesn’t know where she is going after this. I’m not you...” Dani took a deep breath and said it aloud. “I’m a ghost chef.”
“You are more than that.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I agree with Dani. She shouldn’t do this,” Toni said behind her.
Dani’s mouth dropped. What the hell? Shouldn’t he be begging her to do this?
“We invited a ton of press,” Toni said to Marcello, avoiding Dani’s eyes. “I’m not sure having her there would attract the type of press we want.”
“Antonio Lorenzetti you are out of line!”
“Please, sir. I mean no disrespect, but we have sunk too much time and money to have negative press attached to this project from the start.”
Dani rose from Marcello’s side. “Excuse me? But what the hell are you talking about? I ran a two-Michelin-star kitchen!”
Toni’s mouth was a thin line. He pulled out his phone and held up a familiar blog. Wh
en the Chef Can’t Cut It splashed across the page of The Taste. She began to shake before she grabbed his phone and scrolled.
Sous-chef Danica Nilsson had a meltdown...
Rumored lovers...
Andre taught her everything he knows. She was talented but missed the nuances of certain dishes. It didn’t phase Andre, who delivered a fantastic chef’s special of veal shank.
That was her chef’s special!
Hate for Andre and hurt from Toni made her legs weak. She handed the phone back to him and fell into a seat. “He’s right. You can’t have me there,” she said quietly, handing the phone to Marcello.
“I don’t have my glasses,” he said, waving the phone away.
“It’s not good, Marcello,” Toni said.
“You be quiet,” he barked at Toni. Sophia chuckled, then was silenced by a look from her father.
“Dani. I don’t care what that blog says. I need your help.” His eyes slid to Toni. “We need your help.”
Toni shook his head, his gaze locking with Dani’s.
Chapter 8
It was a little after ten in the morning when Dani arrived at her hotel. She tossed her purse on the table, announced her presence for which she got no response, then stripped off her clothes, wishing she could erase the night.
Toni had said she would be bad press. It took everything she had not to lash out or, God forbid, cry. Instead, she declined Marcello’s offer, kissed her mentor and Sophia, then walked out and hailed a taxi to the hotel, trying to forget the way Toni looked at her.
Because he was right. That blog had shredded the little reputation she’d had and made Andre look like a saint for allowing her to work with him. No one deserved that type of press at a restaurant opening. She was embarrassed and took solace knowing she probably wouldn’t see Toni again.
Her shower was heaven and the power nap she took made her feel refreshed enough to actually look forward to her mother’s Chanel show later that night. Dani found her laminated event pass on the table, along with a note.
Danica, here is your pass. Show this at the door. The show starts at 7. I tried to get you something Chanel to wear but there was no time. I hope you brought something fabulous.
Dani rolled her eyes, deciding not to be annoyed by the Chanel comment. Chanel didn’t have her size, as her mother well knew. But Dani did have something fabulous and she hurried to her suitcase and pulled out the black Zac Posen tea-length evening dress to air it out. It was beautiful. Black satin with long sleeves and a high neck. Dani fingered the sleek fabric as she adjusted it on a hanger. She had an idea to pull her hair back in a wet look like in those Robert Palmer videos, or like Trinity in The Matrix. She turned the dress around to inspect it and lost her breath. A large discoloration was splattered across the back.
“You have got to be kidding me.” After a thorough inspection of the stain and her suitcase, she found an exploded bottle of benzoyl peroxide face cleanser laying waste to several of her clothes. She wanted to scream. Or die. Or both. The dress she wore to Marcello’s restaurant lay in a plastic bag and smelled like food and body odor. The Posen was the only other dress she had brought...and it had been expensive.
She slumped on the couch. If this were Pretty Woman she could call downstairs and have someone find her a suitable dress, except she wasn’t Julia Roberts, nor a size four. Her gaze landed on the clock. Her idea to relax and order room service before the show just got shot out of the water. She picked up the phone and dialed the concierge, who was not only appalled by her plight, but ready to drop his post at the hotel and go shopping with her. David, her new bestie, practically pulled her by the elbow to Via Montenapoleone. Dani hadn’t done much designer shopping as a poor young sous-chef, but the Quadrilatero d’Oro or “rectangle of gold” was famous for its haute couture and Montenapoleone was one of its most famous streets.
They passed by Dior, Louis Vuitton and Prada before slowing in front of a posh-looking boutique. The glass exterior revealed well-dressed mannequins, racks of sparkling pieces along the back wall and a staircase to a second floor of shoes.
David embraced a tall man in an impeccable suit who was smoking outside. He threw the lit bud to the concrete when he saw Dani.
“Miss Nilsson. Welcome. Welcome! David said you have an emergency. I’m Fredrick, at your service. Sei davvero bravo!” Fredrick yelled to David, who took off before Dani knew what was happening.
“Um, hello, I need—”
“A dress. I know. I have several already racked. Come, come.”
“But...” How did she put this. “I kinda just wanted to walk around a bit and see if anything strikes me.”
Fredrick looked her up and down. “Madonna, with all do respect. Many don’t carry larger sizes. I, however, do. And these dresses are magnifico. You will look incredible, I can already tell.”
Flattered, Dani followed Fredrick inside, then frowned when he locked the door behind them.
“You usually lock the door?”
“We aren’t usually open during lunchtime, but I made an exception for David. Fashion emergencies are the best kind. Now—” Fredrick grabbed the sparkly dress rack and wheeled it her way. He held up a strapless gold lamé mermaid dress. “Let’s get started.”
An hour later she had gotten through only half the rack.
She stood in front of a full-length mirror in an eggplant-colored sleeveless cocktail dress with a plunging halter neckline and no back.
“Yes!” Fredrick shouted.
“No,” Dani said back.
“Let your hair down,” commanded the shopkeeper. She had put it up for the last dress, now it was coming down again. She remembered why she barely shopped, it was exhausting. Curling waves hit her shoulders. “Yes!”
“I’m naked, Fredrick.”
“We’ll put gold shimmer lotion on your skin...” He clapped his hands.
She shook her head and tugged on the neckline, which was showing too much side boob. “My breasts are out!”
“Of course. That’s the style. They look fabulous! If I had a bosom like this I would show them to the world. The world must see this bosom.”
Dani looked at herself. She could just see herself tripping and executing a Janet Jackson nip slip. Suddenly she envisioned Toni looking at her, his hand sliding inside the fabric to her naked breast. This was a “fuck me” dress, and after what happened that morning, that was never happening again. You know what else was never happening? Letting a man dictate her career. She needed to talk to Marcello again.
“I don’t think so, Fredrick. Next dress. We have to hurry, I have one more stop to make.”
* * *
Finally, she found a dress, received a much-needed pep talk from Marcello at the hospital, and got ready at the hotel, making it to the show just in time. The venue was buzzing with editors, photographers, bloggers and celebrities; all were talking one second and posing for a selfie the next. Dani flashed her pass and took her seat smack in the middle of the auditorium and only three rows from the stage. She ran a hand over her loose curling hair and adjusted her dress, a purple satin halter with a plunging neckline and gold heels. Fredrick had her so gassed she fell in love with the dress, but now, surrounded by the glitterati, she felt out of place.
The back of Anna Wintour’s famous bob was down and to the left, while André Leon Talley’s fur-clad shoulders were blocking everyone behind him to her right. For a second the lights dimmed and camera phone flashes burst through the dark like exploding stars. Then the stage exploded in music and a warm glow as young Amazon women began to prance down the runway like Thoroughbreds.
Dani couldn’t get over how sleek the models were. No Photoshop or flattering camera angles. These women were slim goddesses. A woman in front of her held her camera in the air for video as a stunning blonde emerged in a gown. The crowd roared and chatter around her was peppered wit
h “she looks great” and “she’s still got it.” Dani couldn’t place the model, but in seconds it didn’t matter. The music changed and her mother appeared on the stage.
Francesca’s slower, stately walk created elegant movement in the gold taffeta and leather-corseted gown she wore. Her skin glistened with baby oil and she wore a pink wig piled high on her head. Marie Antoinette meets Grace Jones?
“Damn, I hope I look like that when I’m old,” someone whispered.
“You wished you looked like that now,” another said. “Is she really fifty?”
André Leon Talley threw a props snap in the air.
Her mother walked amid cheers and applause several times during the show, and by the end, Dani felt pride for her mother. They didn’t always see eye to eye, and Francesca would never win a Mother of the Year award, but her mother never gave up on her dreams or her career, and for that she was inspiring. Dani had a dream of running her own kitchen and she’d made a decision earlier that day that would get her closer to that dream. Marcello had always told her that the best chefs pushed the limits. So that was what she was going to do.
Dani made her way backstage, weaving between tripods and news anchors praying the side of her face wasn’t showing up in the background of interviews and photos. Models were half-naked, changing anywhere they could find a spot and vloggers were talking into their phones. She found her mother still in the last outfit she walked in, surrounded by industry people.
Dani recognized an older and slimmer Roberto, her mother’s make-up artist and dearest friend, buzzing silently around her mother with makeup brushes. A pat of powder here, a spritz there. Feeling like an eight-year-old again, Dani turned back toward the throng of people with the intention of texting her mother and heading back to their hotel.
“Daaanicaaa!” Roberto came toward her with his arms stretched wide. His hug was hot and sweaty, but welcome. It had been a long time. “Let me look at you!” He gave her a dramatic once-over. “Belissima.”
Dani smiled a thank-you and tried to hide how uncomfortable she felt standing in the throng of size zeros.