Page 19 of A Chef's Kiss for Christmas

“Your dad and I might have spent a lot of time building upthe business when you were younger,” his mum said. “But it paid off in the long run.”

“We built something really special for you and your sister,” his dad said, his voice laced with pride.

“It’s a shame it’s not something I want,” Warren growled. No amount of breathing exercises would stave off the anger that pulsed through his veins.

His dad rubbed his forehead. “I see your stubborn streak hasn’t diminished at all.”

“Can we please not argue?” In the rearview mirror, Warren caught his mum’s look of defeat. “He made his choices. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Again, Warren bit his tongue. It had been years since he’d decided not to go into the family business, and he’d never regretted that decision for a moment.

What he regretted was agreeing to his parents’ visit. And especially the tiny part of him that had stupidly hoped they might finally have accepted his choices.

“Look at that!” His mum pointed to the palace, which loomed ahead.

Awash with golden Christmas lights, the imposing building was a striking sight, which thankfully kept his parents in a stunned silence while he followed the traffic into the car park and found a spot.

As he’d hoped, the following conversations revolved around the sights and sounds in the palace. This year, the elegant rooms had been elaborately decorated with a Sleeping Beauty theme, and it even had the effect of relaxing Warren a little. The light trail in the grounds was perfectly pleasant too, and he enjoyed watching his mum’s enthusiasm.

They strolled around the Christmas market in the courtyard, and Warren cast a glance at the Santa’s grotto. Nicholas Carrington would be posing as Santa again, and in other circumstances, he’d nip in and say a quick hello. He smiled, thinking ofhow Nicholas would chastise him if he found out Warren had been nearby and hadn’t called in. He made a mental note to drop it into conversation the next time he saw him, specifically so he’d get a lecture.

“You look happy,” his mum said, her cheeks rosy from the two mugs of mulled wine she’d drunk.

“Do I?” he asked, amused by his mum clutching his arm. She was only ever tactile when she had alcohol in her.

“Thinking about your girlfriend?” she asked quietly. Subtlety wasn’t her strong suit after a drink, and she’d obviously been dying to confirm his relationship status all day.

He should probably put her straight on the matter, but he had a mental vision of her chatting to her friends at her Pilates class and filling them in on her visit. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to give her the pleasure of being able to brag that her son had a lovely girlfriend.

He could imagine it clearly.Still doing that terrible job, but at least he’s got a nice girlfriend.

“Maybe,” he finally replied, to avoid outright lying.

She squeezed his arm, eyes dancing with excitement.

“We should go,” he said. “You need food to soak up some of that alcohol.”

“Stick in the mud!” she said affectionately. “Work hard, play hard. You know, that’s always been my philosophy.”

He waved his dad over, and they wandered back to the car. The alcohol seemed to have subdued them, and it was a pleasantly quiet drive back to their hotel.

They were amiable enough over dinner at their hotel as well, but mostly because Warren let his dad rattle on about business as though they hadn’t had almost the same conversation the previous evening.

At least the food was delicious. Warren had heard greatthings about the chef, and the food lived up to the hype. His mind wandered once or twice to his own kitchen, and he fought the urge to message and check that everything was going okay. Anna might have been right that he should have more faith in his staff.

“This has been lovely,” his mum said, reaching over to squeeze Warren’s hand and clueing him into the fact that his dad had finally stopped droning on. “I wish we could see more of you.”

“It’s been nice,” he said. “I’ll try to visit in the new year.”

“Yes. Your sister would love to see you.”

Warren wasn’t convinced that was true. He wouldn’t mind seeing his nephew, though. His sister’s four-year-old was the one person who made his visits bearable.

“We’re also going to the house in Bath before Christmas. Selena will be there with little Josh. He’s at a lovely age. You should join us.”

“Is Phil going?” he asked, not sure of the last time he’d seen his brother-in-law.

“No.” His dad lifted his napkin from his lap and scrunched it on the table in front of him. “I need someone I trust to keep an eye on the business.”