Page 15 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter Seven

Night Five

“Y ou’ve thought this through.”

Dario looked up at Marco through his glasses.

He looked so much like Luca there, who’d used to occupy that desk, that office.

Sometimes Marco still missed his eldest brother, but mostly, he was happy he was happy.

Dario did his job almost better than Luca had and with far less emotional angst about it. But Marco didn’t think Luca would have questioned him like this.

“Yes,” Marco said.

“We just did the paperwork to hire him,” Dario said. “Does it really matter to your dick if he’s a full-fledged employee and we give him a W-2 at the end of the year, or if he’s technically a contractor and we 1099 him? The IRS gives a shit, but I don’t know what it has to do with your sex life?”

“I know it seems strange,” Marco said. “I know it shouldn’t matter, but it does. To me. And to him.”

“Because of Izzy?”

“And all the others that came before her. I know you don’t work in the kitchen or understand the hierarchy of it, but this does matter.” Marco had lain awake most of the night, tossing and turning over it. Aroused, yes, and not wanting to take matters into his own hands, necessarily, because this erection didn’t belong to him, but to Andrew. But also wanting to be sure, absolutely confident, that doing this paperwork would give both of them the peace of mind they needed to pursue this without regrets.

“He can still throw a pomegranate at your hard head,” Dario teased, leaning back in his chair.

“Ah, but he’s promised not to.”

Dario didn’t roll his eyes, but Marco could tell he wanted to. “And that’s enough for you?”

“I can’t say for certain if we’ll be together in fifty years, like Mama and Papa. I can’t say we’ll be wildly in love like Luca and Oliver. Or you and Natalia. Or Gabe and Sean. But I know I want to see. I could wait the month or two, for Andrew to handle our pastry kitchen and train Daniel to do the same, but I . . .I don’t want to. I really, really don’t want to. And that’s what tells me this is necessary.”

“Alright,” Dario said, nodding. “I’ll do the paperwork. It’ll take a day or two.”

“Two days? Tomorrow night?” Marco remembered what Andrew had initially offered him. Six days. Six nights of service. He’d give him that, then fire him—ceremoniously, of course—and then take him home when the night was over.

“I should be able to get it done,” Dario agreed.

“You’re the best brother. My favorite brother.”

“I’m going to tell Luca and Gabe you said that.” Dario’s voice was teasing, but his eyes were full of love. “I’m happy to see you like this. You deserve it.”

“Not more fruit tossed at my head?”

Dario shrugged. “Can’t say you didn’t deserve a little of that. But not all of it. You’re a good man, Marco. You run a solid kitchen.” He grinned. Marco heard what he wasn’t saying.

Marco, you are thirty-seven and a great chef who runs this restaurant brilliantly.

And this time it wasn’t a reminder, but simply appreciation.

“Thanks,” Marco said. “And now I have to go read the riot act to our sister.”

“Marcella? Why?”

“Because she is an interfering interferer who interferes,” Marco said resolutely.

He found her with Bea again, at the host stand, going over the reservations for the next few days.

There was a single rose in a slim glass vase tucked away in the corner, and Marco smiled. They’d never had flowers on the host stand before—his mother had always claimed it looked “cluttered”, but Marco had a feeling that Marcella had let this go because the flower was from Daniel.

Clearly, Andrew was giving him confidence. In more ways than one.

“I need to talk to you,” he told his sister.

Marcella looked up. “Does it have to be right now? I’m busy and?—”

“Yes,” Marco said firmly. “Right now.”

“Fine, fine. One minute,” she told Bea. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t worry,” Marco said. “My lecture shouldn’t take too long.”

Marcella rolled her eyes as Marco led her out the front door. “What on earth is this about?” she asked.

But now that he was looking for it, Marco could see the knowing gleam in her dark eyes. So like his own.

She knew exactly what she’d done.

“You know,” Marco said.

“I really don’t.”

Marco was tired of playing this game, though. Which was why he’d decided to confront her about it at all. “Andrew,” he said tightly.

“What about him? Is he not working out?”

“Cut the shit, Marcella.”

She huffed in annoyance.

“I know you knew all about Andrew’s crush on me. Funny you should recommend him for a position here, literally in the same breath as lecturing me about keeping my hands off the staff.”

“Which you’ve mostly always done.”

“Mostly,” Marco said dryly.

“Alright, in every way that really mattered. You made mistakes early on, but you learned from then. And after that, with Izzy, I know it wasn’t all your fault, really, but . . .”

“But?”

“But you were drifting. In and out of relationships, relationships you didn’t really care about. And you do care about the restaurant, but . . .” She trailed off, hesitating again.

“Oh, don’t hold back now,” Marco said, baring his teeth. “Let me have it.”

Marcella laughed. “But it was getting a bit stale. You needed shaking up.”

“So you decided to throw Andrew at me.” Marco didn’t know whether he was annoyed still or actually grateful.

Did he wish that Marcella was less like Luca in that her primary tool was bludgeoning a guy to death with the truth?

Maybe.

“I thought . . .just maybe, it might be worth seeing what happens,” Marcella acknowledged.

“You knew about his ex.”

Marcella made an exasperated noise. “Marco, most of the culinary world knew about his ex. It was a big deal when he left. A big deal to talk about starting his own bakery.”

Well, that answered the question of whether Marco should’ve googled him.

“You didn’t know—” Marcella continued, realization dawning on her face.

“About the whole famous thing, no. About the shitty ex? Yes. I figured it out. But that’s why you lectured me on boundaries, before.”

Marcella shot him a hard look. “Marco, darling, I lectured you on boundaries because it’s the twenty-first fucking century. And no, it’s not your fault if your employees can’t stop themselves from falling in love with you. That’s on them. But you can be over friendly with them. I just wanted you to be a little more aware of the potency of your charm.” The corner of her mouth tilted up. “ And yes, there was Andrew’s shitty ex. Though I had a feeling he knew you better—at least he did —than to assume you would pull that garbage. And I knew you wouldn’t, ever.”

“I wouldn’t, no, but . . .” Marco took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t ever want to push him into something he wasn’t comfortable with. This is his plan. I was willing—not wanting but willing—to go the six weeks or two months or whatever.”

It would’ve been hard. Maybe one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he’d have kept his distance, because Andrew deserved hard things.

“He suggested this because he trusts you,” Marcella said and the look in her eye made it clear that if he fucked with that trust, she’d have Marco’s ass on a platter. “And, well, he wants you. He always has.”

“You’re not going to give him the shovel talk? I’m your darling brother.” Marco grinned at her.

“Oh, he already got it. When I told him you’d call him about the job.”

Marco felt his annoyance soften. It was hard to be mad, not when Marcella had been right. “Are you ever wrong?” he teased her.

She smacked him on the arm. “Sometimes. I never thought Luca would go out to South Carolina and stay there.”

“To be fair, I don’t think Luca knew he’d do that,” Marco said. He paused. “But I’m really glad you weren’t wrong about this.”

“Me too.” Marcella pulled him into a tight hug. “Don’t fuck it up.”

Marco rolled his eyes, and she added, “Not that I actually thought you would.”

“So much faith in me, little sister,” he teased.

“ Little by what . . .three minutes?”

“Three minutes or three years, who’s counting?”

After leaving Marcella to her conference with Bea, Marco headed back towards the kitchen.

Ran into just who he wanted to see. Andrew had his hand on the door to the big walk-in fridge, and when he saw Marco, his smile dispelled the last bit of annoyance lingering inside.

“Hey,” Andrew said. “Imagine seeing you here.” He pulled the door open and Marco, feeling safe in the knowledge that in just over twenty-four hours, they would be free and clear—maybe not to make out in the walk-in, but at least to stare gooily at each other all they wanted—followed him.

“I talked to Dario. We’re all set.”

“You mean, you’re set to fire me?” Andrew gazed up at him like this was the greatest thing ever.

“Tomorrow night,” Marco said, nodding. “And I thought tomorrow night, after service . . .” He hadn’t come up with concrete plans, other than invite Andrew to something, somewhere, preferably somewhere you can finally be alone together.

“Yes,” Andrew said. “Yes to whatever you were going to ask. And I was thinking, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“I think I’ve eaten more dessert in the last week than I have in the last six months,” Marco said, patting his stomach. “I’m gonna have to be careful.”

Andrew flashed him a knowing smile. “Oh, I think we can figure out a way to work it off.”

Marco’s mouth went dry, and he was suddenly very, very glad that tomorrow night, he wouldn’t have to rely on his self-control any longer.

It was strong, but his desire for Andrew was even stronger.

“I just want you to know,” Marco said, because it was important he knew this, “if you’d wanted to go the whole time you were here just . . .uh . . .being friends, then I’d have been okay with that. It would have been okay.”

“Yeah?” Andrew’s gaze turned soft. “Just when I think you’re nearly perfect, you say something like that. And God , I remember?—”

“Remember what?” Marco didn’t touch him, but he wanted to. He clenched his fist.

“Remember what it felt like when I wanted you so goddamn bad and I couldn’t have you.”

Marco grinned fiercely. “But you can now. Soon.”

“Soon,” Andrew agreed.

“What are you looking for in here?” Marco asked. Changing the subject was probably smarter, because he could still remember the way Andrew had tasted last night, and he wanted more.

“Who says I wasn’t looking for you?” Andrew’s voice was teasing.

Marco raised an eyebrow.

“Fair. I was thinking about working on a new special.”

Marco’s eyebrow skidded higher. “Think you’ve got an in now with the head chef, you can do whatever the fuck you want?”

Andrew laughed. “Something like that.” Reached up and to Marco’s surprise, he pressed a warm kiss to his cheek. “I got this, alright?”

Marco had a feeling he wanted whatever this “special” was to be a surprise—hadn’t the last one been, too?—so he nodded and, giving Andrew one last lingering look, exited the walk-in.