Page 211 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8
A single long weekend, she corrected.
A deliciously long and very wonderful weekend.
She’d never thought she was capable of this depth of feeling.
It seriously hurt.
And it wasn’t just her own pain she was dealing with. She seriously ached on his behalf too.
Gosh, she’d cried over her ex—but that had been more out of guilt for ending something that hadn’t mattered enough.
Dante had made her feel like herself, feel important, feel wanted and adored and special. And he’d told her about Sev.
They’d shared so much...
‘Susie?’ There was a knock at the door and then Pedro put his head around it. ‘You have a shift tonight in the kitchen,’ he told her. ‘Be here at four for prep.’
Thank goodness for work...
For exhilarating, exhausting shifts at the restaurant.
Now Susie wore the kitchen’s huge black and white pants with a white top and apron. They were by far too big, but Susie loved them. And it was much easier to tackle mountains of tomatoes or onions than to address issues of the heart. And there was language classes and homework on top of that.
Susie was happy to collapse into bed each night and fall into an exhausted sleep.
It was in the silence of morning that she glimpsed despair and lay there so lonely, remembering how she and Dante would lie and talk...sometimes lying on their stomachs, facing each other, or on their backs looking over from their pillows...or the sheer pleasure of being held...
Then Juliet’s violin would start!
Yes, she had every right to tell her to stop, but Juliet was apparently struggling at music school. As well as that, she was sweet and kind, and yesterday had even asked Susie if everything was okay.
Of course it was!
Work was increasingly brilliant. Soon she was no longer constantly chopping, and there were times when Cucou called her over and gave her a little demonstration, or asked her to taste something...
‘Mysofrito...’ Cucou said now, speaking lovingly of the onion, celery and carrots he was frying in butter, and Susie’s eyes were like a hawk’s as she watched what he added.
Sofritowas the base for many Italian dishes, and everynonnaand every chef guarded their own recipe. Parsley went in, she saw, and she noted the aromatics he added...
He gestured for her to try it and she took a little tasting stick. ‘Oh, my...’ she groaned at the sheer perfection. ‘I need to add more butter to mine, and...’ She looked at Cucou, who was smiling to himself, and was certain she hadn’t seen all that he’d added. ‘There’s something else...’
He carried on stirring.
‘Will I ever find out?’
‘No.’ Cucou shook his head. ‘I shall take it to the grave.’
As well as work there were wonderful hours spent with Mimi—and not just walking on the walls. Sometimes they would go to the shops, or for coffee, and this gorgeous Saturday they were in Mimi’s sister’s home. Or was it Mimi’s home? Susie still hadn’t quite worked it out. But there they sat, going through old photos as Susie practised her Italian.
‘This church is beautiful...’
‘Very good,’ Mimi approved, and turned a page in the album. ‘Now say something about this photograph.’
‘Goodness...’
It was a photo of a much younger Mimi, standing centre-stage in the amphitheatre. She was poured into velvet, her hair in ringlets, and clearly singing her heart out as the crowd watched spellbound.
‘Look at you!’