Conflict of Heart

Chapter 10

When Isabella finally plucked up the courage to phone Damien, she wasn't too sure on how she would be able to invite him and not make it seem as though he was going to be thoroughly interrogated by her parents. Not only that, but she hoped that he didn't get the wrong idea by her asking him if he wanted to join a family event.

That was something you normally did with a boyfriend you were serious about, and the last thing she wanted was for him to think that she liked him . . . because she certainly didn't.

When she finally did call him, she was more than shocked when he readily accepted her invitation. If there was one thing with Damien, it was that he was always full of surprises. They themselves had only spoken to each other a handful of times, but now he was more than willing to meet her parents.

How odd he was.

As the time drew near for dinner, Isabella found herself at a loss on what to wear. She was stuck between something more formal or a loose summer dress, but when she found herself contemplating on which she would look better in, she quickly tossed both outfits aside with a scowl and settled on a pair of jeans, sandals, and a summery blouse.

She had absolutely no reason to dress up for him.

Once she had styled her hair into a messy bun, she made her way down to the kitchen to see how the chefs were faring. Since it was a special night, Mademoiselle Fettuccine conceded in allowing Alfredo to take the reins on the menu for the evening, seeming as though he knew all of Isabella's favourite dishes.

However, it still didn't stop them from having a go at each other on other matters, and they were currently arguing over some or other general knowledge programme that was showing on the television positioned against one of the kitchen walls when Isabella entered.

"What was the question again?" Alfredo asked as he diced the onion.

"How many vowels are in the shown word?" the petite chef replied with a roll of her eyes as she placed the finishing touches on the birthday cake.

"Oh, why didn't you tell me that? I would've gotten it in two seconds!" Alfredo huffed in response.

Mademoiselle looked at him with one raised silver brow. "This is coming from the person who didn't know how to spell 'how'. You don't even know what vowels are."

The large chef bristled at her words, a look of indignation pulling his plump face into a frown. "Of course, I do! It's a, e, i, o, u."

"Yes, and your restaurant was especially familiar with the last three," came her smart reply.

Alfredo, who was still busy dicing what he needed, took a moment to register her words. But when he did, his whole body tensed, and he slammed the knife down on the counter with great strength, gripping it tightly in his fingers. He responded to her words with a fake laugh and paired death glare, his expression clearly saying that he would love to impale her with the knife in his hand.

"Good evening," Isabella called out before such intentions could come to light, and Alfredo turned to look at her before beaming, all previous signs of anger evaporating into thin air.

"Ah, Belle. How are you this evening?" he asked as he came up to her and kissed both her cheeks.

"I'm glad it's Friday," she replied with a smile.

Alfredo nodded his agreement before a twinkling gleam entered his eyes. "So, I hear you have someone special joining you this evening."

Isabella couldn't help but flush in embarrassment and quickly shook her head. "No, he's just an acquaintance of mine whom Mom and Dad want to meet."